Vivika Widow's Blog, page 61

Ten things you (probably) didn’t know about The Knock, Knock Club series.

1 – Originally it was a werewolf story!

We’re not really sure where the werewolves fit into Vivika Widow’s Noir Thriller but following Sam’s downfall as he’s drawn in as a member of the pack we can certainly hazard a guess.

2 – Was a set originally set in fifties Chicago.

As much fun as we think a prohibition era werewolf saga would have been, the story of The Knock, Knock Club was adapted and set in the fictional city of Coldford with a modern setting. However, the remnants of the old setting still remain and gives it a noir feel.

3 – Was supposed to be Vivika Widow’s second book.

After the release of Red Snow in 2013, Vivika Widow became a best selling author of more five books (as of 2018). As a medical student she always intended on Knock, Knock being her second book but as publishers pushed the Conflict saga and hit thriller Maestro, Knock, Knock fell to the back.

5 – The little blog that could.

The Knock, Knock series was released as an exclusive story for Vivika Widow online in 2017. Impressed with the reception for readers it was picked up and contracted as a graphic novel due for release in summer 2018. Promising more gore, thrills and brand new characters we can’t wait!

6 – Who’s the best?

Of the characters in Knock, Knock, cabaret performer, Tabitha is Vivika Widow’s personal favourite. A vote from Twitter followers placed shrewd reporter and narrator Sam Crusow as the fan favourite. Who’s yours? Comment below and let us know.

7 – Thanks to Subway.

Each episode of Knock, Knock was written during Monday afternoon lunch whilst the manuscripts for My Silly Little Confessions were still being prepared the rest of the day. Most of the original notes from Knock, Knock are stained with marinara sauce from meatball subs!

8 – Common themes in Vivika Widow stories.

Common themes in Vivika Widow stories include: Mental illness, suicide, murder and desperation.

All of these themes feature in Knock, Knock.

9 – No male villains.

In most of Vivika Widow’s stories there are no male villains. The villainous men are usually under the influence of stronger, dominant women. Knock, Knock is no exception.

10- Season two.

Thanks to the success of the Knock, Knock blog series and the anticipation of the upcoming graphic novel we are pleased to confirm that there will be a follow up to Knock, Knock! Click HERE to recap on Season 1.

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Smooth as silk. Sharp as a knife.

Name: Dennis Platt

Age: 34

Occupation: Manager of the Knock, Knock club.

Club Member: Yes

Enjoys a good time and always has a smile for everyone. But behind that vibrant persona that the ladies love Dennis is masking a dark past.

Broken in many ways, Dennis carries out all the duties the club expects of him with cold distance. The only attachment that remains to him and his only reason for continuing is club performer, Tabitha.

Dennis hasn’t completely lost hope though. He does believe one day he will be reunited with his estranged wife and son. However, he knows that it is safer if they stay as far away from the club as possible.

We can tell there is a decent guy in Dennis. However, the more he becomes indebted to the club, the more that nice guy will be lost.

The Knock, Knock club will be closing it’s doors on the original blog series March 20th for some refurbishment. Returning this summer under new management as a graphic novel.

Click HERE to catch the original series whilst you still can.

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Return to Sender

Jessica unlocked the front door. Nerves began to flutter in her stomach. She had been seeing Tom for a few weeks now but she hadn’t dated since Walter left so she wasn’t sure of the etiquette. She turned to him. They had had a lovely meal in the city. Tom had left his car at her home and they had taken the train. He didn’t drink but she had had a glass of wine with dinner. Now standing at her front door Tom looked more unsure than she did.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

Tom was a middle aged widower with a strong chin and warm eyes. They were members of the same book club. Jessica’s friend, Tina, had encouraged her when Tom asked her to coffee.

She opened the door and they both entered the little suburban home that was nothing special but Jessica kept beautifully. They had to step over a pile of mail.

“Take a seat,” said Jessica as she retrieved the letters. “Would you like some tea?”

