Lee Mountford's Blog, page 7

First Chapter of Mary Hobbes

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The second short story in my upcoming free book is taking shape, so I thought I would post the first chapter (unedited) to whet peoples appetites a little. This story deals with Mary Hobbes, and what happened to her, where as the first focused on a horrible act that occurred many years before. Hopefully you will enjoy it and it will intrigue you enough to sign up for my Mailing List to make sure you don’t miss out.

Mary was tired.

She had been walking all evening, desperate to put as much distance as she could between her and him.

The late afternoon sky, that had burned a deep red, had given way to the night, and stars now pinpricked the black sky. She was bruised and sore, still aching from the latest attack from her drunken husband.

Robert had come home, full of booze, and dragged Mary to their small bedroom. He had thrown her to the bed and climbed atop her, promising a night to remember. She would rather he not bothered, but let him have his way all the same. However, as had happened before, little Robert remained flaccid and uncooperative.

Mary knew she could say nothing to console her husband and, as predicted, he had flown into a violent rage, blaming her, and struck and choked her, as savagely as he ever had. Fearing for her life, yet again, Mary fled.

She didn’t know where she would go, but just needed to be away from Robert. And for good this time. There would be no going back. He would no doubt come looking for her, so she had to remain hidden.

She would die before going back to him.

Mary walked almost the entire length of Bishops Hill, not really knowing where she was heading. She had no friends to call on anymore, Robert had seen to that, so she just continued to walk, pulling her threadbare cotton clothing tightly to her, trying in vain to ward of the cold.

She reached the village centre, which was desolate at this time of night, before the idea of heading to the old farm entered her head.

Dunton Farm, was it?

She’d heard about it, heard what happened there all those years ago; the family that were killed, almost two centuries past. There were many stories about the farm, and the strange and terrible things that had happened there in the intervening years. It now stood abandoned, falling into ruin. No one wanted anything to do with it.

It was seen as a place where something was decidedly… off.

A dark place.

Which suited her just fine, right about now. She felt nothing but darkness in her heart. The thought of the shadows there swallowing her up, and hiding her from the world, seemed appealing. At the very least, it would be a place to go to get out of the bite of the cold, somewhere to hide until she could get her mind and thoughts in order.

Mary trekked through the village and along the long road, out to the farm. Her legs ached and her feet were sore, and the cold seemed to seep into her very bones. She wanted to collapse, just drop to the floor to let sleep take her.

As enticing as the thought was, she knew she could not. It was far too cold out in the open, and she did not think she could survive a bout of pneumonia.

So she persevered, and pushed on past the built up are of the village centre, out towards the farm lands.

Out towards Dunton Farm.

She knew she was getting close when the fields became overgrown and unkempt, and soon she could make out the silhouette of the stone mill, standing tall in the distance.

It called to her, drawing her close, like some ominous beacon of the night.

With nowhere else to go and no one to turn to, she went to it, heeding the call.

Free Story Getting Closer

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Just a quick update to say that the first of the two stories in my upcoming free book – Demon of Dunton Farm – is done! This first story chronicles some brutal murders that take place on the farm in 1682, and it is based on real life events that happened in my home town of Ferryhill (the farm was actually known as Brass Farm).

The book, in total, is easily going to be over 10K, with each story being a little over 5K (so far).

I’m really happy with how the first part has turned out. Even though it deals with some pretty grisly killings, the story (or rather, the ending), was still more gruesome than I’d originally envisioned.

But, hey, it is a horror story, after all. And it should be ready in a week or two.

Make sure you don’t miss out on the story, and the previous Hobbes Hall Diaries, and sign up to my mailing list, if you haven’t already.

– Lee

Demon of Dunton Farm

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Thought this might wet the appetite for those looking forward to the new free book I have coming up. It is the first draft of Chapter 1.

This short book, currently called The Demon of Dunton Farm, which chronicles two events at the farm, will server as a bit of a prequel to The Demonic, my upcoming novel.

Hope you enjoy! And don’t forget to sign up to my mailing list to make sure you get this book. And  you’ll also get my other free story: The Hobbes Hall Diaries.

Ellie heard the axe cut heavily into the wood as she approached Thomas. The older boy, large and broad, was chopping to make kindling for her father. Being a farm-hand, it was one of the boy’s many tasks. She noted the look of concentration on his face, and his cotton shirt had grown damp with sweat. Still, he did not slow or pause.

Chop, chop, chop.

