Lee Allen's Blog - Posts Tagged "book-sample"
The Jack O'Lantern Men - Preview
Read on for a preview of my new novella, The Jack O'Lantern Men, publishing Hallowe'en 2015:
The Jack O'Lantern Men
---
Life is but a whisper on a long forgotten wind.
They were the final words my wife spoke to me, as she lay on her death bed and limply held my hand, as mine grew tighter on hers. It is true, is it not? In that moment I forgave her all; her heresy, her infidelity, all the wounds she’d opened up in me over those long years. I stayed because I believed in my vows, and I cherished my daughter. Thus, I buried my hatred for this woman I had loved with all of my heart. Yet they were not the only reasons. I still loved her so, and though I never spoke of it again, my love sat with my hatred, and they shared the heart that belonged to that woman.
Oh Year, one which was so full of pain to enter, and shall be evermore agonising still to feel die. What secrets have you left to share with us in your final days? As the winter creeps upon us now that autumn has done its worst.
The fate of men resides in my hands once again. My keys grow heavier at my side, as I stalk the dark and dingy corridors, checking each cell to see if men still breathe so that we can take their last breaths from them. They are all sentenced to hang, all the men under my care.
Today, I was delivered the latest of these damned souls. Frank was his name. He said hardly a word as he was brought down to his cell and I unlocked the one farthest down the corridor. He turned and looked at me as I locked it behind him, looked me right in the eye and spoke to me without a word.
My day of reckoning had come.
Before leaving for home, I returned to his cell and looked through the bars. He sat motionless in the corner, and only stirred when I had stood at the bars for an endless five minutes.
“You know, don’t you?” His voice sounded as if it clawed over a thousand needles to escape his throat. For the first time, I noticed his nose and mouth were bloody; one blackened eye could only manage a squint to share vision with the other.
“I do,” I replied to him.
For I knew they haunted him too. I could feel them just out of sight at the end of the corridor. I ignored them, fixing my eyes on Frank.
“Find my daughter,” he implored me, finally moving from his corner toward me. “Find that she understands it was not of my doing.”
I nodded and said nothing further, moving from the cell into the darkness of the corridor.
The Jack O’Lantern Men followed me, their mouths grinning wickedly at my back. Long, tapered, fingers brushed my neck as I hurried from the prison.
“Leave me!” I cried into the dark, as I had done every night since she had gone.
They were not words that met my ears, more drifting thoughts that met my mind.
---
The Jack O'Lantern Men, available October 31st.
Hear our words. Say your prayers.
Late on Hallowe’en night, Frank is delivered to the Jailer, standing accused of a crime for which he will hang. He has a tale to tell, and begs the Jailer to speak to his daughter.
His daughter, Laura, has her own tale to tell. Through their words, the Jailer hears of the events that will lead him to his last execution.
All the while, the Jack O’Lantern Men wait in the wings for the last act to play out and the curtain to fall.
The Jack O'Lantern Men
---
Life is but a whisper on a long forgotten wind.
They were the final words my wife spoke to me, as she lay on her death bed and limply held my hand, as mine grew tighter on hers. It is true, is it not? In that moment I forgave her all; her heresy, her infidelity, all the wounds she’d opened up in me over those long years. I stayed because I believed in my vows, and I cherished my daughter. Thus, I buried my hatred for this woman I had loved with all of my heart. Yet they were not the only reasons. I still loved her so, and though I never spoke of it again, my love sat with my hatred, and they shared the heart that belonged to that woman.
Oh Year, one which was so full of pain to enter, and shall be evermore agonising still to feel die. What secrets have you left to share with us in your final days? As the winter creeps upon us now that autumn has done its worst.
The fate of men resides in my hands once again. My keys grow heavier at my side, as I stalk the dark and dingy corridors, checking each cell to see if men still breathe so that we can take their last breaths from them. They are all sentenced to hang, all the men under my care.
Today, I was delivered the latest of these damned souls. Frank was his name. He said hardly a word as he was brought down to his cell and I unlocked the one farthest down the corridor. He turned and looked at me as I locked it behind him, looked me right in the eye and spoke to me without a word.
My day of reckoning had come.
Before leaving for home, I returned to his cell and looked through the bars. He sat motionless in the corner, and only stirred when I had stood at the bars for an endless five minutes.
“You know, don’t you?” His voice sounded as if it clawed over a thousand needles to escape his throat. For the first time, I noticed his nose and mouth were bloody; one blackened eye could only manage a squint to share vision with the other.
“I do,” I replied to him.
For I knew they haunted him too. I could feel them just out of sight at the end of the corridor. I ignored them, fixing my eyes on Frank.
“Find my daughter,” he implored me, finally moving from his corner toward me. “Find that she understands it was not of my doing.”
I nodded and said nothing further, moving from the cell into the darkness of the corridor.
The Jack O’Lantern Men followed me, their mouths grinning wickedly at my back. Long, tapered, fingers brushed my neck as I hurried from the prison.
“Leave me!” I cried into the dark, as I had done every night since she had gone.
They were not words that met my ears, more drifting thoughts that met my mind.
---
The Jack O'Lantern Men, available October 31st.
Hear our words. Say your prayers.
Late on Hallowe’en night, Frank is delivered to the Jailer, standing accused of a crime for which he will hang. He has a tale to tell, and begs the Jailer to speak to his daughter.
His daughter, Laura, has her own tale to tell. Through their words, the Jailer hears of the events that will lead him to his last execution.
All the while, the Jack O’Lantern Men wait in the wings for the last act to play out and the curtain to fall.
Alone - A Supernatural Mystery
My Christmas novella Alone is available from Amazon and iBooks amongst other retailers.
_______
All things must end.
Recovering from a recent accident and faced with the prospect of spending another Christmas alone, Jessica accepts the invitation of an old flame to spend Christmas with him and his aged aunt at his manor house in the midst of the Brecon Beacons.
Feeling her arrival is unwelcome, Jessica awaits her reunion with a face from the past, while a snowstorm postpones his arrival and renders her trapped within the house. Behind the silence, something dark is lurking.
Left with little choice, Jessica finds she must face the secrets the old house hides. Yet what she may come to learn is that nothing haunts us more than the secrets of our own pasts, and that burying them does not make them forgotten.
_______
Read on for a sample below:
December 16th
_______
You can order now for:
Amazon's Kindle
Apple's iBooks
Rakuten's Kobo
Barnes & Noble's NOOK
and is also available in multiple formats on Amazon and Lulu.com.
Merry Christmas!
_______
All things must end.
Recovering from a recent accident and faced with the prospect of spending another Christmas alone, Jessica accepts the invitation of an old flame to spend Christmas with him and his aged aunt at his manor house in the midst of the Brecon Beacons.
Feeling her arrival is unwelcome, Jessica awaits her reunion with a face from the past, while a snowstorm postpones his arrival and renders her trapped within the house. Behind the silence, something dark is lurking.
Left with little choice, Jessica finds she must face the secrets the old house hides. Yet what she may come to learn is that nothing haunts us more than the secrets of our own pasts, and that burying them does not make them forgotten.
