Vivika Widow's Blog, page 58

The Most Ghost (Part of the Myths and Tales Collection)

I bought a lovely new house. It had everything – high celings, lovely gardens and splendid views. My nearest neighbour was not so far away that I felt isolated and yet not so near that I had to see them all the time. You could go so far as to say it was perfect!

Moving day came. I must have been so exhausted unpacking I didn’t even notice at the problem at first. I slept well the first few nights. It was on the fourth that things started to change.

Bump, bump, bump through the night. It was a little irritating at first but I ignored it and I assumed I could sleep through it but continued on and on.

The next morning – after having spent the worst nights sleep of my life – I decided to call in an exterminator.

He came around noon, carrying potions and poisons that would kill on known creatures on God’s earth.

“I think it’s rats,” I complained. I was a little disgruntled that I hadn’t been warned of it before I moved in.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time and I’ve seen all sorts of things. I’ll take a look,” the exterminator said with his moustache twitching.

He did his checks. There was a lot of banging and clattering. Finally he emerged wearing thick goggles.

“So what is it? Rats? Roaches? I want all the details so I can sue the estate agent.”

The exterminator took his goggles off.

“It’s none of those things,” he said.

“Then what is it?” I asked.

“We’re going to have to bring in specialists.”

“What is it?” I asked again.

“Ghosts.”

“Ghosts! I knew the house was old. I just didn’t realise how old.

“Not just one ghost. There is a whole family of them,” the exterminator said with a knowledgable air. “You are infested with them. I’ve never seen a ghost infestation like that in all my years.”

“How did that happen?”

He seemed to know what he was talking about so I had to ask him.

“It all starts with one lonely ghost. Then they invite their friends before you know it you can’t get rid of them. The government is the cause of this really for not keeping stricter checks on them.”

I don’t know how much the government could do. If the ghosts were lonely maybe they just needed somewhere to go.

“It’s best you just ignore them,” the exterminator went on. “Pretend they don’t exist. More often than not the problem just goes away. Or you can call a specialist to get rid of them. They just want to come here and make us like them anyway.”

I started to feel sorry for my ghosts. What if they needed help?

“If they are lonely why can’t I just give them a place to stay?” I wondered more to myself.

“But what if one goes bad and starts throwing things around and hurts someone?” the exterminator was appalled that I would accommodate the ghosts.

“Even if one of them were bad that doesn’t mean they are all bad. In fact some of them may actually be really good and want to help around the house … you know … contribute.”

The exterminated started gathering his equipment.

“It’s your choice,” he said. “I wouldn’t have them in my house, around my children. In my experience they just want to come to nice places like this and drive out good people like yourself.”

I ignored the ignorance. I wanted to learn more about my ghosts. I wanted to learn their individual stories that brought them to my home.

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Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales collection of short stories and poems!

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Bringing to Boil (A Red Snow Fairy Tale)

Francesca always felt a little lost. She knew she had immense power. Her mother and father spoke of it often and with fear. But she didn’t know where it came from. What did it mean?

Her parents wouldn’t discuss it. All she knew was that her father had been a ruler once of a small but powerful group. He was no king but men, women and children would fall at his feet. Something had driven them from their home land. Now they were reduced to travelling from place to place, seeking scraps wherever they could find them.

Francesca was growing. She was no longer a child and they couldn’t hold her forever. Julien – her twin brother – felt it too.

The twins had been left alone of an afternoon. Their father – Basillio – had gone hunting. Their mother – Leona – was attending a market in the nearest kingdom of Ravensedge. Francesca pulled open a bag of books.

“We’re not supposed to touch them,” Julien warned. He stretched his tall frame across the grass beside the camp they had made at an old shack in the woods.

Francesca spread the books out. “What do they have to fear from us?” she asked her twin. “Aren’t you sick of having no identity?”

Julien continued looking up at the sky. “If they wanted us to forget where we came from do you really believe they would be stupid enough to bring books about it?” he scoffed.

Francesca opened the oldest looking of the texts. She brushed her long, black hair behind her shoulders and settled her eyes on a passage.

“Stupid indeed,” she remarked.

Julien sat up. She threw the book to him and he read the same passage.

Vorelia is an ancient land of black magic and blood sacrifice. It is over ruled by one supreme witch. Evil is the way of their people. Those who are not of the blood are warned to stay away.

“You really think that is us?” Julien was still not convinced.

Francesca stood over him. She took the book back.

“Why else would they keep us the way they do?”

“They have their reasons,” Julien surmised. He lay back down again.

Francesca gave him a soft kick in his side.

