Ghosts on the Sand


Ghosts on the Sand  (Art by Kara Boulden)Strangers emerged from thin air, running toward the fire, shouting to one another in a language I didn’t understand. The watery inferno illuminated their fear-stricken faces. Shadowy figures floated slowly toward the shore, bobbing up and down grotesquely in the shallow water.

Trembling, I closed my eyes and prayed. Was this a nightmare?

Kara Boulden is an exceptional artist and she has agreed to produce a fabulous book cover for me. This is where we are so far. What do you think? I LOVE it.

Juggling work, home, chores and life with my next book release is tough, but I can do it.

Ghosts on the Sand (and other chilling tales) will be released late 2017 or early 2018. It will be a compilation of three or four short stories at the bargain price of $99 for the eBook.

I’m excited for you to read my next venture, and encourage feedback (good or bad), its how I become a better writer. As I head down the road to retirement I realize I’ll never truly retire, so writing will be my new and very pleasurable job.

Toodles, pop back soon!


Watching over Me

Convallaria-majalisI couldn’t sleep last night. I was stressed and my mind was playing games with me. What did I hear?

Getting out of bed to investigate, I donned my robe and slippers and walked quietly downstairs.

I heard someone whispering in the basement. I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. The soft whispers were soothing, not threatening.

I crept softly down the stairs towards the sound, wanting to be a part of it, wanting to be included in the intimacy.

A soft warm glow spilled from the basement door. Dust particles danced and floated in the light. It made me giggle like a child.

The whispering stopped.

I froze, hardly daring to breathe. For thirty seconds I heard nothing. I sat down on the stairs and waited.

“Please don’t go.” I said to myself.

As thought someone heard me, the whispering began again, interrupted only by childish laughter.

Who was it? Dare I move? I wanted to be part of the fun.

I smelled “Lily of the Valley”, a familiar smell from my childhood.Convallaria-majalis

Inhaling deeply I closed my eyes.

It was the perfume my mother wore. Oh how I miss her. Now I knew I was dreaming. Silence covered the house like a blanket.

When I opened my eyes again, the glow had been replaced by darkness. I was alone. Sadly I padded back to my bedroom and slept.

This morning, as the light filtered through my blinds, I remembered the whispers. Had I been dreaming?

I had gone to bed worried and stressed, but this morning I was calm.

My arms full of laundry, I started my sunday morning routine. As I descended the stairs, into the basement, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of happiness and well-being. It was so powerful, I gasped. Tears filled my eyes when I saw little sprays of Lily of the Valley strewn on the floor.

“I’m watching you pet, I’m here”Lily-of-the-Valley 1

It was the voice of my mother, she was all around me.

I hope you enjoyed my short story. 

My first novel ‘Dead of July’ will be for sale on Amazon and in some Independent Book Stores before Christmas. Watch out for it!

Follow me on Facebook

Preview Dead of July

Dead of July (Small)

I’ve been working so hard on finishing my book, I’ve been a hermit, but its done!


The manuscript has been sent for lay out. 


I’m exhausted and brain-dead, but happy.

Watch out for it. Hoping to go to print and eBook in mid to late November.


I’m almost there!

Follow me on Facebook

Preview Dead of July

Dead of July (Small)

Fame at Last

I took my short stories off the market because they needed to be re-edited. As I write more, I learn more, and these books needed work.

Imagine my surprise when I saw how much ‘Girl on the Beach’ was selling for………would you like to purchase a copy. I can give you a better price.


Dead of July (Small)

A Brief Encounter – Anna

Dead of July (Small)[4] Color 1

I am re-reading the first chapters of my upcoming novel to make sure  they are perfect. I also want to make sure I know them word for word and can answer all the questions that will be asked when being interviewed by Jay Leno and Oprah!  I am looking forward to being on TV. Sandra Thompson, a household name, a celebrity.  

I can dream can’t I?

Seriously, I am extremely excited about my novel ‘Dead of July’. It has been in the works for two years, and is now in the final stage of editing. I can’t wait for it to be published. This will be one of many as I have at least two more books planned.