_______
Read on for a sample below:
December 16th
The gentle trickling of a glittering melody drifted on the air, creeping into the ears of the sleeping woman who lay on the bed in the corner of a sparsely furnished room. Her skin was deathly white, the only sign of life the water vapour escaping between her delicate lips as she breathed.
A shadow crossed her face, a slight creasing of anguish in her expression. There was something troubling about the sight of seeing innocence vanquished in something as subtle, like the moment a child suffers the loss of believing in magic. Worse still was that there was no one to witness the sight. Emptiness swirled around her clammy skin, dancing a Viennese Waltz with the silence that fell like frost in the wake of distant music that wasn’t quite alive.
Jessica awoke, her eyes drifting over the high ceiling. From her memory she grasped vaguely at what had woken her. A metallic tinkle. She listened to the dense blanket of night. The sound of being alone.
She rubbed her heavy brown eyes and sat up. Her unfinished glass of Irish Cream whisky sat on the bedside table, beside the candle that still held the ghost of its extinguished flame. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders, looking to the window, the landscape aglow even in the black of night.
She closed her eyes and touched her face. If she tried hard enough it was as if a hand reached from memory, fingertips brushing over her fingers, grasping her hand, lips bowing to graze her skin.
She shivered involuntarily. She had a feeling she could hear music, faint and distant, like bells carried on a still wind.
Her toes were cold. She flexed them on the worn carpet. Her feet were weary as she stood, crossing slowly to the window, watching the sky and the snow covered earth, the stars glowing beyond and the desolation of the stretch of beacons. She was lost, a lost girl nearing the end of her journey.
Turning from the window, she found the owner of the metallic tinkle. She stooped, a silver chain grasped in her fingers as she withdrew her hand. She felt the beads grasped under her cold fingertips, squeezing them as the crucifix fell across her palm. She felt the weight of her soul on her heart, sinking to her knees and bowing her head to her hands.
All things must end. And this was how it began.
_______
You can order now for:
Amazon's Kindle
Apple's iBooks
Rakuten's Kobo
Barnes & Noble's NOOK
and is also available in multiple formats on Amazon and Lulu.com.
Merry Christmas!
Those Crimes of Passion
Seven years ago, I published my first novel Those Crimes of Passion.
A labour of love, it was written over a decade ago, in between studying for my GSCE’s and A Levels. I was becoming rapidly disillusioned with school and the education system in general. I wanted to write, to be creative, to immerse myself in subjects that interested me. Looking back over my final two years in school, I can only remember enjoying Religion & Philosophy, some History topics and the single creative writing project in English. I would often be seen taking walks around the school grounds by my Biology teacher; he would berate me for not studying the subject, but my mind was elsewhere. I was with Jennifer and Jonathan, coming up against organised crime, police corruption, sadistic predators and trials of the heart.
When I left school, I approached a few publishing agents, receiving rejections and a handwritten response advising one agency had recently been wound down. I saw RJ Ellory speak at my local library – hearing the number of submissions he made before obtaining a publishing deal was staggering. It was something I couldn’t support at the time, while I struggled in other ways. I was no longer writing.
Through voluntary work and starting work at a training company, I began to talk about my passion again and the novel I had completed. I was introduced to self-publishing through a colleague who published her self-help book and I wondered if I could do the same with fiction. I returned to the Crimes of Passion draft and began editing. A recent acquisition by the company I worked for brought with it graphics design tools, while I worked with an artistic friend on the cover design. I began formatting, crafting the synopsis, rediscovering my dream. I’d still collected ideas in the intervening years and was beginning work on new projects again.
I became obsessive about editing and proof-reading the retitled Those Crimes of Passion manuscript. Overcoming the anxiety and feelings of inadequacy to finally publish was difficult, but I pushed through it. I remember when I received the first copy of my first book in the post – a truly surreal and emotional moment. Those Crimes of Passion was published on August 13th, 2012. I received some fantastic support and feedback, which remains special to me to this day.
Now, seven years later, working on new projects, with two other books already published, it remains a defining moment in my life.
_______
We are all capable of the most unimaginable things. But many of us never find out what they are.
A school is locked in an atmosphere of unease and suspicion, and a young woman is brutally raped by a dangerous assailant. But events are soon to spiral out of control for Jennifer Kraystone and her friend Jonathan Baker. Caught in a web of crime and corruption, they are finding they can truly trust no one, while finally embracing the feelings they have denied themselves for so long.
But as their lives rip apart, can their growing passion protect them through all they must face, or will it ultimately threaten to corrupt their relationship with tragedy?
_______
Read on for a sample below:
Prologue
Dark shadows coiled tightly around the little light eyes could find, as fingers of ice caressed every inch of bare flesh. He’d have sworn it was set to be warmer than this, after the unusually bright and shiny day they’d had. But he supposed it was now winter – at least, that’s what this night marked; the beginning, though it was now an excuse for complete debauchery. But that was the way he liked it. He took a final drag and stamped out the cigarette in the gravel, a quiet wisp of smoke rising from the sodden ground.
As he turned to head back inside, he felt he was being watched. He looked out into the darkness, and something from the not-so-distant past seemed to return to the forefront of his mind, and he smiled to himself. An old friend whispered in his ear. It was as if he was back. It was time again. Nearly time anyhow. He took one last look at the desolate darkness before disappearing back inside.
As he went in, the figure hidden in the bushes moved uncomfortably, before emerging from their prickly cover. The blood coursed to his crotch, the aching, straining pleasure becoming almost too much to bear in his tight trousers. But that only made it all the more interesting. He crept to the window, gingerly looking inside to see his adversary moving across the dance floor. He was desperate to get inside, spying out his prey sat at the bar, bare legs entwined around each other; almost tighter and tighter, like a vice. That’s how it would feel. For both of them.
He shrank quickly back as two people headed for the door, laughing merrily. Their macabre costumes did nothing to deter their obvious attraction. Had they been anyone else they’d have disappeared already tonight, however these two seemed to be afraid of something. It only worked in his favour - he’d always be the first to go there. He shrank back into the bushes as they appeared outside.
“Nat is clearly completely off her face now,” the girl said, standing close to her male companion.
“You know Simeon’s still got the hots for her.”
“And how about you?” she giggled playfully. “Who have you got the hots for?”
“I don’t think I need to answer that.”
“Why not?”
“You know.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Yes you do, you little minx.” She broke down in a fit of giggles, staggering slightly, and he grasped her, their bodies clashing comfortably. Her giggling abruptly stopped, as she looked up at him.
“You know what?” she said, her face getting closer to his.
“What?” He stared at her slightly parted lips, his own moving closer.
“Jen!” The girl in the doorway seemed unaware of what was happening.
“What is it Rox?”
“Just need to talk to you for a bit. Do you mind Jonathan?”
He paused, the look in his eyes saying he minded very much, but he slowly shook his head. The girl in his arms looked at him, the glistening blue crystals apologising as she was yanked away. Jonathan soon followed them back inside.
Having been reluctant to breathe, the figure began to emerge from the bushes, just as his adversary appeared, as if from nowhere.
“What are you doing here?”
“Nothing,” came the hoarse reply.
“You know I thought it was you when I was having a fag earlier.” He neared him, a hint of menace in his posture. “You won’t do it you know. You never could. You lack my assertiveness, my charm, my…magnetism.”