It was warm outside on the farm, with only a gentle breeze to help cool the hired workers. Though there were many people here on a daily basis, this farm was home to young Ellie Dunton.

‘Hello, Thomas,’ the little blonde girl said, skipping towards her friend. She had two, big slices of bread and butter in her hands. Thomas stopped his work and turned to her.

‘Morning, Miss. Ellie,’ he replied, with a big smile. ‘How are you today?’

‘Fine, thank you,’ she said, and sat on a large log close to where Thomas was working. She bit into one of the slices of bread and held the other towards him. ‘Want some?’ she asked, through a mouthful of food.

He looked at her, with a frown, then back to the main house.

‘I don’t know, Miss. Ellie,’ he said.

‘Don’t worry,’ she told him. ‘Father and mother have gone to the Johnston’s today. They won’t find out. Come,’ she went on, patting the space beside her, ‘sit.’

With no little reluctance, Thomas moved and sat beside her, his large frame dwarfing her. He had just turned eighteen and, though Ellie knew he was perhaps not as clever as most his age (and even younger), he looked much older. She smiled as he bit down into the bread. The first bite was timid, but then, as the taste of the generous butter must have hit, he began to gobble it down. She giggled.

‘Oi!’

Ellie knew immediately who had yelled over to them. The young, male voice was that of her brother; Andrew. She looked up and saw that he, and her older sister, Alice, were both walking over to them. She saw Thomas tense up.

‘It’s okay,’ she said to him, then turned to her approaching siblings. ‘What do you want?’

‘Why are you talking to him?’ Andrew said to her.

‘He’s my friend,’ Ellie said.

‘Well, he shouldn’t be,’ Andrew replied. He stopped before them with the eldest, Alice, beside them. Alice was twilling a lock of her hair around a finger.

‘Any why not?’ Ellie asked, planting her hands on her hips.

‘Cos, father wouldn’t like you mingling with the hired help.’

‘Don’t care,’ Ellie said. ‘He’s my friend, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘Well, maybe I’ll tell on you, then. Wonder what father will say when I tell him you’ve been feeding this idiot our bread?’

Thomas stared at the ground, not looking up.

‘He is not an idiot,’ Ellie said, jumping to her feet. She prodded Andrew in the chest. ‘And if you tell on me, then I’ll tell father that you have been stealing milk. I saw you do it, and he’ll believe me anyway. He always believes me.’

‘You’ll keep your mouth shut,’ Andrew said, and stepped closer to Ellie. She didn’t back down.

‘Oh stop it,’ Alice said, stepping between them. ‘Andrew, you won’t say anything, so stop teasing. But Ellie, you shouldn’t be giving Thomas bread like that. Workers are given set amounts. If people find out he has had more than his share, they won’t be happy.’

‘I’m sorry, Miss. Alice,’ Thomas said, still not looking up.

‘It’s okay, Thomas,’ she said. ‘Anyway, come on Andrew, it’s too hot our here, I want to go inside.’

Andrew huffed, but turned to walk away. ‘Fine. See you later Ellie,’ he said, with annoyance in his voice, before adding; ‘and see you too, idiot.’

‘You’re the idiot,’ Ellie shouted back, before sitting next to Thomas again. The large boy looked sad, and on the verge of tears.

‘Don’t listen to him,’ she told him, rubbing his large arm. ‘He’s just mean.’

‘He’s right, though.’

‘No, he isn’t.’

Thomas slowly got to his feet.

‘I have to go,’ he said.

‘Where?’

‘I have work to do over in the mill,’ he answered, and looked over to the far end of the property boundary. Ellie followed his gaze to look at the tall, stone, corn mill. Circular and tall, it rose up out of the ground like a small tower, fatter at the base, thinning out towards the top.

‘Okay,’ she said, then noted another look on his face. It wasn’t just sadness, there was something else there too. ‘What is it?’ she asked him.

‘I don’t really like that mill,’ he said.

‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘You wouldn’t believe me.’

‘I would,’ she said, and stood up as well. ‘Tell me.’

Thomas shook his head. ‘It’s nothing. Just sometimes I swear I see…’ he trailed off.

‘What?’ she asked, pushing him on.

‘Nothing,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I have to go Miss. Ellie, sorry if I got you in trouble.’

She watched the older boy trudge over to the stone mill, and dearly wanted to know what was troubling him about that place. For one, she classed him as a friend, even if she wasn’t supposed to, but there was more too it than that. The mill scared her too.

When playing near to it, she often heard voices inside when there should have been no one there. Voices, and a horrible cackling. Like a low, evil laugh.