For your enjoyment, below are a few lines from the first chapter of ‘Dead of July’. This is what happened when Anna and Sheila met for the first time.


“Ich spreken nur eine bisien Deutsche,” I told her, hoping I had chosen the right words.

The tears started rolling down her cheeks again and she sat back down on the bench.

            I really wasn’t sure what to do next because I didn’t understand what she had said to me, or why she was crying. I had intended to go to German lessons that were given by the army, but never got around to it. Same old excuse, never enough time, always something else to do. I was debating what to do next when I heard someone shouting in a loud angry voice. The noise was coming from the direction of the gate I had just entered.

Anna! someone was yelling. Actually, it sounded more like a growl than a yell.

This gruff male voice was yelling more than just her name, but all I could understand was “Anna.” She immediately stopped crying and literally froze. She looked at me with a terrified expression on her face, so I could only assume that this was the person who made her cry. The man standing at the gate was now yelling loudly enough to scare us both. I took a couple of steps toward the path, which gave me a clear view of the gate, and saw a stocky man standing there. He had dark hair and a very rugged, angry-looking face. For some reason he made me think of a Russian Cossack and I knew I didn’t want an encounter with him, especially here in a park alone. He saw me and the look on his face was murderous. I knew we had to get away.

 Impulsively, I ran forward to the bench and grabbed the girl’s hand. “Anna?” I asked. She nodded her head and looked at me with fear in her eyes. We ran in the opposite direction from the gate and away from him. She needed no persuasion; she just followed me. We ran to the other gate and I opened it quietly. We slipped through silently. The voice still raged behind us, but it didn’t seem to be coming any closer. I felt pretty uncomfortable running with two beers and a bratwurst not quite digested in my tummy, so we ran a little farther and then stopped. I turned and looked at Anna, who had stopped crying and seemed a little more composed. I let go of her hand and she looked up at me.

“Danke,” she said.


Journey to Insanity

The Clown rolled backwards at the sound of my scream. He fell on his bottom between the seats and sat there looking dazed. Although I felt a little sorry for him I remained in my hiding place, unsure of my surroundings. Where had this bus come from?  Currently I was on a bus driven by Hitler and the only other passenger was a clown.

The bus stopped again and I heard the door open. We were in the middle of the County Durham Countryside. There were no lights and the moon was hiding behind a cloud. I heard the sound of slow heavy footsteps as another passenger climbed the steps and paid his fare.

I looked across to where the clown, who was still sitting on the floor. His eyes were wide and he was trembling. He scuttled across to me without standing up. We crouched at the back of the bus, peeping above the seat in front to see who was about to share our journey.

We weren’t quite expecting to lock eyes with Frankenstein . It was pointless hiding anymore so the clown and I huddled together on the back seat of the bus. I couldn’t believe I was holding hands with a clown.

To be honest, although the latest passenger looked like Frankenstein, he certainly wasn’t scary. Instead he looked quite sad. He was tall and not very well-coordinated. His head was a little flat on top, and he had a big scar on his forehead, but he looked rather shy.

He sat sideways on the seat in front so he could talk to us. “Hello” he said “my name is Bernard”

The clown and I laughed. Bernard looked hurt and turned his back. “I’m sorry” I said “I didn’t mean to laugh, I just didn’t expect you to be called Bernard. My name is Poppy.”

“Poppy, Poppy.” said the clown “You don’t look like a flower. My name is Jack”

“Jack’s are alway heros and you don’t look like a hero.” I replied, a little annoyed.

Bernard turned around and smiled at us. “I know, everyone thinks I should be called Frankie like the monster.”

I felt safe again and started to think of Herman Munster, from the TV show. Bernard looked like Herman Munster, he wasn’t scary at all.

“What are you laughing at” a voice hissed. An awful voice filled with hatred and venom.

Another passenger had crept aboard, a passenger I really didn’t want to get close to.


She slithered down the middle of the bus and made herself comfortable on the back seat next to Jack, who was holding my hand so tightly it hurt.