He simply turned from him and disappeared into the night. Give it time, then he’d show him. Rage burned in his heart, and he thought of those unassuming, pretty little things he’d watched through the window. With all their short dresses and prim little bodies bursting out in a carnal delight. One day they would feel his wrath. And still he felt the moaning ache in his trousers.
Still stood by the open door, his adversary lit another cigarette, quickly puffing on it before stamping it out. Droplets of rain fell on him, and he felt a chill wind on the open neck of his shirt. Retreating inside, he bumped into an attractive brunette and grinned to himself.
“Natasha,” he whispered. “You alright?”
She looked up at him, her eyes huge and drugged. She murmured something and stumbled forward, her head resting on his chest, and she laughed quietly. He tilted her head up towards his, and she moved closer to him. He covered her open mouth fully, his tongue roughly passing her lips, her feeble drunken kiss responding to him automatically. As he withdrew, she still seemed completely unaware, and sank into a nearby chair.
He walked off toward the toilets, catching the eye of the blond stood by the door. He glanced around the room and saw Jennifer at a table; drink in her hand. She tilted her head and took a long sip. It wouldn’t be long now. He entered a cubicle and undid his trousers, closing the cubicle door. He looked down at the girl on her knees, pushing her head toward him as he leant back against the cubicle partition.
“What a night,” he muttered, as she pulled back from him, her wide eyes looking up at him, her mouth wet. He zipped himself up and opened the cubicle door, dragging her to her feet before returning to the dance floor, the heavy sound of disco filling his eardrums. Glancing around, he saw his prey leaving the group of girls she was dancing with and disappear to find a seat. He found her and sat down beside her.
“Fancy a dance Jen?”
She shook her head, suddenly feeling quite dizzy. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed uncomfortably, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She began to stand up, not quite sure of where she wanted to go - before she was suddenly on the ground, aware of people gathering around her, someone calling her name. The lights danced in front of her glazing eyes, the music pounding inside her head. She could feel herself slipping away, disappearing in a haze of blackness.
_______
Continue reading with:
Amazon Kindle
Apple Books
Rakuten Kobo
Barnes & Noble NOOK
Also available in multiple formats on Amazon and Lulu.com.
A labour of love, it was written over a decade ago, in between studying for my GSCE’s and A Levels. I was becoming rapidly disillusioned with school and the education system in general. I wanted to write, to be creative, to immerse myself in subjects that interested me. Looking back over my final two years in school, I can only remember enjoying Religion & Philosophy, some History topics and the single creative writing project in English. I would often be seen taking walks around the school grounds by my Biology teacher; he would berate me for not studying the subject, but my mind was elsewhere. I was with Jennifer and Jonathan, coming up against organised crime, police corruption, sadistic predators and trials of the heart.
When I left school, I approached a few publishing agents, receiving rejections and a handwritten response advising one agency had recently been wound down. I saw RJ Ellory speak at my local library – hearing the number of submissions he made before obtaining a publishing deal was staggering. It was something I couldn’t support at the time, while I struggled in other ways. I was no longer writing.
Through voluntary work and starting work at a training company, I began to talk about my passion again and the novel I had completed. I was introduced to self-publishing through a colleague who published her self-help book and I wondered if I could do the same with fiction. I returned to the Crimes of Passion draft and began editing. A recent acquisition by the company I worked for brought with it graphics design tools, while I worked with an artistic friend on the cover design. I began formatting, crafting the synopsis, rediscovering my dream. I’d still collected ideas in the intervening years and was beginning work on new projects again.
I became obsessive about editing and proof-reading the retitled Those Crimes of Passion manuscript. Overcoming the anxiety and feelings of inadequacy to finally publish was difficult, but I pushed through it. I remember when I received the first copy of my first book in the post – a truly surreal and emotional moment. Those Crimes of Passion was published on August 13th, 2012. I received some fantastic support and feedback, which remains special to me to this day.
Now, seven years later, working on new projects, with two other books already published, it remains a defining moment in my life.
_______
We are all capable of the most unimaginable things. But many of us never find out what they are.
A school is locked in an atmosphere of unease and suspicion, and a young woman is brutally raped by a dangerous assailant. But events are soon to spiral out of control for Jennifer Kraystone and her friend Jonathan Baker. Caught in a web of crime and corruption, they are finding they can truly trust no one, while finally embracing the feelings they have denied themselves for so long.
But as their lives rip apart, can their growing passion protect them through all they must face, or will it ultimately threaten to corrupt their relationship with tragedy?
_______
Read on for a sample below:
Prologue
Dark shadows coiled tightly around the little light eyes could find, as fingers of ice caressed every inch of bare flesh. He’d have sworn it was set to be warmer than this, after the unusually bright and shiny day they’d had. But he supposed it was now winter – at least, that’s what this night marked; the beginning, though it was now an excuse for complete debauchery. But that was the way he liked it. He took a final drag and stamped out the cigarette in the gravel, a quiet wisp of smoke rising from the sodden ground.
As he turned to head back inside, he felt he was being watched. He looked out into the darkness, and something from the not-so-distant past seemed to return to the forefront of his mind, and he smiled to himself. An old friend whispered in his ear. It was as if he was back. It was time again. Nearly time anyhow. He took one last look at the desolate darkness before disappearing back inside.
As he went in, the figure hidden in the bushes moved uncomfortably, before emerging from their prickly cover. The blood coursed to his crotch, the aching, straining pleasure becoming almost too much to bear in his tight trousers. But that only made it all the more interesting. He crept to the window, gingerly looking inside to see his adversary moving across the dance floor. He was desperate to get inside, spying out his prey sat at the bar, bare legs entwined around each other; almost tighter and tighter, like a vice. That’s how it would feel. For both of them.
He shrank quickly back as two people headed for the door, laughing merrily. Their macabre costumes did nothing to deter their obvious attraction. Had they been anyone else they’d have disappeared already tonight, however these two seemed to be afraid of something. It only worked in his favour - he’d always be the first to go there. He shrank back into the bushes as they appeared outside.
“Nat is clearly completely off her face now,” the girl said, standing close to her male companion.
“You know Simeon’s still got the hots for her.”
“And how about you?” she giggled playfully. “Who have you got the hots for?”
“I don’t think I need to answer that.”
“Why not?”
“You know.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Yes you do, you little minx.” She broke down in a fit of giggles, staggering slightly, and he grasped her, their bodies clashing comfortably. Her giggling abruptly stopped, as she looked up at him.
“You know what?” she said, her face getting closer to his.
“What?” He stared at her slightly parted lips, his own moving closer.
“Jen!” The girl in the doorway seemed unaware of what was happening.
“What is it Rox?”
“Just need to talk to you for a bit. Do you mind Jonathan?”
He paused, the look in his eyes saying he minded very much, but he slowly shook his head. The girl in his arms looked at him, the glistening blue crystals apologising as she was yanked away. Jonathan soon followed them back inside.
Having been reluctant to breathe, the figure began to emerge from the bushes, just as his adversary appeared, as if from nowhere.
“What are you doing here?”
“Nothing,” came the hoarse reply.
“You know I thought it was you when I was having a fag earlier.” He neared him, a hint of menace in his posture. “You won’t do it you know. You never could. You lack my assertiveness, my charm, my…magnetism.”