And only last night, after waking from nightmare, she had looked out of her bedroom window and could have sworn she saw a shadowy figure standing outside of it.

Her brother, Andrew, once told her that mill was haunted. That many work-hands had died inside over the years. Alice said it was just a story, but Ellie had to wonder…

She hoped Thomas would be okay in there.

Free Story Update

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Second update for today!

Last week I mentioned that I was putting together another free book for my mailing list, and was throwing around some ideas on what it would be exactly.

Well, I’ve finally settled on an idea! (Feel free to cheer!)

The book will consist of two short stories, and both will serve as a prequel for my upcoming novel; The Demonic. It will basically detail the sinister history of the house, and land, that The Demonic centres on, and give a taste of what is to come.

Hopefully it will offer up some chills and scares, and leave people excited for the new book.

And thats the plan. Should be done in a couple of weeks as I’ve plotted the whole thing out, and I can email it out to the mailing list. Make sure you sign up now to make sure you don’t miss out (and also get access to the first free book – The Hobbes Hall Diaries).

CLICK HERE TO GET YOUR FREE STORIES!

– Lee

Horror in the Woods Updated

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Just to let everyone know that I have finished my read-through of Horror in the Woods, and have updated the file on Amazon. It’s the same story, but there were a few sloppy typo’s and grammatical errors that I should have picked up on, and wasn’t happy with – so they have now been corrected.

So make sure to update your version to this corrected file!

They were first picked up by a helpful review on Amazon, and it was a lesson to me to make sure I give a final look through after all edits have been incorporated into a manuscript. A lesson well and truly learned.

Apologies if this hindered anyone’s enjoyment of the book. I’m going to make sure all future releases are much cleaner.

And I’ll be posting another update later today regarding the next free book I have lined up as well.

– Lee

Always and Forever

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A few days ago, I made a post mentioning I was considering using an old short story in an upcoming free mini-anthology. However, thinking about it, the story would be so tonally different that I don’t think it would work. So, in that case, I thought I’d post the story here, for people to read and see what they think. It is vastly different that Horror in the Woods, or my upcoming book The Demonic, but it is one I quite like. More melancholy and sad than scary.

So here is, Always and Forever.

The house was always scary at night time.

Mum said that monsters and ghosts were all in my imagination, and that there was nothing in the shadows. I would nod and agree with her, maybe believe her in the day time, but in our house it was different at night. Cracks of light from the streetlights would get in around Mums thick curtains, but for the most part everything was always dark. The house was old, big, and always felt empty. Especially since Dad had gone. Although usually quiet, every so often the house would make a sound, like it was moaning, or in pain. Mum said all old houses made these noises and that it was nothing to be scared of, something about the house settling, but to me it sounded as if someone else was in here, making noises and walking around. I know there is a ghost here, I just know it.

My friend Mike told me all about ghosts; they’re what’s left of people who’ve died. He says some are bad and want to hurt you, and they can appear wherever they want, at any time, and get you. He said they make noises at night, and moan as well, just to try and scare you. I’m sure we have a ghost in this house, but Mum won’t listen. In my head I picture the ghost as the man who hurt me. He was horrible, and ugly too, but I hope the ghost isn’t anything like him. I hope its Dad.

I don’t know why but at night I feel like I have to check around the house, just to make sure no one is hiding, and to make sure Mum is safe. Lying in bed is no good, I can’t sleep and just lie there for hours listening. I’d rather be up, quietly walking around. Like I’m doing now.

The kitchen downstairs, like the rest of the house, is different at night. The plant near the fridge looks like a big claw, reaching out for me. I keep thinking there is someone hiding in the corners where the shadows are the deepest, waiting to leap out at me.

The living room has pictures of us – me, Mum and Dad – across the mantelpiece above the fire. I’m youngest in the pictures in the centre and I get older in each one as they spread out left and right. We are smiling in all of them. The one at the park is my favourite. I remember that day, Mum told me she loved me ‘always and forever’. She used to say that a lot. Looking at these photos makes me sad. Dad looks so happy in them, and it makes me think that if the ghost is him, then he would just come out and say hello. Then I wouldn’t be scared because we would get to see him again. And I know he would want to see us. That makes me think the ghost isn’t Dad, that it’s someone else.

That scares me.

I tip-toe as best I can back upstairs, holding my breath, waiting for something to happen, and careful not to let the floorboards creak. As I sneak past Mum’s bedroom I hear a faint sound, from a person. It could be Mum, but she should be asleep, so it must be someone else.

