S.P. Oldham's Blog, page 38
May 16, 2019
Horrorscope - Read by Cal Lumney
Listen to an excerpt from one of the short stories from Hag's Breath: A Collection of Witchcraft and Wickedness. This is from Horrorscope, read by Cal Lumney. Feel free to share and to comment. Thanks all!
Horrorscope - by S P Oldham - Read by Cal Lumney
May 13, 2019
Why Did You Write... Devil's Drop?
A lot of people ask me where the ideas for my stories come from. The answer to that is, from a lot of places, including my imagination and my dreams, as well as other real-world places and people.
I have been thinking about this question a lot lately. I thought about my stories as separate entities (pardon the pun) especially my short stories, and tried to remember the origins of them individually.
Let's start at the beginning then, which according to Julie Andrews is a very good place to start. Although Joe Gallows is the first story in Wakeful Children, it is not the story I wrote first, in that particular collection.
Allow me to digress for a moment, just to say that the entire book Wakeful Children: A Collection of Horror and Supernatural Tales, was something of an organic thing. I don't want to say it happened accidentally, because that would be mildly ridiculous, but it certainly came about as a tentative dip-of-the-toe into first time self-publishing. My youngest son and I were returning home from shopping. I mentioned that I had recently come across KDP and that I hadn't realised that just anybody could submit work for publication. My son laughed, said yes that was the whole point, and that I should give it a go. So I did. Later that day I got together a few of the many short stories I have written over the years, all with the common theme of being dark, supernatural fiction or horror. Weeks later, after some editing, rewrites, amendments and endless nitpicking, I self-published for the first time. I wish I could say at this point 'and I have never looked back' but the fact is, if this had been my only means of earning a living, I would be long dead by now!
Anyway, back to the point. The first story I wrote in that collection, was Devil's Drop. I think this piece is as much prose as it is a short story. It is based on a real place from my childhood, though obviously it is much embellished. We did actually call it Devil's Drop. That said, we kids, and some adults back then, all knew the rumours of evil spirits and the devil himself who was said to be lurking in that scrap of woods, and in the twin caves below. These caves were real, and were apparently something of a challenge to potholers and cavers. A more recent rumour (in my childhood) was that one potholer became stuck in one of these caves and drowned. Whether there was any truth to that or not I do not know, but it only served to add to the mystery and fear surrounding the place.
As kids, we used to swing from a rope hung from a tree above the caves. If you can imagine, the cave entrances were in a bank, atop of which grew trees, bushes, shrubs etc, probably the remnants of woodland. Set into this bank were the mouths of the caves. This bank sloped around, so it was possible to enter the caves almost on ground level. I seem to remember the left-hand cave being more accessible than the right, and that you could see some way in without setting foot inside it. I remember seeing water in there, especially after heavy rainfall, so perhaps the story of the unfortunate potholer was true.Even as kids, most of us knew not to go anywhere near, though a few brave (stupid?) older kids attempted it once or twice.
Our swing swept over the mouths of the caves then, and if you fell you were more likely to end up in a patch of nettles or thorny bushes than into the hands of the Devil, or into the caves themselves. Nonetheless, part of the thrill as children was not only the height of the swing, but the idea of being exposed mid-air above that place, where a hand might reach up to pull us down at any moment...
Looking back, I understand that perhaps those tales were allowed to perpetuate as a means of keeping us kids away from the real danger; the caves themselves. If that was the case, then for the most part, it worked.
It seemed natural for me to set this story in a time early in man's history, when belief in elemental spirits and beings was widespread, inherent in every day life. That two children would be sent out to gather holly for a midwinter festival seemed believable enough to me. What they encounter in those woods would have been well within their understanding in terms of belief, though not in terms of reality. Of course, as the author I am bound to say that if you want to know more, you need to read the book...
It was only after I had chosen the stories I wanted for this book, that I realised they shared some qualities. Firstly, that many of them share dream-like qualities, and secondly, that the endings to many of them are deliberately ambiguous. I did this to reflect the ethereal nature of many of them. After all, in the underworld, in the spirit world, in the realms of the ethereal, is there really a beginning or an end?
Next time I will talk about Century Man, how that story came about and what inspired me to write it.
Until we meet again... keep reading (and reviewing.)
S P Oldham
May 4, 2019
Books2Read Reading List
Draft2Digital have a new tool, whereby authors and readers can share their reading lists. Have just been experimenting, putting together my own carousels. See what you think.
Check out my Books by S P Oldham Reading List
Last Line Zombie Limerick Competition Winner!
The winner of the 'Last Line Limerick' competition is a tumblr entrant, sethtalon!
