M.K. Aston's Blog, page 2

Free Downloads this Bank Holiday Weekend!

[image error]For a limited time, Woeful and Roses and Once Upon a Somewhere are free to download from the Amazon Kindle store. Get your copies today!

Life Imitating Fiction

Amazing! The following news article echoes Roald Dahl’s story ‘Skin’. For the most part.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-38601603

A touch of the macabre!

I’m currently reading this bumper collection of short stories by a master of the genre. There really was a dark side to this man’s imagination. And it’s wonderful!

Kindle Unlimited Subscribers Offer!

If you’re a kindle unlimited subscriber, you can now download ‘Once Upon a Somewhere’ from the Kindle store and enjoy these short stories for free! Click here to go there

Hurry though. This offer is for a limited time only!

A Christmas Chiller! Part 3

The final part of Westward Woe!

 

We reached Andover well before midnight despite the clouds continuing their silent blanketing of the countryside. The snow was already close to six inches deep. As we drew into the courtyard of the Turnpike Inn, a London-bound mail coach was pulling out, its fresh team of horses chomping fervently on their bits and their barrel-like lungs snorting great plumes of steam into the night’s frozen air. Once they had gone, there was no one else abroad and on such a bleak night, it was little wonder.

Inside the inn, it was gloomy and it smelled of chops and tobacco smoke but mercifully, it was warm. For me though, the greater relief came from being around people again, some chatting confidentially over a hot meal in a corner, others slugging beer and slapping backs at the large tables arranged across the floor. I therefore tried to put my worries out of mind as I procured, with some difficulty as it happened, a room for myself and another for Alice. It seemed that the proprietor, a stout woman with a cheerful, but to my mind course, manner was quite content to allow Alice and I to share a single room. However, an additional opening of my purse persuaded her to my bidding.

Alice did not require sustenance before retiring although she agreed to sit with me while I sampled the questionable fare. We sat in one of the unoccupied side booths and I ordered myself supper. Fatigue kept our conversation to a minimum whilst I picked and pulled at a rather stringy pork chop, and soon after, as I rounded things off with a smoke and a large port, the dreadful smell of rotting flesh returned to rattle my nerves. Once again, Alice was unaware of any such odour and suggested that I would benefit more from sleep than alcohol. To this I concurred and so after agreeing to brave the house breakfast in the morning, we retired upstairs. Apart from Alice’s carpetbag, which contained gifts from London for our parents and which she insisted I carry for her, our luggage remained outside on the carriage.

Our rooms for the night were at the end of a dimly lit landing and we passed eight other doors before creaking open ours. Alice’s bed was through another door, which lead into a little annex. Neither room was particularly clean or inviting however the bed linen was cold and crisp and I knew that in her state of exhaustion, it wouldn’t be long before Alice was asleep. We said our goodnights and I closed the annex door, still uncomfortably aware of that awful lingering smell.

It was a long time before sleep took me that night, the sound of drunken carolling downstairs making me wish I could render myself temporarily deaf. Even when I did drift off, I slept poorly as nightmares prevented any peace reaching me. My mind remained beset with dread, my sheets were soon soaked with terror and several times I felt convinced that Alice had cried out for me but when I tried to rouse myself to check on her, my body refused to respond.

Morning broke with blissful relief and the knowledge that we would soon be safely home. My head ached terribly and my body was stiff from the chill that had been attracted to my sweating skin. I washed my face in the icy water from the jug on the dresser and put on my clothes. I looked outside across the roofs of the stables towards a distant church spire, thanking God that the snow had stopped falling. But with the sky looking pregnant still, I hoped the driver was ready to be under way as soon as we had breakfasted.

No sound from Alice’s side of the annex door prompted me to give it a few stout knocks but when no response followed, I assumed that she had overslept. Creaking open the door, I stepped into the gloomy annex to rouse her.

For a moment I could not comprehend where I was and I took a few paces back to confirm that I had not opened the wrong door. However, the one leading out onto the passage aside, there were no others that I could have opened. Where last night the annex had been home to a second albeit smaller chamber, complete with bedstead and dressing table, now it appeared to be nothing more than a small cupboard, it’s only features, a row of hooks to hang garments and a chamber pot on the floor in the right hand corner. I stood dumbfounded, assuming that I was caught up in some dreadful nightmare again. But then yesterday’s strange occurrence came back to me and I suddenly found myself running wildly out of my bedchamber calling Alice’s name at the top of my voice, hammering on the doors along the landing like a lunatic. Logic told me that I was simply mistaken, that somehow my tiredness had affected my mind and that Alice was busy readying herself in her own room behind one of the other doors. Unfortunately for Alice, the awful truth was, whatever thing we had encountered in the carriage the night before was telling me that this was beyond logic.