He simply turned from him and disappeared into the night. Give it time, then he’d show him. Rage burned in his heart, and he thought of those unassuming, pretty little things he’d watched through the window. With all their short dresses and prim little bodies bursting out in a carnal delight. One day they would feel his wrath. And still he felt the moaning ache in his trousers.
Still stood by the open door, his adversary lit another cigarette, quickly puffing on it before stamping it out. Droplets of rain fell on him, and he felt a chill wind on the open neck of his shirt. Retreating inside, he bumped into an attractive brunette and grinned to himself.
“Natasha,” he whispered. “You alright?”
She looked up at him, her eyes huge and drugged. She murmured something and stumbled forward, her head resting on his chest, and she laughed quietly. He tilted her head up towards his, and she moved closer to him. He covered her open mouth fully, his tongue roughly passing her lips, her feeble drunken kiss responding to him automatically. As he withdrew, she still seemed completely unaware, and sank into a nearby chair.
He walked off toward the toilets, catching the eye of the blond stood by the door. He glanced around the room and saw Jennifer at a table; drink in her hand. She tilted her head and took a long sip. It wouldn’t be long now. He entered a cubicle and undid his trousers, closing the cubicle door. He looked down at the girl on her knees, pushing her head toward him as he leant back against the cubicle partition.
“What a night,” he muttered, as she pulled back from him, her wide eyes looking up at him, her mouth wet. He zipped himself up and opened the cubicle door, dragging her to her feet before returning to the dance floor, the heavy sound of disco filling his eardrums. Glancing around, he saw his prey leaving the group of girls she was dancing with and disappear to find a seat. He found her and sat down beside her.
“Fancy a dance Jen?”
She shook her head, suddenly feeling quite dizzy. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed uncomfortably, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She began to stand up, not quite sure of where she wanted to go - before she was suddenly on the ground, aware of people gathering around her, someone calling her name. The lights danced in front of her glazing eyes, the music pounding inside her head. She could feel herself slipping away, disappearing in a haze of blackness.
_______
Continue reading with:
Amazon Kindle
Apple Books
Rakuten Kobo
Barnes & Noble NOOK
Also available in multiple formats on Amazon and Lulu.com.
Coming soon... A Deathly Shade of Pale
This Hallowe'en, my brand new short story, A Deathly Shade of Pale, will be available to download.
___
A journey through fog and darkness, destination unknown…
Waking on a boat in a sea of mist and water, with no memory of how I got here, I find myself pursued by fragments of dreams and memories.
A beautiful woman haunts me, while whomever ferries the boat remains silent.
As I find my way to land, the mystery threatens to unravel in a devastating revelation.
___
This will be the first story from my upcoming collection, Whispers from the Dead of Night, and will be available to download on Amazon and Lulu on October 31st, with more retailers to follow during November.
Watch out for a preview coming soon...
Pre-order now on Amazon
Visit me on Facebook
Follow me on Twitter
___
A journey through fog and darkness, destination unknown…
Waking on a boat in a sea of mist and water, with no memory of how I got here, I find myself pursued by fragments of dreams and memories.
A beautiful woman haunts me, while whomever ferries the boat remains silent.
As I find my way to land, the mystery threatens to unravel in a devastating revelation.
___
This will be the first story from my upcoming collection, Whispers from the Dead of Night, and will be available to download on Amazon and Lulu on October 31st, with more retailers to follow during November.
Watch out for a preview coming soon...
Pre-order now on Amazon
Visit me on Facebook
Follow me on Twitter
A Deathly Shade of Pale - Preview
I am amongst the lost ones now. Disjointed, fragmented, like I am only pieces of myself, an unknown quantity no longer wholly me, ground to dust and dispersed like slivers of shattered glass, carried as the breeze carries grains across dunes of sand, far and wide and without their own defined and fixed space, without their own identity. Is it possible that in those pieces are parts of me now irretrievable, like an emotion no longer felt, a memory without recollection, a lesson unlearned? Has the whole of me – my body, my mind, my soul – become so unrecognisable that I am no longer myself; that whatever I feel that I am, is simply not, and I am only a single fragment, drifting in desolation and bewilderment, like that single grain of sand, until it snuffs out like dispelled smoke, as all other fragments have been or will soon follow?
Consciousness thuds into my brain, hammering at my skull with relentless malice, daring the fog clouding my mind to clear, to burn my retinas with the truth of clarity. In this fog floats the remaining pieces of me, in a cloud of dislocation. The pain sears through my head, ringing down my ear canals, breath catching in my throat as if taken for the first time. Light-headedness is like a hot, clammy hand clasping my brain, sucking me down into a vacuum.
Vision blurred; I am aware only of the cold. My fingertips feel enclosed in icicles, breeze ruffling the hairs on my hands with a coating of moisture. I startle, rising quickly, and realise how stiff my body has become, collapsing back and hitting solid ground – yet feel it sway beneath me. A wave of disorientation, like the cloud has formed a fist with which to break me down; I raise my arms to protect my face from the blows. But they do not come. My breathing sounds shallow to my ears, alien and not from my own body, part of the tapestry of the looming threat that does not manifest, but simply hovers, its shadow a constant and lingering spectre.
I drop my arms, hearing the splash as my fingertips collide with the iciness once more. Only now does clarity break a small dawn into my consciousness; I am beside water, my cold hand and arm the victim of its selfish kisses. I pull my hand away, reaching instinctively to wipe away the water on my coat. I stroke the fleece lining, its thick durability, understanding now why only parts of my body feel the chill, others insulated. Fragmented awareness.
My movements have triggered nerve endings to send sluggish messages to my brain, the burning crick in my neck forcing its way through the laziness, demanding to be acknowledged. I am slouched into a corner and my hand moves from my coat to what lies beneath me. It is solid, neither the soft sand nor rough earth I had expected. It is smooth, not the rugged formation of rock. My skin catches, pierced, blood drawn. A splinter. I am on a wooden surface. I force my body upward to relieve the pain, the ground rocking, my hand gripping an edge beyond which is thickening fog. I am on a boat, a small wooden boat in a sea of mist.
I listen to the silence, staring into the blackened water and the thick blanket of grey that hovers above it. I can see no more than a few feet beyond the edge. I watch the impenetrable blackness of the water and wonder at what is lurking just beneath the surface, that if my hand were to break the rippling calm if I would be dragged from where I sit. In the dark, there is no indication of the water’s depth or the dangers it obscures. By night, it is a great slumbering beast that when awakened will erupt with hisses and roars. But for now, its sound is silence, but for the lapping at the sides of the boat, the gentle breathing of sleep.
I cannot remember how I came to be here, what led me to set off from the shore, nor even how far away that may be. I crane my sore neck, only to see more fog thickening in my vision, the black water beyond the stern of the wooden vessel. I climb to my feet carefully, slowly, the boat rocking with my movements. I grip the side as I stand, stooping, praying I will not be tipped over into the murky depths. As I steady myself, I pull my coat tight around me, squinting into the fog. There is nothing to see.
I register movement to my left. From the little I see, it cannot be a large boat on which I find myself, suggesting the movement is at its bow. I hear dragging in the water, subtle under the constant lapping against wood. Again, my eyes detect movement, a flash of ivory dim amongst the fog.