Her body moved constantly as she rattled and hissed. She was beautiful, but deadly. I was unable to speak. Bernard moved to the front of the bus. I saw Hitler’s reflection in the rear view mirror. He was enjoying the show.

I have fun with my blogs and I hope you do too! Writing gives me great pleasure. It allows me to escape from everyday life and fantasize. It is also a great way to practice my writing skills and practise makes perfect. 

My first two short stories are available on Amazon for a little while longer. In March, my first full lenght nove ‘Dead of July”(Preview) Dead of July will be released and my short stories will be taken down to re-edit. I am also in the process of writing my second novel ‘September Souls’ which is set in the London Blitz. Follow my blog and have fun with me. 

Follow me on Facebook

Girl on the Beach (UK)

Girl on the Beach (US)

Guy at the Bar Amazon

Guy at the Bar Amazon UK



In the dead of night on a country road, a car rested on its roof with its wheels still spinning. A boy lay motionless on the ground, thrown from the vehicle, blood trickling slowly from his nose. Would he die? A gentle drizzle fell causing steam to rise from the car engine. No one saw!

The scene was heartbreaking and silent. Death was approaching.

The voice of compassion spoke. “Don’t let him die. He is too young. He has so much to offer the world. Don’t let him die”.

The greedy voice of death answered “HE IS MINE”

Compassion spoke again “The boy is good. He worships God.  He will be a great man one day”

Death answered “NO HE IS MINE”

“Take me instead” Compassion said


Compassion was clever, she argued with death all through the night, the boy still breathed as his fate was decided. Death was distracted.

Daylight broke and the boy stirred. Death grew bored, but compassion remained.

A rumbling thunder echoed in Death’s brain and called to him. Where should he go next? There was a train crash in Japan, a mining accident in South Africa. So many places he needed to be. The boy stirred again, but death ignored him, bored with the boy.

He looked at Compassion with distaste. Take your boy, I will fill my net elsewhere! Compassion smiled, her work here was done.

The boy sat up and rubbed his head. “Who’s there?” he asked.

A car approached and stopped at the scene. His father got out. “Son I have been worried about you all night. Thank God you are safe”

As they hugged, he called an ambulance. Another soul was saved.

Girl on the Beach (UK)

Girl on the Beach (US)

Guy at the Bar Amazon

Guy at the Bar Amazon UK

Follow me on Facebook  for updates on my upcoming novel ‘Dead of July’ which will be released later this year. 

(Preview) Dead of July

(Preview) Girl on the Beach

(Preview) Guy at the Bar

Dirty English Pigs – German Ghost Story

Not my van - but you get the idea

To buy a personalized copy of ‘Girl on the Beach’ visit my website

Words from beyond

The next installment of Sheila’s German encounter is below. Things are heating up and she is being scared and threatened. The incidents become more frightening and happen more often. What has she done to deserve this?

‘Girl on the Beach’ Free e-book (Smashwords)

Dirty English Pigs!

On Thursday, I drove to work, dropping Les off on the way.  It was an unusually muggy morning, with thunder rumbling in the distance. The clouds hung low in the sky. It wasn’t raining but the air felt damp. It was one of those mornings when you felt like you wanted to stay in the shower because the minute you got out you felt grimy again.  The roads were slippery with the rain so I had to be careful, especially when crossing the tram lines. I could feel a headache coming on too.  Not the best start to the day. I drove along the ‘hellweg’ wishing I had taken the day off work, I just felt ‘out of it’. When I arrived at work I was greeted by the Military Police. After the drama of the last two days, I imagined the worst, a murder or something! The MP’s asked for my ID as I drove onto camp and as I parked up, I could see more Military Police around my yellow van.  I wandered across to see what was going on. It looked like a crime scene as there were so many Military Police. Sophie, my boss came bustling across to me.

“Oh dear me, what a mess, no driving for you today, you can help in the restaurant instead, look what they did!”