The finished limerick now reads:
‘The zombie drooled as it said
“I don’t believe I’m undead!”
Then it gave a wet cough,
It’s left arm fell off
And that's how the epidemic was spread!"
Very fitting for a zombie limerick I think. Congratulations sethtalon, who has won a free download of the entire Mindless Trilogy.
Honourable mentions coming up...
Great fun! Thanks everyone.
April 28, 2019
Zombie Limerick Competition
Why not have a go at my zombie limerick competition? You can enter here, on Facebook or tumblr. Details below:
Zombie Limerick Competition (Pinned Post)
If you are a follower of my page (thank you) then you may know that I like to have a go at the odd limerick or two, including zombie limericks. I thought I would run a little competition on this theme.
To be in with the chance of winning one download of the entire Mindless Trilogy, complete the following limerick. The cleverest, funniest, scariest, or most original last line will win. Get the grey cells going!
'The zombie drooled as it said
"I don't believe I'm undead!"
Then it gave a wet cough,
It's left arm fell off
................................"
Over to you! Remember, the final line should rhyme with the first two lines, so: said, undead, ????? Write your last lines in the comments below.
Need some inspiration? For zombie limericks, go here:https://solostinwords.com/…/zombiehorror-limericks-a-bit-of…
For the Mindless Trilogy, go here:https://solostinwords.com/home/mindless-trilogy-
Good luck!
RULES: COMPETITION IN NO WAY ENDORSED BY FACEBOOK. JUDGES DECISION IS FINAL AND NO CORRESPONDENCE WILL BE ENTERED INTO. IT IS UP TO THE WINNER TO ENSURE THEY HAVE A DEVICE SUITABLE FOR DOWNLOADING EBOOKS ON. IF THEY ARE UNABLE TO CLAIM THE PRIZE BECAUSE OF THIS, IT WILL BE FORFEITED AND WILL GO TO THE RUNNER UP. COMPETITION CLOSES MIDNIGHT GMT FRIDAY 3RD MAY.
April 16, 2019
Radio Interview and Launch Party
Very excited to be invited for an interview on a local radio station, and to be invited to the launch (re-launch?) party of the station in person, to promote myself.
This is the first time I have ever done anything like this. Anyone who knows me, knows that I like to remain in the wings rather than the spotlight, so whilst I am really looking forward to doing this, and am hugely grateful for the opportunity, I am also a little daunted, too.
But! I am going to do it! I will post back here with details of when and where etc and hopefully a link to hear the interview as it went out.
All this and a 4* review for Wakeful Children this morning. I am a happy author...
April 12, 2019
New Book Trailer!
There is a shiny new book trailer for Hag's Breath on my website (also on YouTube and other social media.) Take a look, let me know your thoughts. Thanks and have a great weekend everyone x
Book Trailers on So Lost in Words.
April 10, 2019
Guest Author Richard Writhen
I am very pleased to welcome author Richard Writhen to So Lost in Words. Scroll down to read an excerpt of his new book 'The Angel of the Grave' and to find out more about the author, his work and where to buy his books.
https://dk-media.s3.amazonaws.com/med...
The Angel of the Grave (The Celestial Ways Saga Book 0)
Out Now
BECOME THE FIRE.
An intelligent little girl encounters a talented witch at the local fair and finds out that it's all in the family.
Interconnected by dreams, two young orphans embark on the long path to find a bloody revenge.
A wealthy lady travels hundreds of miles to become a baroness, but when she consults a diviner, she finds out that she may be in way over her head.
An excerpt from The Lady Waits (Chapter Three)
Shortly after dawn, the expensive clipper effortlessly cleaved its way through the frothing green waters that lay off of the coast of Corsc. It approached one of the many gray wooden quays there, and its crew began to take down the sails. The ship had been painstakingly crafted by the greatest artisans that the continent of Mestes could offer. Its thick hull was fashioned from a black pine-wood, which had been sanded and then sealed with a mixture of resins. Its hull was painted; some of the segments were a midnight blue in color, and others an olive green. It was almost fifty feet in total length, featuring a towering center mast and three billowing white sails, each painstakingly embroidered with long red lines.
Once it had been secured at the dock, it was almost immediately boarded and searched by several representatives of the Hruutian Guard. That force had been stationed there on the coast in virtual perpetuity, in order to prevent a profusion of illegal substances that had been smuggled into Galgran from neighboring countries. It only took a few minutes for the black-booted soldiers to find that all of the vessel’s papers were in order; then, its passengers were allowed to disembark, filing down the gangway in a steady stream.