“Aren’t you curious?” she said. “I can feel the strength inside me and you do too. They are afraid of us. One of us is this supreme the text speaks of. This so called Premier.”

Julien sighed. He rolled his piercing blue eyes.

“Suppose we are Vorelian. Suppose we are of the supreme blood. What then?”

Francseca kicked him again. This time it was a little more forceful.

“Doesn’t that make you furious?” she asked. “We should be worshipped like Gods and yet here we are living like beggars.”

“They have their reasons,” Julien repeated.

“Their reasons are that they are afraid of what we could become. Think of what we could be capable of amongst our own people.”

Julien climbed to his feet. He had the same skin as his sister, so pale it was almost blue.

“What will you do?” he asked tentatively. He didn’t like the fire behind his sister’s eyes. He had seen it before and it could burn out of control.

Francesca offered a wry smile.

Later that day Leona returned with some bread. She noticed a sombreness had come over her children. She laid the bread down and looked to Julien – the more amicable of the twins.

“Have you both had a good day?” she asked.

It was Francesca who replied. Julien continued prodding the fire underneath the large pot of water that was beginning to boil.

“I’ve been doing a bit of reading,” she said.

Julien looked up but he still said nothing. Mother’s chest began to rise and fall heavier but her voice remained steady.

“You found books?”

Francesca folded her arms across her chest and stood before her mother.

“I read about a little place called Vorelia. The more I read about it the more I started to like it.”

Leona gasped.”You can never go there!” she cried.

“Who is the supreme? Who is the premier of the Vorelian people?”

“Your father!” Mother sobbed.

Francesca gave a husky laugh.

“Wrong,” she said. “I am.”

She reached her hand out and mother felt a choking pressure around her throat. She tried to pull away but Francesca was too strong. Mother was pulled along the grass and her head dunked in the boiling water. The pain was excruciating but her screams were drowned.

Julien put his hand on Francesca’s shoulder but he didn’t stop her. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

Mother’s whole body was pushed into the pot. She spent her last remaining moments of life boiling. Her shrieks echoed but she couldn’t climb away. Francesca’s power held her. When she finally died Francesca stumbled back, weak. Boiling mother had taken every ounce of strength she had. The sight of mother’s leg hanging over the pot made her smile. It rejuvenated her somehow.

“What do we do now?” Julian asked.

“When father returns we are going home,” she declared.

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Want more magic and mayhem? Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s explosive introduction to the fairy tale world of Red Snow.

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Immense Power; Insatiable Appetite

Her power was immense. Her hunger was insatiable. When she set her mind on destruction she was unstoppable.

So much of the events of the Red Snow series unfold because no one can control her power. She is determined.

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s explosive introduction to the fairy tale world of Red Snow.

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The Jury is Out

It was a long journey for me from medical student to – well – where I am today. I wrote all of my confessions down. I told my story and wore my heart on my sleeve.

Some people believe my recount of events is far to outlandish to be true.

“Didn’t the professor noitce that half the anatomy class was missing?”

Well of course they did. That’s why they called the police. I was arrested and all hope of becoming the greatest doctor in the city was gone forever. I had only myself to blame I suppose. I couldn’t quite wash the blood off my hands.

Then came the incarceration. Ten years they gave me on the naughty step of the Monte Fort Correctional Facility for Nefarious Women. My lawyer, a talented young man by the name of Simon, worked his magic and did his best to get me free.

People still continued to ask what the truth was.

“Ten years isn’t an awful lot of time if it is true what you say and you murdered all those people.”

All I can say to that is there were extenuating circumstance that helped me be freed into the supervision of my older sister, Paula. People wondered why she would have no qualms with letting a so called ‘serial killer’ into her home.

“No one would let a murdering monster near their eight year old child,” they complained. They were not convinced.

Paula knew how much I adored Chloe though. My niece was all that kept me going in the Monte. The photo I had of her cheeky little face was my most treasured possession. That coupled with the fact that Paula and I were sisters and blood is thicker than murder.

Since there was no way I would be allowed back on a medical course again I decided to focus on one of my other attributes. I have always enjoyed writing stories. I loved creating and playing with words. So I thought why not become an author? I had ten years of sitting around to pass so I figured why not focus on something productive and creative. So I wrote stories. I was asked to right my true story of the murders, no matter how gory it was, but I preferred fiction.

It didn’t go so well. To my surprise publishers weren’t falling over themselves to print. Rejection after rejection I was deflated.

“How can that be possible? Surely publishers would love the account of a real life serial killer?” they pressed. They didn’t believe I would find it so difficult.