This was offensive

My van truly was a mess. It was covered with offensive graffiti about the British Army and the British in general. ‘Dirty English Pigs’ and ‘Army Bastards’ being the least offensive of them.  Some of the phrases were in German too, and I was glad I didn’t understand them. There were a couple of swastikas sprayed on the side of the van, which I found very offensive. Someone was really upset. As we stood there one of the MP’s drove the van away. Sophie told me they were taking it to the REME to get it painted.  I was familiar with the REME guys.  I sometimes had minor repairs that needed to be done to the van, where I had broken a mirror, or scraped the paint. They would fix the van for me quickly and efficiently charging nothing more than a few beers or a bottle of ‘Asbach’. I wandered inside the building with Sophie. Her husband, who was a senior officer in the infantry, was waiting in her office.  He gave her a hug and was making sure she was OK.

They were a funny pair. He was a really nice quiet unpretentious guy.  She was loud and dramatic; in fact when she wasn’t with him you would not imagine her to be married at all, she seemed too independent. When she was at his side she was a kitten. I left them talking on the stairs and went into the bustling kitchen to see what I could do.  I was about to start helping with the breakfasts when Sophie showed up again. She tossed a set of keys at me and said:

“Tea and coffee obviously won’t work today, but make some sandwiches and a tray of doughnuts and take my Volvo. You can get a lot in the back of that”.

To review or purchase other stories by Sandra Thompson click on the links below:

Girl on the Beach (UK)

Girl on the Beach (US)

Guy at the Bar (Smashwords)

Guy at the Bar Amazon

Guy at the Bar Amazon UK

BEER FOR BREAKFAST – Walk in the park – Chapter 9

Beer at 7am - Hell no!

Wow, how time flies. I hope you are enjoying the snippets about Sheila, which I have been posting ‘in between’ the instalments of this story. The theory is you will get to know her a little better, and come to understand her, and her gift. Enjoy the next instalment of her German Adventure. 

Please take some time to listen to the music at the bottom of this post. It is Gregory Isaacs who died today at the young age of 59. If you didn’t know his music before, enjoy it now in his memory. Cancer stole him away too soon.


I did eventually manage to get to sleep, and the next thing I heard was the jingling of the early morning tram as the rush hour started.  I looked across at my clock, it was five thirty.  I didn’t usually hear the trams, but because of yesterday’s heat, I had left the windows open, and I was glad I had, the room had cooled down and felt much more comfortable.

I lay there for a few minutes, comfortably snuggled in bed, enjoying the early morning breeze blowing in through the open window. Eventually I stretched and then got out of bed and put the coffee on. Monday, another week lay ahead of me. My job was a lot of fun but, not a job to take seriously. I had made some good friends though, people I might not have met otherwise.   I jumped in the shower while the coffee brewed and enjoyed being pummeled with hot water, it woke me up.  I drank my coffee whilst still in my dressing gown and spiced up the chicken, ready for our meal that evening.

I wandered though the apartment shutting some of the windows.  When I got to the living room window, I remembered the man looking up at me previous evening. Maybe I had imagined he was looking up at me.  People were hurrying along the street to get the tram to the city.  I was waiting for Les to come home and give me a lift to work, as he usually did after his guard duty. 

I could have taken the tram to work, but it just took longer as I had to make a connection in the centre Dortmund.  You met some very interesting people on the trams. It was not unusual for the locals to have a beer and a bratwurst for breakfast.  One morning I was sitting next to a German man who took a beer and a sandwich from brief case whilst on the tram and ate them right there in front of me. He noticed I was watching him, and took another beer out his briefcase which he proceeded to offer me. I declined of course, but was curious about how a beer would taste a seven o clock in the morning.

I never did find out! The earliest beer I ever drank was ten thirty am, and I thought that was really early.  It gave me the best beer buzz ever.  It was the morning we moved into our apartment here on Robert Strasse, when we were waiting for the truck to turn up with the furniture.  One of Les’s friends, Mike, suggested we go across the road to the closest bar.  We could have had coffee, we intended to have coffee, but on the spur of the moment, Mike ordered a beer and without any persuasion I said “Me too”.  Les looked at us both like we were INSANE, and then laughed and said “Make that three beers”.  I think that was the BEST beer I had ever tasted.