“Hello?” My voice cracks in my throat, the words escaping in a hoarse whisper. I clear my throat soundlessly, now unsure whether I ought to call out again.
Beneath the swell of the water, I hear the ripple of musical notes, incongruous in this cavern of mist and water. It is far away, a glimpse of the land I left behind or a memory I can’t quite reach out and hold, I cannot be sure which. No longer am I stood on the deck; I dance, swirling in circles, no longer in my heavy lined coat, dressed in tails, my partner nestled in my arms, as elegant as she is beautiful. My hand reaches to touch her face, but she is gone, disintegrating into mist, her image now unclear in my mind.
___
A Deathly Shade of Pale will be available from Amazon and Lulu.com on Hallowe'en, with other retailers to follow.
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Consciousness thuds into my brain, hammering at my skull with relentless malice, daring the fog clouding my mind to clear, to burn my retinas with the truth of clarity. In this fog floats the remaining pieces of me, in a cloud of dislocation. The pain sears through my head, ringing down my ear canals, breath catching in my throat as if taken for the first time. Light-headedness is like a hot, clammy hand clasping my brain, sucking me down into a vacuum.
Vision blurred; I am aware only of the cold. My fingertips feel enclosed in icicles, breeze ruffling the hairs on my hands with a coating of moisture. I startle, rising quickly, and realise how stiff my body has become, collapsing back and hitting solid ground – yet feel it sway beneath me. A wave of disorientation, like the cloud has formed a fist with which to break me down; I raise my arms to protect my face from the blows. But they do not come. My breathing sounds shallow to my ears, alien and not from my own body, part of the tapestry of the looming threat that does not manifest, but simply hovers, its shadow a constant and lingering spectre.
I drop my arms, hearing the splash as my fingertips collide with the iciness once more. Only now does clarity break a small dawn into my consciousness; I am beside water, my cold hand and arm the victim of its selfish kisses. I pull my hand away, reaching instinctively to wipe away the water on my coat. I stroke the fleece lining, its thick durability, understanding now why only parts of my body feel the chill, others insulated. Fragmented awareness.
My movements have triggered nerve endings to send sluggish messages to my brain, the burning crick in my neck forcing its way through the laziness, demanding to be acknowledged. I am slouched into a corner and my hand moves from my coat to what lies beneath me. It is solid, neither the soft sand nor rough earth I had expected. It is smooth, not the rugged formation of rock. My skin catches, pierced, blood drawn. A splinter. I am on a wooden surface. I force my body upward to relieve the pain, the ground rocking, my hand gripping an edge beyond which is thickening fog. I am on a boat, a small wooden boat in a sea of mist.
I listen to the silence, staring into the blackened water and the thick blanket of grey that hovers above it. I can see no more than a few feet beyond the edge. I watch the impenetrable blackness of the water and wonder at what is lurking just beneath the surface, that if my hand were to break the rippling calm if I would be dragged from where I sit. In the dark, there is no indication of the water’s depth or the dangers it obscures. By night, it is a great slumbering beast that when awakened will erupt with hisses and roars. But for now, its sound is silence, but for the lapping at the sides of the boat, the gentle breathing of sleep.
I cannot remember how I came to be here, what led me to set off from the shore, nor even how far away that may be. I crane my sore neck, only to see more fog thickening in my vision, the black water beyond the stern of the wooden vessel. I climb to my feet carefully, slowly, the boat rocking with my movements. I grip the side as I stand, stooping, praying I will not be tipped over into the murky depths. As I steady myself, I pull my coat tight around me, squinting into the fog. There is nothing to see.
I register movement to my left. From the little I see, it cannot be a large boat on which I find myself, suggesting the movement is at its bow. I hear dragging in the water, subtle under the constant lapping against wood. Again, my eyes detect movement, a flash of ivory dim amongst the fog.
“Hello?” My voice cracks in my throat, the words escaping in a hoarse whisper. I clear my throat soundlessly, now unsure whether I ought to call out again.
Beneath the swell of the water, I hear the ripple of musical notes, incongruous in this cavern of mist and water. It is far away, a glimpse of the land I left behind or a memory I can’t quite reach out and hold, I cannot be sure which. No longer am I stood on the deck; I dance, swirling in circles, no longer in my heavy lined coat, dressed in tails, my partner nestled in my arms, as elegant as she is beautiful. My hand reaches to touch her face, but she is gone, disintegrating into mist, her image now unclear in my mind.
___
A Deathly Shade of Pale will be available from Amazon and Lulu.com on Hallowe'en, with other retailers to follow.
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Whispers from the Dead of Night
Happy Hallowe'en!
A Deathly Shade of Pale, my brand new short story and the first from my upcoming collection, Whispers from the Dead of Night is available to download now at Lulu.com and Amazon.
The full collection will be available in ebook and paperback in early 2020.
___
Are you sitting comfortably, the fire crackling, a mug of cocoa in hand? Then let us begin…
A journey through fog and darkness, destination unknown…
A sexual obsession spiralling out of control…
A forbidden love…
A killer who preys on the lonely…
An investigation into a haunted monastery…
A visitation on Christmas Eve with diabolical intentions…
A night-time escape through the forest…
Seven tales of mystery and the supernatural for a winter’s evening.
Pre-order on Amazon now!
Look out for the next short story, 'Twas the Night Before Christmas on Friday 13th December.
Visit me on Facebook
Follow me on Twitter
A Deathly Shade of Pale, my brand new short story and the first from my upcoming collection, Whispers from the Dead of Night is available to download now at Lulu.com and Amazon.
The full collection will be available in ebook and paperback in early 2020.
___
Are you sitting comfortably, the fire crackling, a mug of cocoa in hand? Then let us begin…
A journey through fog and darkness, destination unknown…
A sexual obsession spiralling out of control…
A forbidden love…
A killer who preys on the lonely…
An investigation into a haunted monastery…
A visitation on Christmas Eve with diabolical intentions…
A night-time escape through the forest…
Seven tales of mystery and the supernatural for a winter’s evening.
Pre-order on Amazon now!
Look out for the next short story, 'Twas the Night Before Christmas on Friday 13th December.
Visit me on Facebook
Follow me on Twitter
Coming soon... 'Twas the Night Before Christmas
’Twas the Night Before Christmas will be available to download on Friday, 13th December.
---
A visitation on Christmas Eve with diabolical intentions…
Ellie and her family are preparing for their annual festivities, while the weather begins to deteriorate and threatens to cut them off from the outside world.
A man arrives out of the snowstorm, stranded and in need of their help, so they invite him to join them for the evening.
But as the snow continues to fall, Ellie discovers that behind a façade of innocence may hide the face of evil.
---
This will be the second story from my upcoming collection, Whispers from the Dead of Night, following the release of A Deathly Shade of Pale on Hallowe’en.
’Twas the Night Before Christmas can be pre-ordered from Amazon for just 99p and will be available from Lulu.com on Friday the 13th, with other retailers to follow.
A Deathly Shade of Pale can be downloaded FREE from Lulu.com.
You can also pre-order Whispers from the Dead of Night for download from Amazon.