I’m scared to go in, but I know I have to. I can’t let anyone hurt Mum.

Not like that man hurt me.

I can’t remember a lot of what happened that night. I try sometimes, but I only remember him grabbing me and taking me. It gets cloudy after that. Mums door is already open a little, so I clench my teeth and pop my head in.

No one is in the room with her. It is just Mum, all alone, sat on her bed, crying quietly. She is looking at a photo. She doesn’t see me but I feel really sad. I don’t know whether to go over and hug her or leave her alone. I think she is thinking of Dad. That always makes her cry.

‘It’s okay, Mum,’ I tell her, but she doesn’t hear me. I know she is upset, but I’m still here, I don’t want her to ignore me anymore. It seems like such a long time since we spoke to each other. I walk over and sit on the bed next to her and put my arm round her. She stops crying for a moment and looks up, but only for a moment. Then she goes back to looking at the picture of Dad. Only, when I look at it, the picture isn’t of Dad. It’s of me.

‘It’s okay, Mum, don’t be sad, I’m right here.’

She still doesn’t look at me.

‘She can’t hear you, son.’

I look up to the doorway and see him, standing there, looking exactly like I remember.

I couldn’t believe it, Dad was here.

‘Dad!’ I said. ‘Mom, look, its Dad.’ Still, I get nothing from her. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ I ask.

‘She can’t see you, or hear you. She doesn’t know you’re there,’ he tells me.

‘But why?’ I ask. Then another question jumps out of my mouth, almost as quickly as it jumped into my head. ‘Dad, how come you’re here? I thought that you…’ I didn’t know how to finish what I was saying.

‘I did, son,’ he said. ‘I never wanted to leave you and Mum, but it was just my time.’

‘So, now you’ve come back?’

He didn’t answer straight away, and I saw his eyes get wet. He held out his arms to me like he used to do when he wanted a hug. I looked back to Mum, who still didn’t seem to know we were there, then ran over to him. He hugged me so tightly, and I hugged him right back.

‘Son,’ he said, kneeling down so we were face to face. ‘What I’m going to tell you will be a little confusing, but I need you to trust me. And don’t be scared.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I won’t be scared. I’m brave.’

‘I know you are. You know when I told you I had to go because it was my time?’

‘Yes,’ I said with a nod.

‘Well, it’s your time too, son.’

I didn’t understand. Not at first. Then it started to make sense and I felt a little bit sick.

‘You mean?’

He nodded quickly, almost like he didn’t want me to finish what I was going to say, which was good, because I didn’t want to say it. I was going to ask him how, and when, but all of a sudden I knew.

‘The man who took me?’ I asked, and he nodded again, looking angry, with tears running down his face. I hugged him again and we stayed that way for a long time. Eventually he pulled away, cupping my face with his hands.

‘It’s time to go, son.’

‘But what about Mum?’ I asked, looking back to her. She looked so sad, so hurt, I didn’t want to leave her.

‘She has to stay here.’

‘We can’t leave her.’

‘I’m sorry, but there is no other way. You’ll see her again one day.’

As he said that I noticed the light that crept in through the curtains got brighter and brighter, so bright it started to hurt my eyes.

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

‘That means it’s time. I need to take you back.’

‘Back where?’

‘Don’t worry son, its safe there,’ he said, and took my hand. ‘Hold on to me and we’ll go back together.’

The light got brighter and brighter, it felt nice against my face, like the warm sun, but I didn’t want to leave Mum, not all on her own like this. It wasn’t fair.

‘I don’t want to go,’ I said, but my voice sounded like an echo.

‘You need to come with me. Try not to be scared.’

His voice was all echoey now as well. I think I knew where we were supposed to go, and I wasn’t scared, I just didn’t want to leave Mum.

‘No,’ I said, and struggled to get free. He tightened his grip.

‘This is important son, just stay with me. It’s okay.’

The light got brighter and brighter and my body felt strange. It got lighter somehow, and I felt like I could float away. It felt nice. The light got so bright I couldn’t see anymore.

‘No,’ I yelled again and yanked my hand free. Then, as quickly as I could blink, the light was gone.

And so was Dad.

Everything around me was dark again, and it was quiet, apart from Mum, who was still quietly crying. She shouldn’t cry though, because whether she knows it or not, I’ll always be here to look after her.

Always and forever.

Thank You!