A short time later, my hysteria having been contained by several strong pairs of arms, it was explained to me that, contrary to my version of events, I had not arrived with a young woman; I had arrived by myself, sat in a booth by myself and eaten supper by myself. Yes, my occasional mumblings had raised eyebrows but it was not usual to see lonely travellers talking to themselves. I couldn’t even have my story corroborated by the coach driver or his gargoyle of a guard because no such persons had been seen arriving with me; in fact it had been assumed that I had arrived on foot – again somewhat odd but hardly mysterious. The only coach in or out of the Turnpike Inn last night had been the mail coach at around ten o’clock.

In the days that followed, there were those who accused me of murdering my sister or of accidentally killing her and throwing her body into a river. Our relations in Piccadilly confirmed that a carriage had called for us quite unexpectedly and that we had left in it however the carriage was never traced, not in London nor Andover. I’m quite certain the only thing that kept me from imprisonment was the total lack of evidence.

My father, who never spoke kindly to me again, instigated a search that lasted several years in an attempt to discover what had become of Alice, employing several agents in the process, but as I tried to explain to him, nobody would find anything because there was nothing to find. She no longer existed – something or someone beyond our comprehension had taken her.

My belief that some strange phantom smelling of the grave had travelled with us that night and taken her was ignored and the more passionately I told it, the more sorrowful became the glances. I could not explain, even to myself, how it was that my mind and my reality had been influenced so extraordinarily on that dreadful night; how it was that together, Alice and I had disembarked from the carriage at the Turnpike Inn, how we had sat together while I ate supper and how I had seen her into a room that did not exist. Of course, it was not long before I was recommended for special care and with that, we come to where you find me today.

*

I left the poor fellow shortly after that as he became morose and distant and although he told his story with the fluency of one who had rehearsed it a hundred times, like an actor learning a soliloquy, not once did he mention the possibility that something else could be responsible for his sister’s disappearance. He truly believed what he had told me and I have to admit – even as a scholar who operates in a world of physical and mathematical truths – having heard first hand the strange events and seen the torment in the old man’s face, I feel I must believe him.

Of course, by doing so, I have opened up a whole new world for myself.

 

END

If you read this far, then I thank you and hope you enjoyed it. Have a very happy Christmas!

 

Westward Woe! Copyright 2015 All rights reserved

A Christmas Chiller! Part 2

The continuation of Westward Woe!

 

The capital soon gave way to Surrey where the landscape opened out and became a bleak, snow-dusted tapestry of hillsides and woodland. By the time we rattled over Richmond Bridge, I was rigid with cold and somewhat envious of Alice who had fallen soundly asleep beside me. For her at least, the time would not appear to drag. After Richmond, where the road frequently crossed the meandering River Thames, my eyelids grew heavy and in spite of my resolve to stay awake and watchful, it wasn’t long after passing through the Twyford tollgate, that I too was lulled into sleep by the gentle rocking of the carriage.

I was jolted out of a troubled slumber some time later when we struck a pothole in the road. Outside, the driver cursed and then resumed his quiet murmurings to the guard. I remembered having dreamt of something and yet, as is often the case, I couldn’t recall what but whatever it was had left me feeling curiously uneasy and as I stretched out my stiffening limbs, a peculiar sense that something was going to befall us came over me.

Darkness was settling across the countryside but I could see that the weather had worsened by the snowflakes that flew silently past the yellow glow of the lantern just outside the door. I prayed that if it had to snow heavily then it would at least hold off until we were safely home. For a few minutes I busied myself trying to recollect the dream that had filled me with such apprehension until all of a sudden a dreadful odour of decayed flesh filled the carriage, so thick and overpowering that it stuck in my throat and caused me to choke. I covered my face with a glove but the vile smell soon became a taste that I couldn’t avoid swallowing. I assumed we had just passed some recently expired beast that had gone unburied and it was several minutes before I could bring myself to breath freely again. But whether the odour had passed or whether I’d simply got used to it, I couldn’t say.