One of the very last people to step off the ship, Marissa Seftrey was a fresh-faced young woman of about twenty-one years of age. She had a folded parasol under one of her arms. She was dressed in a light pink dress, with a bonnet to match, her chestnut brown hair falling in cascades from under it. A wide pink bow tried vainly to hold everything in place. Marissa was originally from Caledavor, one of the countries on Mestes, the continent that lay to the south of the Watley Peninsula. She had brought some of her homeland’s artwork with her on the voyage. She was followed closely by a middle-aged woman with somewhat darker brown hair, who was pulling a wheeled chest. This was her maidservant, Neticia de Mont Noir. The two were followed in turn by three male servants of varying ages, who had been hired on the ship, to carry the rest of their luggage.
The procession proceeded to the end of the quay, then stepped onto the continent of Holrud for the first time. Marissa stopped them all for just a moment, and surveyed the panoramic view of the southern coast that greeted them there. Off in the distance, she could see hills and small villages. Even further, beyond them, there was a great walled city; it was imposing in its size, with a river running through its north-west corner. The minutes went by, as they stood there. Quickly becoming bored, Marissa began to tap one of her leather-shod feet on the cobbled dirt of the road.
She was waiting for someone, her eyes scanning to and fro, up and down the street. She had been corresponding through the mail with a baron of great nobility; her voyage across the sea had been planned for many months. She had come almost due northward from her home city of Bethel in Caledavor, Mestes, and was headed for the estate of Westmere. It was located in the borough of Wallins, in southern Malentan, on Watley Peninsula. She had come all this way to be the baron's blushing bride. The marriage that had been completely arranged for her by her mother, as her father had passed away when Marissa was still a teenager. She had been informed in the baron’s final letter that he and his men would be waiting to pick her up, at around the time of her arrival on the peninsula. The rest of the journey to the barony of Wallins would be undertaken by coach.
After waiting a few more minutes, the three hired man-servants put down the rest of her bags. She handed them their gratuities, and they said goodbye to her and then began to walk back to the ship, being part of its crew. The two women were left at the end of the dock. After she and Neticia had waited for the better part of fifteen minutes, they were finally approached by a man. Marissa smiled warmly at him and asked, “Baron Wallins?” A wide smile immediately painted itself across his thick, coarse features. “Why, the very same. And you must be my lady?”
“Yes, it’s me. Marissa Seftrey. Pleased to meet you.”
Marissa looked the man over quickly; right off the bat, she was a bit taken aback at his lack of height. He had bushy sideburns, a moustache, and scruffy hair. His clothes were quite unkempt, most notably a thread-bare black cloak which had apparently been mended many times. He also looked to be far older than his mid-twenties, which she knew for a fact to be the baron’s age. She noted that there was an odd glint to his bloodshot eyes, as if with some unknowable intent to it. So, she posed him a careful question. “You look … different from how I had pictured you. Where’s your coach …? And all of your men … ?!”
The man licked his lips quickly before replying, “Oh, the coach? It’s parked just down the street a bit. And I sent the boys off on another errand … for now.” Grinning at the two women, he then offered Marissa his arm, while she had to exchange a quick look with Neticia to bolster her courage, she hesitantly took it. He led her in a stroll down the wide fairway between the buildings of what appeared to be a small town. They were as far south in Corsc as it was possible to go.
In an even tone of voice, Marissa managed to say, “If I may be so bold, sir … you look to be a bit shorter than six-foot-six. I may not have the most trained eye, but I have certainly seen my share of men in my day.” The short man smiled at her again, even wider than before. “Oh, is that what I said in my letters …?!” His rheumy eyes left hers and gravitated downward, to stare pointlessly at the street for a few moments. It began to dawn on her that while they were heading north, he was also leading her, gradually and inexorably, towards an alleyway on their right hand side.
The sloping roof of one of the buildings had covered the aperture between it and the next one over, forming a dimness there that approached the darkness of night. She looked from one side to the other for a few frantic moments, only then noticing an odd odor coming from the man’s proximity. He stopped them, and caught her by the chin. Her chestnut brown eyes focused on his strange black ones.
“No, don’t look about. This is a very dangerous area. Even the slightest appearance of impropriety will arouse suspicion, and you can’t trust anyone. Just follow me, and I will lead you through safely.”
Marissa wrenched her face from his grip roughly, and then began to straighten out her dress, though it needed no real attention. They had gone no more than four paces further when she suddenly felt the front of the man’s body pressed hard against hers. His gloved hand found her mouth and slipped over it. As she dashed to her lady’s aid, Neticia began to scream, vainly swatting at the man’s head as hard as she could with her own closed parasol. He staved off her attacks easily with his other hand, and withdrew moments later, but retained Marissa’s arm. She was so surprised by the sudden reversal that her exclamations trailed off into mere whimpers as the offending hand fell away from her face. She turned about, only to find that her captor was now standing motionless; he was staring down the street at another man, who was striding towards them.