Visit me on Facebook
Follow me on Twitter
---
A visitation on Christmas Eve with diabolical intentions…
Ellie and her family are preparing for their annual festivities, while the weather begins to deteriorate and threatens to cut them off from the outside world.
A man arrives out of the snowstorm, stranded and in need of their help, so they invite him to join them for the evening.
But as the snow continues to fall, Ellie discovers that behind a façade of innocence may hide the face of evil.
---
This will be the second story from my upcoming collection, Whispers from the Dead of Night, following the release of A Deathly Shade of Pale on Hallowe’en.
’Twas the Night Before Christmas can be pre-ordered from Amazon for just 99p and will be available from Lulu.com on Friday the 13th, with other retailers to follow.
A Deathly Shade of Pale can be downloaded FREE from Lulu.com.
You can also pre-order Whispers from the Dead of Night for download from Amazon.
Visit me on Facebook
Follow me on Twitter
'Twas the Night Before Christmas - Preview
She would always remember the first night he visited, on a cold and treacherous Christmas Eve so many years before. Not unlike this one, with the wind howling down the chimney and a young child awaiting the arrival of St. Nicholas. Through the thin glass, she watched the cobbled street, awaiting the purr of the engine and crunch of tyres, fearful of a faraway tread of hooves and wheels bouncing from the cracks.
Her fingertips touched the cold pane, as the first snowfall of winter began; flakes gently floating against the glass, vanishing as if at the touch of her fingers. That day had seen the first snowfall of winter too, while she had been walking the fields with her younger brother, her father having gone down into the village to stock up on provisions. She had raised her arms to the sky, thanking the Lord that it was to be a white Christmas.
Laughing, she and her brother had run back to the house, where they found their mother assisting Mrs Gibbon, the cook and housekeeper, with the preparations for this evening’s dinner and tomorrow’s celebratory luncheon. It was a tradition for their mother to help in the kitchen each Christmas; so as never to forget her roots, she said.
“Would you like any help, Mother?”
“No, thank you, Ellie. You just keep your brother occupied until your father gets home and we can prepare for this evening.”
Which she dutifully did. Holidays, Christmas in particular, while they were children had been filled with games and laughter, the sheer joy that only children can feel. Reminiscing, then, had always overflowed with a warm glow, not tinged with the cold edge of sadness and the bitterness of regret. Childhood should be as sweet as candy cane and she was glad of it, but only wished she could see it otherwise than as through the glass of a snow globe.
She remembered the many Christmases spent baking in the kitchen with Mrs Gibbon, singing carols along to the wireless with her brother, taking long walks in the countryside in the brisk air with her father. She could shake all of these images and watch the snow fall around them the way the icing sugar used to fall through a sieve to top a Victoria sponge, each one like a scene from the handmade Christmas cards which her mother would send to cousins and aunts and uncles whom she had never met. The mirage of a perfect Christmas.
They spent the afternoon in the sitting room, listening to the wireless, watching out of the window as the snow fell thicker, listening to the carols. A radio play aired, a tale of goblins who hijacked St. Nicholas’ grotto and forced the elves to make monstrous toys to be delivered to the world’s children on Christmas Eve and trap them all in a time loop, so that Christmas morning would never again dawn. Darkness fell slowly from mid-afternoon, the white haze growing thicker. The snow was sticking and getting deeper before they finally heard the clattering of the front door.
A flurry of snow preceded their father into the hallway.
“Maud and her brood assured me they were leaving promptly as I left. She said we shouldn’t wait for her to serve dinner.”
“Hugo, that simply won’t do. They are our guests; I should not be seen to be ungracious enough to sit down to dinner prior to their arriving.”
“Very well, Carolyn, we shall await their arrival.”
Ellie listened to this exchange as she watched the snow begin to pile in the driveway. Her aunt Maud, Maud’s husband Gregory, and her cousins, Jack and John, would likely struggle to reach them. It would be a shame. They visited every Christmas. The boys, aged nine and ten, were like brothers to Eustace, her own nine-year-old brother. When it snowed, she and her father would help the three boys build a snowman while her mother assisted Mrs Gibbon in preparing the luncheon.
“Eleanor, perhaps you and your brother should help your mother prepare the dining room and then get yourselves ready for dinner.”
“Yes, Father.” She switched off the wireless and beckoned to her brother.
After laying the table for eight, Ellie filled herself a bath, enjoying the hot water enveloping her body whilst listening to the wind howling outside, rattling the window pane, whipping the snow into a blizzard.
Washing and drying herself, she pulled her clothes tight around her to block out the chill, filling the bath again and calling out to her brother that his bath was ready as she passed his bedroom on the landing. She sat on her bed and watched the snow for a while, the trees shrouded in white, branches reaching out like claws in the darkened evening.
She changed into her eveningwear, her garments finished with a winter gown featuring a fitted corset and dresses flowing to the floor. Her brother knocked on the door, asking her to secure his bow tie for him, a skill he’d not yet mastered.
They returned to the sitting room, where they found their parents also dressed in preparation for dinner. They settled to await the rest of the family’s arrival, listening to the wireless forecast the most severe snowfall in several years, recommending they do not venture out of their homes unless in the most necessary circumstances.
‘In other news, authorities are seeking a man who absconded from prison earlier today. Edward Hitchfield, 42, who was convicted of two murders in March this year, escaped prison officials early this morning after being admitted to hospital following a minor injury. He has been described as medium-build, bearded, with dark hair but balding, last seen wearing prison-issue garments. Police have advised the public to be vigilant. They suspect he will have made changes to his appearance and urge the public to report any suspicions they may have.
‘Elsewhere…’
“My sympathies are with anyone who is without shelter in this weather, whomever they be,” Carolyn commented.
“This fellow won’t get far in this weather,” Hugo added. Ellie wondered fleetingly if it was truly their minds he was attempting to put at ease. “They’ll have caught him in no time at all.”
“Assuming he doesn’t freeze to death,” Ellie added aloud, looking out into the ever-falling snow. It sounded more savage to the ears than she intended. Neither of her parents commented.
They were silent as the news programme was succeeded by carols, the lyrics of God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman swelling to fill the room. They all gazed thoughtfully through the window into the ghostly glow of the dark night. No one broke the silence. Satan’s power seemed particularly potent at that moment, with a man led astray somewhere out there in the wilderness, cloven hooves treading in his shadow.
A loud knock roused them from their rumination.
___
'Twas the Night Before Christmas will be available from Amazon and Lulu.com on Friday the 13th, with other retailers to follow.
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Her fingertips touched the cold pane, as the first snowfall of winter began; flakes gently floating against the glass, vanishing as if at the touch of her fingers. That day had seen the first snowfall of winter too, while she had been walking the fields with her younger brother, her father having gone down into the village to stock up on provisions. She had raised her arms to the sky, thanking the Lord that it was to be a white Christmas.
Laughing, she and her brother had run back to the house, where they found their mother assisting Mrs Gibbon, the cook and housekeeper, with the preparations for this evening’s dinner and tomorrow’s celebratory luncheon. It was a tradition for their mother to help in the kitchen each Christmas; so as never to forget her roots, she said.
“Would you like any help, Mother?”
“No, thank you, Ellie. You just keep your brother occupied until your father gets home and we can prepare for this evening.”