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I’ve sent out a similar message to my slowly growing mailing list, but I jut wanted to post an update to say thank you to everyone who has bought a copy of Horror in the Woods. It’s only been on sale a little over a week (it was released on the 5th May) and it has sold 51 copies and had over 15,700 page reads.

I know those numbers don’t seem like much, but for my first book, I’m really happy with them. Thrilled, in fact. On top of that, the story has been receiving really good feedback as well.

As you will see from this site, I offer a free 10K word short story for anyone who signs up to my mailing list. But, as another thank you, I’m working on another story as well for people who sign up. So, if you aren’t already, subscribe for some scary goodness!

Lastly, I want to ask – politely, of course – for people who have read Horror in the Woods to leave a review, if you would be so kind. I know this comes across as begging (but I’m not on my knees – honest!), but there is a reason. As well as helping visibility, more reviews also help me get the book onto some mailing lists, such as Bookbub and The Fussy Librarian, which is something I’m looking to do.

If not, that’s no problem, the original message of this post still stands, loud and clear, to all who have taken a chance with the book.

THANK YOU, YOU BEAUTIFUL MOTHER-FUCKERS!!!!

Horror in the Woods Updates

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Just a quick blog today – I’m currently running another read-through of Horror in the Woods to pick up any last spelling or grammatical errors. A recent review on Amazon highlighted that quite a few had slipped through the net (something I need to learn from), so it will be updated a few times this week to correct as many as I can see.

So, if you do have the book, make sure you update your version this week to get the corrected copy.

Once I iron out all the wrinkles, I’m going to start looking at paperback (via Createspace or similar) and an audiobook formats.

Hope these mistakes didn’t ruin the experience too much for everyone!

– Lee

New Free Book Incoming

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Though I’m currently getting my new novel, The Demonic, ready for release, I’m also looking to get another free book out in the next two weeks as well.

The Hobbes Hall Diaries, my first free book, is available for people who sign up to my Mailing List, and I plan on sending out this next one via my list too. So, sign up now to make sure you get it.

I think this new book will consist of two or three short stories (running at about 10K total), and I’m considering using an old short I’ve previously written as part of this mini-anthology. Whilst this story deals with the supernatural, it isn’t a horror, so I’m in two minds about it. It has gathered some nice feedback, so it could be an option.

If all goes well, Im hoping to release free stories to my mailing list either monthly or bi-monthly, as a way of saying thank you.

So sign up now to make sure you don’t miss out!

And thats about it for today.

Will check in soon.

– Lee

Inspiration for The Demonic

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I’ve just come back from a weeks holiday (had soon much fun!), and wanted to post a quick note about the inspiration for my next book, The Demonic.

Whilst the story is original, some of the back story revealed is based on real life events that happened in my home town.

In 1682, there was a farm know was Brass Farm (after the Brass family, who owned it). One evening, the parents went to a neighbours (in those days, neighbours tended to be miles away) for the evening, leaving their three children – the oldest, a boy, and two younger sisters – at home.

There was a farm-hand who worked there; Andrew Mills, who was seen as a little slow, but harmless. But on this night, the town of Ferryhill was to see a different side to Andrew.

The parents returned home in the early hours the morning, to find their three children slaughtered. Reports about Andrew vary – some say he fled, but was tracked down, others say he was simply sat outside when the parents returned home, mumbling about how sorry he was.

His testimony tells of how ‘something’ visited him. Some monstrous entity, that got inside of his head and demanded he kill the children. Fearing it was The Devil, he took up his axe and chased the two eldest to the mill. They locked themselves inside, but he forced his way in, breaking the middle child’s arm as he did. Once inside, he set about them with the axe, concentrating on the head and upper body (and cutting their throats to stop their noise!).

He then tracked down the youngest girl, who was hiding under her bed. She pleaded with him to spare her life. It seemed to work. He set down the axe and left. But Andrew Mills recounted how the demon visited him again on the landing, telling him; ‘Go back, thou hateful wretch, resume thy cursed knife, I long to view more blood, spare not the young ones life.’

And so Andrew returned and, as he put it, dashed her brains out.

He was tried and executed, hung in a gib for all to watch him die.

To the end, he claimed to be under the possession of a demon (or, more precisely, The Devil), who made him do it.

The only thing that remains of Brass Farm is the mill where the oldest two children were killed. I’ve actually been up to it myself, and as kids we all said that if you ran around it anticlockwise, thirteen times, on the stroke of midnight on Halloween (or New Years Eve, depending on who told it), Andrew Mills would re-appear and reenact his heinous crimes – this time on whoever called him back.

Not that this ever happened… yet