The new man appeared enraged; he was panting and red-faced. He also had a handlebar mustache, and was dressed in a dress jacket, over a buttoned leather vest and a white dress shirt. A red cravat was twirled about his neck and he wore well-shined, black boots. He was closely followed by three burly young men. They were dressed with much less style and opulence than their master, in faded blacks and browns, and torn denim pants. Marissa could sense that her captor was considering a sudden bolt into flight. But before he could do so, the new man pointed directly at him and then yelled, “HEY, YOU, STOP !!!” at the top of his lungs, shattering what little stillness the afternoon seemed to possess. Her captor froze up completely at this, and Marissa found herself completely released. As she was a little off-balance at the time, she fell on her bottom in a most unladylike fashion, but was far too terrified at that point to even care.
Neticia rushed over and helped her back to her feet. When Marissa turned about to look down the alley, she found that any shadowy accomplices that the short man might have had were now long gone. She could see no trace of life. By then, the new man’s three young thugs had set upon her captor. The first two of them grasped him by the arms and hauled him away from her bodily; then they drew him up, and the third one punched him hard in the gut. Her captor doubled over, his eyes tearing up and strands of saliva drooling from between his liver-colored lips. When his body had gone fully slack, they threw him down into the dust. One of the ones that had previously held his arms ran over to the alleyway, a black sap appearing in one of his hands. The remaining two began to kick him in the sides of his torso, as he rolled pathetically in the dirt into a broken wooden crate that still bore trace of the juices of rotten vegetables.
By the time the other thug had returned, Marissa’s captor had fallen still, his face slack and mouth agape. The man with the sap shook his head once from side-to-side to confirm the lack of any co-conspirators still in the alleyway. The man in the dress jacket had caught up with the others during the short beating. Assessing the situation, the well-dressed man walked over to Marissa, made initial eye contact with her and extended a gloved hand. Still slightly shocked, she reciprocated, and they gently shook. But, she was nearly inarticulate, and was only able to pant out a phrase at a time. “He was ... the alley … people were in there … waiting for-” she managed.
The well-dressed man smiled grimly. “Yes, yes, I know. But tell me … are you quite alright?” At this, Marissa looked down at her pale beige travel dress. It had been torn slightly at one shoulder, and her hair was somewhat mussed, but other than that, she was fully intact. She looked down the alley once more, then back at the new man. “And you ...”
“Yes, Marissa. I am the real Baron Wallins. This ‘man’ was an impostor, I’m afraid. It’s become a growing problem along the coast-line nowadays, something of a new form of piracy, I hear. No one ever thinks that it will happen to them, and then … well, anyways, please forgive me. I am terribly sorry to have been late … the whole affair is my fault, really.”
“No, you mustn’t blame yourself. It’s so good to finally meet you, in person …” she assured him.
So, Marissa allowed the new man, who was ostensibly the real baron, to lead her by the elbow to a coach that had been waiting just a bit further down the street from where the short man had been trying to lead them. She stepped up and got into it gracefully, but wrinkled her nose at the coach’s musty odor, of old leather and horse sweat. Then, the horses were set off, and the baron rested his elbow on the inside of the door, holding his chin in one hand. After a few minutes, he glanced Marissa’s way again and added, “By the way, welcome to the Watley Peninsula.”
Buy Links:
Kindle Edition –
Paperback –
Richard Writhen is originally from New England, but has also lived in New York City. He was raised on a steady diet of eighties fantasy films, horror television and universal monster movies. After briefly attending college for music and video, he began his first online serial six years ago. Richard has since been e-published on several notable blogs and websites and is now also the author of three independently published novellas on Amazon: A Kicked Cur, A Host of Ills and The Hiss of the Blade. He has also recently completed his first novel, The Angel of the Grave.
You can find Richard at:
https://www.facebook.com/richardwrithen/
http://www.richardwrithen.wordpress.com
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March 31, 2019
Happy Mother's Day
Had to share this beautiful Gothic Mother's Day image from Zazzlehttps://www.zazzle.com/gothic_rose_cobwebs_mothers_day_card-137639744180377738
March 29, 2019
Friday Freebie - Short Story
Freebie Friday - Short Story - Blood Money/Paid in Full
Since it is Friday, help yourself to a little freebie from me. Just click the link above. It is a speculative piece, a little bit out of the ordinary, so I would love to hear your thoughts on it. Enjoy and have a lovely weekend, and to all the mums out there, have a lovely Mothering Sunday x