I was left to assume that my work wasn’t as good as I thought it was. Perish the thought!

So I have decided to go ahead and offer my full story from you with all it’s messy details. Some say there are too many unanswered questions. Maybe it’s complete bull shit. Maybe every word of it is true. One way or another I’m just getting started.

Is Tracey Campbell really as bad as she says? We’ll let you decide whether it’s true or not.

Click HERE to read the full story!

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Cat Splat! (A Myths and Tales … Tale)

They say cats have nine lives. Mine has an infinite number and let me explain to you why.

He first came into my life as a kitten. I was ten years old and I came home from school one day to find my dad was up to something.

“Come meet your new friend!” he cheered.

I didn’t have many friends as a child so my dad thought a pet would make an ideal companion. My heart leapt with joy when I heard a meow. He ran at me, his eyes gleaming with instant friendship but rather than leaping into my arms he misjudged and jumped right through the open window. We were three stories up!

Luckily he was okay. He was a little dazed but okay.

“That’s one life lost already,” dad joked.

That day the grey kitten earned his name. Splat!

What featured after that was a long line of mishaps. Starting with Splat! having climbed into a tree. ‘Most cats do that’ I hear you say. Whilst I had the fire brigade on the phone I looked out of the window and Splat! toppled from one of the top branches.

“Never mind,” I told the fireman. “He’s down now.”

Splat! Shook his body and ran off onto his days adventures.

Keeping Spat! out of trouble and away from danger was no easy task. He was run over by Mrs Ninn, who came charging down the street in her little green car looking over the steering wheel through her thick prescription lenses. Splat! didn’t stand a chance. I was distraught. I should have known better by then though. I ran to him. Mrs Winn sped away not realising what had happened. Splat! was still breathing. By the time I reached him he was back on all four feet.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Meeeouch!” he gasped but disappeared off. He even came back with a disgruntled mouse that night.

The more of those things happened to him the more I began to realise how amazing a cat he actually was. There was feline agility and then there was surviving an attack from the Keddle kids’s nasty Pitbull.

Splat! was no ordinary pet. That much I was sure of. When I asked dad where he had gotten him he replied, “some old lady.”

I paid a visit to that old lady. She had at least fifty cats.

“I never intended on becoming an old cat lady,” she explained to me. “Splat! and all of his brothers and sisters come from a special breed that dates back to Ancient Egypt. They were worshipped because the never died.”

She pointed to a fat one sleeping in the corner. It had the same grey fur as Splat!.

“That’s Heckles,” she said. “He’s the father of most of them. He’s been with me my entire life and I’m eighty eight! My mother had him at least thirty years before that.”

Heckles opened his large yellow eyes and looked up as thought to say, ‘so what?’

I looked around at the other cats. One brown one with a white dab on it’s nose was using a litter box. A far cry from the creature worshipped by ancient people.

I returned to Splat!. He was stretched out on across my bed bathing in a small slither of sunlight that broke through the window. What was I going to do with an immortal cat?

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Becoming the News

 

“Coldford Daily’s prime independent reporter, Sam Crusow, has been declared missing after being questioned under caution by Coldford City Police Department (CCPD) over the death of his wife, 29 year old Theresa Crusow. Sam was last seen at the CCPD station in City Main. He was released after 12 hours of questioning by detectives and was seen leaving with an unknown brunette female. The investigation into Theresa’s death was called to a halt by the Police Chief, Graeme Barnes. The details of this have not yet been released to the public. Sam had a long career as an independent reporter for the Daily as well as others and those close to him are still in shock. “Sam would never hurt Theresa,” said long time friend and fellow reporter Madeline Winslow. “He would never walk away from the news paper either,” she added. “Reporting news in Shady City was his passion.” Until Sam is brought home safely and able to tell his side of the story the speculations on his whereabouts and his involvement in his wife’s murder will continue. Disappearances have been on the rise in the city, especially in the Shanty area of Coldridge Park. CCPD are asking citizens to be vigilant and report any unusual activity. Sam is described as having auburn hair with blue eyes and medium build. He is aged 32. He was last seen wearing dark jeans and a white shirt. If you have any news of his whereabouts contact Coldford Daily Editorials on 0845 320 2993.”

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The Heart of a Witch (A Red Snow Fairy Tale)

The forest seemed closer than usual, like the trees had hugged closer for warmth. It was late but the glow of the moon managed to spill through the dark, bare branches above. The eyes of the night creatures that stalked the forest watched him. They would stay out of his way though for he had business with a witch that night.