It was then that I realised the driver was inside the carriage with us. He was sitting across from Alice on the opposite seat eyeing her with the same inappropriate interest he had displayed upon our meeting and with his heavy black collar drawn high and his hat pulled low he was little more than a shadow in the gloom. His eyes shone yellow in the dim light of the lantern. My body stiffened with the nearness of him and with Alice still dosing serenely beside me I became instantly alert and wary. After a minute or two it occurred to me that he was probably just taking a well-earned break from the cold while his companion took a turn on the reins, it had obviously happened whilst I had slept and with this belief I relaxed a little and found brief amusement in the fact that outside the guard was clearly muttering to himself. Moments later, I found myself rubbing my eyes in disbelief for the driver was there no longer, his dark form having vanished completely and remaining only in my mind’s eye. Yet I could have sworn he had sat there as wholly and as real as Alice was to my left. I told myself that it was simply the gloom playing tricks on my tired eyes and yet this apparent explanation did nothing to dispel the concern swelling within me.

A short time passed and then I heard Alice stir. I turned to greet her from her nap but to my horror, saw again in the dimness the mysterious figure that I thought had been the driver. He was closely regarding my sister and his head, now shrouded in a hood, was bent in an attitude that suggested he was whispering something to her. A weak moan of protest rose from her throat and through the folds of her hood I saw a pained expression blot her otherwise pretty features.

My impulse, naturally, was to protect my sister but I found I could no more move towards her beastly antagonist than I could call out a warning for a temporary paralysis seemed to have rendered me nothing more than a helpless observer.

My blood froze as I watched the hooded figure move away from her open its arms as if preparing an embrace then slowly draw her from her seat towards him. She floated limply as though in some form of trance. The two of them then began to blur around their edges and dissolve before my eyes like a reflection disturbed on the surface of a dark pond.

It seemed to require a tremendous effort of will and strength to break the invisible chains that held me but moments before Alice and her hooded assailant became no more than a swirling vapour I finally found my voice and screamed out her name. I lunged forwards, reaching out to her mysteriously disappearing form and hit the floor clumsily between the seats, realising with an abrupt sense of disorientation that I had, in fact, been dreaming.

Awakened by my shout, Alice didn’t know whether to be alarmed or amused by my behaviour but either way, she reprimanded me for disturbing her so brusquely. Once I had regained my seat beside her, overcome with relief, I might add, I explained my nightmare to her, which she quickly diagnosed as nothing more than a result of being over tired. Naturally, I concurred that she was correct (for what other explanation could there possibly be?) and yet I remained shaken by the peculiar experience.

The temperature seemed to drop even lower now that we were both awake and when I told Alice about the awful stench that had choked me she replied that she hadn’t smelt anything of the kind and that I had no doubt dreamt that too. We remained awake as we continued westwards but I still felt a sense of foreboding.

 

To be continued…

 

 

Westward Woe! Copyright 2015 All rights reserved

 

A Christmas Chiller!

Ok folks, so as promised, here’s the first part of my homage to the great Victorian ghost story. Give it a like or leave a comment if you’d like me to post more.

WESTWARD WOE!

It was during the final year of my doctorate in psychology at Cambridge that I decided to write a paper on the paranormal. It was my critical intention to evaluate the most famous recorded cases of paranormal experience and to reveal them as hoaxes or figments of a disturbed or imaginative mind on the part of the protagonist – for want of a better word. Either way, paranormal activity was fiction and could be explained using simple logic. Such was the clarity of my opinion on the subject. However, a colleague suggested that before I publish, I should review a particularly interesting case he had read about some years before in a psychic journal and so after a lengthy search through the library, I found and read the recommended article.

It was such an extraordinary episode that I was surprised it was not better known but more importantly, it didn’t seem to fall apart when I applied logic. It left me determined to investigate further and…well, how much further could I go than to the source itself! After a few days, I traced the individual in question to an asylum in Exeter.

Prior to the interview, the history of this person was explained to me during an informal chat with the staff director who warned me that although the man I was about to meet may appear charming and erudite, he was in fact terribly disturbed and prone to moments of the most dreadful paranoia. Indeed, because of this he had been on medication for many years.

It seemed that he was from a notable family of Exeter and had been a gentleman of great potential during his formative years. Along with a younger sister, he had enjoyed the privileges that wealth can bestow and had been groomed to follow his father in to the family ship building business.