Which she dutifully did. Holidays, Christmas in particular, while they were children had been filled with games and laughter, the sheer joy that only children can feel. Reminiscing, then, had always overflowed with a warm glow, not tinged with the cold edge of sadness and the bitterness of regret. Childhood should be as sweet as candy cane and she was glad of it, but only wished she could see it otherwise than as through the glass of a snow globe.
She remembered the many Christmases spent baking in the kitchen with Mrs Gibbon, singing carols along to the wireless with her brother, taking long walks in the countryside in the brisk air with her father. She could shake all of these images and watch the snow fall around them the way the icing sugar used to fall through a sieve to top a Victoria sponge, each one like a scene from the handmade Christmas cards which her mother would send to cousins and aunts and uncles whom she had never met. The mirage of a perfect Christmas.
They spent the afternoon in the sitting room, listening to the wireless, watching out of the window as the snow fell thicker, listening to the carols. A radio play aired, a tale of goblins who hijacked St. Nicholas’ grotto and forced the elves to make monstrous toys to be delivered to the world’s children on Christmas Eve and trap them all in a time loop, so that Christmas morning would never again dawn. Darkness fell slowly from mid-afternoon, the white haze growing thicker. The snow was sticking and getting deeper before they finally heard the clattering of the front door.
A flurry of snow preceded their father into the hallway.
“Maud and her brood assured me they were leaving promptly as I left. She said we shouldn’t wait for her to serve dinner.”
“Hugo, that simply won’t do. They are our guests; I should not be seen to be ungracious enough to sit down to dinner prior to their arriving.”
“Very well, Carolyn, we shall await their arrival.”
Ellie listened to this exchange as she watched the snow begin to pile in the driveway. Her aunt Maud, Maud’s husband Gregory, and her cousins, Jack and John, would likely struggle to reach them. It would be a shame. They visited every Christmas. The boys, aged nine and ten, were like brothers to Eustace, her own nine-year-old brother. When it snowed, she and her father would help the three boys build a snowman while her mother assisted Mrs Gibbon in preparing the luncheon.
“Eleanor, perhaps you and your brother should help your mother prepare the dining room and then get yourselves ready for dinner.”
“Yes, Father.” She switched off the wireless and beckoned to her brother.
After laying the table for eight, Ellie filled herself a bath, enjoying the hot water enveloping her body whilst listening to the wind howling outside, rattling the window pane, whipping the snow into a blizzard.
Washing and drying herself, she pulled her clothes tight around her to block out the chill, filling the bath again and calling out to her brother that his bath was ready as she passed his bedroom on the landing. She sat on her bed and watched the snow for a while, the trees shrouded in white, branches reaching out like claws in the darkened evening.
She changed into her eveningwear, her garments finished with a winter gown featuring a fitted corset and dresses flowing to the floor. Her brother knocked on the door, asking her to secure his bow tie for him, a skill he’d not yet mastered.
They returned to the sitting room, where they found their parents also dressed in preparation for dinner. They settled to await the rest of the family’s arrival, listening to the wireless forecast the most severe snowfall in several years, recommending they do not venture out of their homes unless in the most necessary circumstances.
‘In other news, authorities are seeking a man who absconded from prison earlier today. Edward Hitchfield, 42, who was convicted of two murders in March this year, escaped prison officials early this morning after being admitted to hospital following a minor injury. He has been described as medium-build, bearded, with dark hair but balding, last seen wearing prison-issue garments. Police have advised the public to be vigilant. They suspect he will have made changes to his appearance and urge the public to report any suspicions they may have.
‘Elsewhere…’
“My sympathies are with anyone who is without shelter in this weather, whomever they be,” Carolyn commented.
“This fellow won’t get far in this weather,” Hugo added. Ellie wondered fleetingly if it was truly their minds he was attempting to put at ease. “They’ll have caught him in no time at all.”
“Assuming he doesn’t freeze to death,” Ellie added aloud, looking out into the ever-falling snow. It sounded more savage to the ears than she intended. Neither of her parents commented.
They were silent as the news programme was succeeded by carols, the lyrics of God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman swelling to fill the room. They all gazed thoughtfully through the window into the ghostly glow of the dark night. No one broke the silence. Satan’s power seemed particularly potent at that moment, with a man led astray somewhere out there in the wilderness, cloven hooves treading in his shadow.
A loud knock roused them from their rumination.
___
'Twas the Night Before Christmas will be available from Amazon and Lulu.com on Friday the 13th, with other retailers to follow.
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Bitten - Preview
Here is a preview of the opening scene from my new novel, BITTEN, coming this Valentine's Day:
___
Slivers of moonlight glittered through the slats of the blinds, which clacked together gently, rousing Holleigh from her light slumber. She turned over and rubbed her eyes, screwing them half-closed in an effort to decipher the blur of her bedside clock.
The blinds clacked again, startling her. The window was open, the wind moving the slats back and forth behind the curtains, which were half drawn, billowing slightly outwards. She hugged her goose-pimpled torso under the cotton and rose from the bed, surprised she had managed any sleep at all. She felt nauseous with nerves, anxious at the outcome of the impending operation.
Her mind drifted once again to the argument she’d had with Ethan several days earlier. It had not been pleasant. She had a job to do tonight and he did not react well to it. She recalled the rage in his eyes and his raised voice, his mockery at her faith in what her job stood for and that justice would prevail.
There is no justice, he had told her, only the means-justified end crafted by those powerful enough to pull the strings.
Recalling his expression of hatred for what she represented, the twisting feeling in her gut brought her close to tears. Years of emotional strain, both personal and professional, were to be put to the test tonight. Many, she knew, would be of the opinion she had made it far worse for herself. She had become distracted with Ethan and she should have expected his reaction and his feelings on the subject of what she had done; what she proposed to do. She had the sudden thought that she may not survive it. But the wheels were already in motion.
She reached past the blinds and slammed the window beside the door that opened on to the narrow balcony outside the apartment, hoping to shut out the cold. Love bites on her breasts and thighs glowed purple in the silver light. With the rest of her body gripped in a vice of cold, she still felt the heat in those wounds, while her vulva throbbed with warming sensitivity. She drew the curtains tight and sat back on the edge of the bed. She recalled Ethan’s blazing eyes, the twist of his mouth, the contortion of his face, his scorn and contempt.
Then he had kissed her. She still felt the force of that kiss even now, as his whole body clashed against hers. They made love with an aggression that she still felt jarring, conjuring conflicted thoughts and emotions. There was something raw and vulnerable in the aftermath of a sexual encounter. To have succumbed to animal desire and allowed another to physically experience you so intimately. It was both comforting and unsettling.
She let her body drop back on the bed and closed her eyes. She had simply to wait. She slid her black cotton shirt dress up around her waist, her fingers slipping beneath her black lace hipsters. She could withstand the burgeoning desire no longer, the thoughts of him that invaded her mind, the desperate need for him to invade her body over and over again. Her fingers felt cold as she touched herself, her fingertips circling, stroking. She closed her eyes, chewing her lip.
How many watched her curtained windows from outside? Waiting for movement. Within, she stoked secret desire. Still, days later, she could smell the sex in the room from her and Ethan’s passion. It was almost time now, the reason for Ethan’s wrath. She recalled his dominion over her, overcome now by the effect he had upon her. She let herself cry out, a soft emission piercing the night air. She sighed, allowing a smile to linger on her lips.