Axl swore he would do whatever it took to protect his family and provide for them. He never thought he would stoop so low as to seek help from a witch when he made that vow but his youngest son, Adam, was dying. He had no choice. A promise was a promise.

There had been talk of witches in the area. When the doctors could do nothing Axl went looking for them. He found a beautiful woman bathing in the river. She was shameless in her nakedness and made no attempt to cover herself. Axl knew he had found what he was looking for. Only a witch would be that brazen.

She climbed out of the water and approached him without fear.

“My son is dying. Doctors can do nothing for him. Can you help?”

“I can,” she said. “That’s not to say I will.”

She pulled a black robe down that was hanging from the limb of a nearby tree and pulled it over her broad shoulders.

Axl drew a picture from his pocket and showed it to her.

“Please! He’s just a small boy. He doesn’t deserve any of this. He deserves to live.”

The witch gathered her hair which shone red in the afternoon sunlight, twisted it and drained the water water from it without taking her eyes from the image of the small, fair haired, blue eyed boy.

Her name was Annabelle . She agreed to help him if he returned the following night. So Axl abandoned all care. Adam deteriorated rapidly. He was desperate.

He returned to the place where he and Annabelle first met. She was waiting for him. This time she wore an emerald gown that brushed the top of her feet which were bare. There was another woman with her, dressed in a long black cloak. Annabelle’s head was lowered. A pendant hung around her neck like a hangman’s noose. It glowed blue in the dark of the night.

“Can you still help me?” Axl asked. “Help my boy?” He addressed the question to Annabelle whose full, doll like lips looked ready to speak a thousand words but remained closed.

The other woman pulled her head down and revealed an ethereal beauty of a pale face and bright, blazing blue eyes. The wind caught her long black hair and it carried it like wings behind her.

“My name is Francesca,” she said. “You don’t need to direct your questions to her.”

Annabelle scowled at this but still remained silent. “Did you bring what you were asked?”

Axl removed the heart he had carved that afternoon. His wife had resisted at first. He over powered her. It was for the good of their son.

He gave the heart to Francesca. A smile traced her ruby lips. She devoured it greedily. Axl watched. Annabelle was unmoved.

“Don’t mind her,” Francesca said when she noticed him looking to her red headed companion.

“If you can restore life to my son I would be forever grateful.”

“Are you willing to give your life for his?” asked the raven haired witch.

“You already have his …” Annabelle interrupted.

Francesca turned to her with a glare.

“Did I ask you to speak?” she scowled. With a flick of her wrist Annabelle was thrown back against the trunk of a great tree. Francesca turned back to Axl. Her eyes were now glowing.

Axl fell to his knees. “I’ll do anything,” he pleaded. “I gave you my wife. Please just save my son.”

Francesca laughed. “Your boy is dead,” she stated. She leaned in closer. “I heard him cry and it was glorious. His pain sent shivers down my spine. That rotting corpse in your son’s bed hasn’t been your son for quite some time.”

“You’re lying!” Axl cried. He looked to Annabelle again. “She’s lying!” he looked for reassurance.

Francesca grabbed his chin with a firm grip.

“Your son will become one of my pets. He was such a good by it would be a shame to waste it.”

Axl sobbed. He tried to pull away but found himself unable to move.

“Just let me go. It was a mistake to come here,” he cried.

Francesca brought her face close to his. It’s beauty equalled its ferociousness. Her teeth were like a bed of needles. “I bring you death and you will thank me for it before I am done. First you will watch what your son is to become.”

Adam became sicker but never died.

Enjoy this?

The Red Crown series is returning 7th of May! Click HERE to read the story so far.

Fancy more magic and mayhem?

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s explosive introduction to the fairy tale world of Red Snow.

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Beaten, Broken and enslaved

She was once the most revered witch of her people. Her power was unmatched. Now beaten, broken and bound to the one who took everything from her. Will she ever be able to escape her mistress?

Click HERE to read Vivik Widow’s explosive introduction to the fairy tale world of Red Snow.

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She Should Never Have Let Him Walk Away

She would never forgive herself for allowing him to walk away.

Now she must uncover the horrifying truth that her son tried to takw to his grave.

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To read the full story click HERE

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Red Crown: Episode 14 (The Union of Sorrow)

The day of the wedding came. Navaria rejoiced in welcoming their new queen. Francesca absorbed their adulation. She had never felt stronger. Her companion, Annabelle, had never felt more helpless. Annabelle had never intended for any of it to happen. Francesca just couldn’t be stopped. When she set her mind to something there was no one who could change it and nothing could be done. The blood on her hands would prove that. Now she sank her teeth into the kingdom of Navaria.