During our interview, I found the gentleman (who shall for the time being remain anonymous) friendly, lucid and seemingly perfectly sane albeit prone to allow his mind to wander. Nevertheless what follows is an accurate account of what he told me – minus the wanderings.

 

*

 

It was the day before Christmas Eve in the year of our beloved Victoria’s coronation and my sister Alice and I were due to travel home to Exeter, having spent a chaotic fortnight enjoying the social festivities of London. Thanks to our cousins, who had invited us to stay over the festive period in their splendid house overlooking St. James’s Park, the two weeks were but a blur of museum visits, shopping trips, theatrical performances and parties.

Originally, we were to have been joined by our parents for the New Year celebrations at the Abbey of Westminster but the threat of a heavy fall of snow had deterred them from leaving our Devonshire estate and persuaded us, particularly Alice who had grown homesick, to make the long journey home several days early.

Being the holidays, it proved impossible to secure any scheduled seats westbound from Piccadilly at such short notice and so a boy from the house was sent out to try to locate anyone with a suitable carriage who would be willing to make the journey. After two hours he returned with the disappointing news that nothing was available and my sister and I grew fearful that we would not arrive home in time for Christmas. However, within ten minutes of his return, a stout knock on the front door was answered to reveal an Exeter-bound stage waiting for us outside in the street. It seemed that the boy’s enquiries had been overheard by the driver of a gentleman recently arrived from Newton Abbot who, having orders to return west that day (his master due to remain in London for several weeks), and inspired by the goodwill of the season, had felt encouraged to offer the empty carriage charitably. So, with his master deposited, he sought the boy’s address and arrived forthwith.

Now, at that time, I was not by nature suspicious of mind however, festive sensibilities aside, this fellow’s kind offer of assistance had me at once on my guard, not least owing to his disagreeable appearance. If ever a face existed which bore such sinister features as to disturb the dreams of children, this driver was so endowed and his lingering gaze upon my sister heightened my discomfort. His guard, who was soon securing our luggage onto the carriage roof, appeared to fare no better in this aspect and the word gargoyle occurred to me without effort of thought. This together with the uncanny way in which they had appeared at the door and offered their services unnerved me to the point that I pronounced we would rather wait for seats on a scheduled coach, regardless of how long that wait may be however, Alice’s desire to make home in time for the 25th was such that she insisted we accept the offer. Under the circumstances, I felt I had to relent but I was determined to remain alert and to stay awake for the duration of our journey, which, we soon discovered the driver was keen to begin.

We left a bitterly cold Belgravia shortly after noon and were due to spend the night in Andover where an early start the following day would, God-willing, see us reach Exeter late on Christmas Eve. Of course, as I tried to explain to Alice, if the weather took a bad turn while we were in transit, we would likely have to spend our Christmas in some uncomfortable coach house or traveller’s inn. However, once again, Alice was adamant that she would rather try for home than be stranded in London far from our parents until a thaw came.

To be continued…

 

 

Westward Woe! Copyright 2015 All rights reserved

Ghost Stories at Christmastime!

Who doesn’t enjoy a good ‘ol ghost story at Christmastime! Of course, A Christmas Carol is arguably the most well-known but this little collection offers plenty of others. A dear friend introduced this book to me many years ago and nowadays I always pull it down from the shelf at this time of year.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6014837-chillers-for-christmas

And to celebrate the arrival of this chilling season part 1 of my attempt at the genre, my homage to the Victorian ghost story will be here soon. See you later…

Final Giveaway of 2015

Can you believe it’s nearly December? Where has the year gone! To celebrate the arrival of the festive month I’ve listed another giveaway with  those good people at Goodreads. Woeful and Roses includes two short stories set during the run up to Christmas – Mission Improbable and The Christmas Box – both of which are sure to bump start that festive spirit. Good luck!

Goodreads Book Giveaway


Woeful and Roses
by M.K. Aston

Giveaway ends December 14, 2015.

See the giveaway details

at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

 

Woeful and Roses on the High Street!

A great piece of news came my way this weekend. After several months of hearing nothing from the bookshops I enquired at regarding stocking my two titles, my patience (and subtle remindings) has been rewarded. One of them has agreed to give Woeful and Roses a try for a trial period of three months to see how sales go. Fingers crossed.

It’s going to be amazing to finally see my work on a shop shelf. And I promise I will do my best to refrain from popping in daily to see if the number of copies decreases!