She pulled her dress back down her legs, getting up off the bed and walking down the corridor to the bathroom to freshen up and change into fresh underwear. Over the sound of the running tap, she heard something that may have come from outside. She switched off the tap, listening intently.
The tinkling of smashing glass came from the bedroom.
She walked on bare feet to the bathroom door, looking down the corridor to the room at the end. Quietly, she moved into the corridor and approached her bedroom. The moonlight cast a faint shadow on the floor ahead. Her curtains were parted.
Reaching the bedroom door, she peered around the architrave into the room. Seeing nothing, she edged around the doorframe and inside, looking at the shattered window visible between the gap in the curtains.
The moonlight shifted around her. Before she could react, hands gripped her wrists, fingernails that felt like claws digging into her skin. She cried out and was spun around, a long finger tilting her chin upwards. His eyes were beautiful, shining a deep crimson from the midst of the silver flooding the room. She gazed at them, breath catching in her throat.
He kissed her mouth slowly. She tasted metal. He stooped and touched her neck with his lips. She felt her orgasm rising again, feeling a sharpness piercing her skin, groaning as the man drew on the fresh wounds.
A crash invaded her senses, accompanied by shouting and activity spilling into the corridor. He was pulled away from her and she became aware of his snarling and hissing words, but could not decipher their meaning.
A hand reached out to steady her. Looking up, she saw her superior, Detective Superintendent O’Neill, beside her.
“You’re okay, PC Ryder, it’s over. We’ve got him. We finally got him.”
___
BITTEN, an erotic horror thriller.
A tale of murder, fear and desire…
A serial murder investigation draws near its conclusion. For seven years the killer has evaded capture, but the police finally have their prime suspect in custody – a man who claims to be a vampire over three hundred years old.
PC Holleigh Ryder is tasked with the most unsettling and challenging assignment of her career. All she wants is to get to the truth and achieve justice for the murdered women, but this has been no ordinary case and it is far from over.
The vampire has his own endgame in mind, one that may leave the police praying they had left the damned undisturbed in their graves.
Available to pre-order on Amazon.
Coming soon to Lulu.com, Apple Books, NOOK and Kobo.
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___
Slivers of moonlight glittered through the slats of the blinds, which clacked together gently, rousing Holleigh from her light slumber. She turned over and rubbed her eyes, screwing them half-closed in an effort to decipher the blur of her bedside clock.
The blinds clacked again, startling her. The window was open, the wind moving the slats back and forth behind the curtains, which were half drawn, billowing slightly outwards. She hugged her goose-pimpled torso under the cotton and rose from the bed, surprised she had managed any sleep at all. She felt nauseous with nerves, anxious at the outcome of the impending operation.
Her mind drifted once again to the argument she’d had with Ethan several days earlier. It had not been pleasant. She had a job to do tonight and he did not react well to it. She recalled the rage in his eyes and his raised voice, his mockery at her faith in what her job stood for and that justice would prevail.
There is no justice, he had told her, only the means-justified end crafted by those powerful enough to pull the strings.
Recalling his expression of hatred for what she represented, the twisting feeling in her gut brought her close to tears. Years of emotional strain, both personal and professional, were to be put to the test tonight. Many, she knew, would be of the opinion she had made it far worse for herself. She had become distracted with Ethan and she should have expected his reaction and his feelings on the subject of what she had done; what she proposed to do. She had the sudden thought that she may not survive it. But the wheels were already in motion.
She reached past the blinds and slammed the window beside the door that opened on to the narrow balcony outside the apartment, hoping to shut out the cold. Love bites on her breasts and thighs glowed purple in the silver light. With the rest of her body gripped in a vice of cold, she still felt the heat in those wounds, while her vulva throbbed with warming sensitivity. She drew the curtains tight and sat back on the edge of the bed. She recalled Ethan’s blazing eyes, the twist of his mouth, the contortion of his face, his scorn and contempt.
Then he had kissed her. She still felt the force of that kiss even now, as his whole body clashed against hers. They made love with an aggression that she still felt jarring, conjuring conflicted thoughts and emotions. There was something raw and vulnerable in the aftermath of a sexual encounter. To have succumbed to animal desire and allowed another to physically experience you so intimately. It was both comforting and unsettling.
She let her body drop back on the bed and closed her eyes. She had simply to wait. She slid her black cotton shirt dress up around her waist, her fingers slipping beneath her black lace hipsters. She could withstand the burgeoning desire no longer, the thoughts of him that invaded her mind, the desperate need for him to invade her body over and over again. Her fingers felt cold as she touched herself, her fingertips circling, stroking. She closed her eyes, chewing her lip.
How many watched her curtained windows from outside? Waiting for movement. Within, she stoked secret desire. Still, days later, she could smell the sex in the room from her and Ethan’s passion. It was almost time now, the reason for Ethan’s wrath. She recalled his dominion over her, overcome now by the effect he had upon her. She let herself cry out, a soft emission piercing the night air. She sighed, allowing a smile to linger on her lips.
She pulled her dress back down her legs, getting up off the bed and walking down the corridor to the bathroom to freshen up and change into fresh underwear. Over the sound of the running tap, she heard something that may have come from outside. She switched off the tap, listening intently.
The tinkling of smashing glass came from the bedroom.
She walked on bare feet to the bathroom door, looking down the corridor to the room at the end. Quietly, she moved into the corridor and approached her bedroom. The moonlight cast a faint shadow on the floor ahead. Her curtains were parted.
Reaching the bedroom door, she peered around the architrave into the room. Seeing nothing, she edged around the doorframe and inside, looking at the shattered window visible between the gap in the curtains.
The moonlight shifted around her. Before she could react, hands gripped her wrists, fingernails that felt like claws digging into her skin. She cried out and was spun around, a long finger tilting her chin upwards. His eyes were beautiful, shining a deep crimson from the midst of the silver flooding the room. She gazed at them, breath catching in her throat.
He kissed her mouth slowly. She tasted metal. He stooped and touched her neck with his lips. She felt her orgasm rising again, feeling a sharpness piercing her skin, groaning as the man drew on the fresh wounds.
A crash invaded her senses, accompanied by shouting and activity spilling into the corridor. He was pulled away from her and she became aware of his snarling and hissing words, but could not decipher their meaning.
A hand reached out to steady her. Looking up, she saw her superior, Detective Superintendent O’Neill, beside her.
“You’re okay, PC Ryder, it’s over. We’ve got him. We finally got him.”
___
BITTEN, an erotic horror thriller.
A tale of murder, fear and desire…
A serial murder investigation draws near its conclusion. For seven years the killer has evaded capture, but the police finally have their prime suspect in custody – a man who claims to be a vampire over three hundred years old.
PC Holleigh Ryder is tasked with the most unsettling and challenging assignment of her career. All she wants is to get to the truth and achieve justice for the murdered women, but this has been no ordinary case and it is far from over.
The vampire has his own endgame in mind, one that may leave the police praying they had left the damned undisturbed in their graves.
Available to pre-order on Amazon.
Coming soon to Lulu.com, Apple Books, NOOK and Kobo.
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