The king’s vision of the blind boy had worried her briefly but her arrogance and self assuredness caused her to push it aside, so sure of her own power she was. The little girl had warned Francesca of the curse that would follow her for what she had done but Francesca laughed at the thought. ‘They’ had found her though and it would be Annabelle who would pay a heavy price.

It was a bright afternoon. The sun shone it’s glory upon the kingdom. Only Annabelle seemed to sense the weight of it. Roman seemed anxious. He stared at the empty seat in the front. Annabelle wondered if he was thinking of Natalya. The distance in his eyes disappeared the moment Francesca was by his side. She was radiant in an ivory gown that trailed far along the deep red carpet. Her long black tresses were curled and twisted into a style which highlighted the ethereal beauty of her face.

“She is beautiful,” Roman had muttered to Vasinov.

“One of the most beautiful women I have ever seen,” the king’s cousin agreed. The Count’s eyes rested then on Annabelle who met his gaze with a smile.

Francesca stood before her betrothed. He took her hands in his. Her cold skin matched his warm touch to create a perfect temperature.

“You have given me a life I never would have thought possible,” she told him.

The ceremony was but a show of normality for Francesca. She didn’t believe in any Lords or Ladies above herself but it meant a great deal to Roman and for him she would have given it all.

Roman looked adoringly at his bride but for a moment it wasn’t Francesca looking back at him. It was a monster he had seen in his nightmares with blazing eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth. He shook it off.

“Are you feeling well enough, Majesty?” The minister interrupted.

Roman gathered himself. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Please continue.”

The minister obeyed the king’s command and carried on with the vows the royal couple were to make before each other, before their people and before the Lords and Ladies above.

Another vision came to Roman like a hot iron through his skull. He saw the monster again. This time she was seated upon a white horse with red eyes, larger and stronger than any horse he had ever seen. She reared the steed with joy as the village behind her burned. Skulls of men, women and children littered around her feet.

When Roman came to he had Vasinov’s hands on his shoulders to steady him. Annabelle and Francesca were sharing a look of concern.

“I’m fine. It’s just a little headache,” Roman dismissed.

Vasinov stepped back. The minister hesitated for a few moments but when he saw the king had appeared to have recovered himself he carried on.

At the conclusion of the ceremony when Francesca was confirmed as Roman’s wife and Queen of Navaria the visions attacked once more. This time the pain was so severe Roman fell to the ground. Members of the guard, led by Drenisov, surrounded him before either Annabelle or Francesca could help.

Roman’s body convulsed but it had become separated from the mind.

The monster was now accompanied by another. Whilst the one he had seen before was still upon her mighty horse her companion was on foot.

The hair of the companion flamed red. There was a woman on the ground before them, begging for her life. She clutched two babies in her arms. One hadn’t yet seen it’s first month of life. The second, clutched to her mother’s arm and buried her face into her mother’s breast. The companion pulled the youngest child away from the woman. The woman screamed a shrill cry for mercy. The monster on the horse only smiled, baring her sharp teeth in a gaping black hole of a mouth. The woman tried to pull the child back but with a flick of her wrist the she-demon on the horse had thrown her aside with an invisible force.

The companion dropped the baby on the ground. The monster raised her horse and it’s great hoofs came crashing down on the tiny skull. The final cry merged with the echoing screams of the mother. 

The companion snatched the other child into her arms. The child was reaching out and calling for her mother. Her words were silent but her fear was deafening. A long finger was brought to the girl’s throat. The nail on the end was razor sharp. The child’s throat was opened. Her crimson life force spilled down the front of her white lace dress.

“It’s better this way.”

The image of the she-demon and her companion blurred. When vision sharpened again Roman could feel an ice cold compress on his forehead. Francesca and Annabelle watched him closely but it was the doctor who attended to him.

In the corner of the room stood the blind boy. The same malevolent smile fixed on his face. Roman learned he was never going to go away so he stopped speaking about him. He stopped trying to convince others of his existence. He accepted the blind boy would be a forever looming presence.

“You had us worried,” Francesca said kissing Roman’s lips which were no longer soft and warm.

“Just a fever, Majesty,” assured the doctor.

But it was more than a fever that plagued the king. He had sealed his marriage to a witch and in doing so sealed the fate of his kingdom.

Enjoy this?

Red Crown will return 7th May! In the meantime click HERE to read the series so far.

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Fancy some more magic, murder and mayhem? Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s explosive introduction to the fairy tale world of Red Snow.

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