Tom nodded in agreement and wandered cautiously towards the living room.

There was a small television. Jessica was more of a reader so she had never upgraded to an up to date model. Tom smiled to himself thinking how very like her it was.

He sat on the sofa that didn’t seem to have been used too much leaving the arm chair under the lamp alone. It was clearly Jessica’s favourite.

After setting the kettle to boil she followed him. She was still clutching the letters in her hand. Tom watched her. He sat with the same straight backed pose he would adopt in the doctor’s office.

Jessica’s eyes widened. She was staring at a simple white envelope. She recognised the handwriting immediately. The bold script hit her heart sharper than a knife.

“Is something wrong?” Tom asked. His concern was genuine. The colour had drained from her so quickly and so completely she looked ill.

Hair had fallen in front of her face. She didn’t push the strands back. She just continued to stare at the letter. Several post marks had been stamped across it. It had circled the city several times before finally reaching its rightful destination. The messy but determined hand writing had probably confused the post service.

“Do you want me to leave?” asked her date sensitively. Tom’s voice sounded like a faint echo in her ears. It brought her to her senses.

“This letter is from my son,” she explained. She couldn’t bring herself to open it.

Tom had heard mention of Jessica’s son. His name was Dorian and such an unusual name stuck in his mind. He knew Jessica didn’t see him any more but he had never pressed her as to why. A photo sat on the mantle showed Jessica proudly holding tightly onto a boy in his late teens with ink black hair and a lip piercing. He was smiling too but there was an air of melancholy about him. Some may call it a poets spirit.

“He’s dead,” she blurted out. Her voice danced sadly on the edge of a sob.

“He died?” Tom had to clarify.

Jessica gathered herself, still keeping the letter between her fingers, unopened.

“He took his own life. A few months back.”

Tom sat forward. “I’m so sorry to hear that Jess.”

“He sent this letter before he died. It’s been lost in the post all this time.”

It was like Dorian to send a hand written note. He always thought emails were so impersonal.

With courage Jessica peeled open the letter. Her heart fluttered again when she saw Dorian’s scrawl fill the page. And so she began to read the last thing Dorian had ever thought to say to her.

Enjoy this?

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Follow Jessica’s journey as she tries to unravel the terrible secret her son tried to take to his grave.

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The voice, The body, The Murder Weapon

Name: Tabitha McKinney

Age: Exact Age Unknown

Occupation: Performer/Hostess

Club Member: Yes

She just loves to feel the spotlight on her face and she has the talent and charisma to hold audiences captive to her charms. She is a key player in the Knock, Knock club and not just because her aunt was one of the original founders.

Her belief that everyone should follow her no matter what is reminiscent of her over indulged upbringing. Tabitha has little moral compass as well as some sadistic tendencies, especially towards children.

Found alone and lost by Dennis and claiming she wanted to find her aunt, there is very little known about Tabitha’s life before the club other than her family were massacred. She was assumed to be of similar age to Dennis and Sam but it seems she may actually be a great deal younger.

She has a soft spot for Sam and it may be that that leads to her eventual downfall.

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For a limited time online the original Knock, Knock blog series will remain on the Vivika Widow Online. Click HERE to catch it while you can.

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Tell me it’s not true!

She sat down on the uncomfortable, plastic chair. The room was cold. Paula Campbell wished she had worn a heavier top. She wrapped her arms around her frame and rubbed heat into them.

The guards watched her. She wasn’t an inmate at the Montefort Prison for women but she couldn’t help but feel the guards were suspicious of her.

When her sister was led in Paula’s breath caught in her throat. Tracey was the younger of the two. Her usual sci fi T shirt and stone washed jeans had been replaced by an orange jump suit. Tracey’s short, stocky frame didn’t wear the outfit well.

Tracey was seated across from her sister. She rested her cuffed hands on the table. Her brown hair was pulled back in a tight pony tail.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tracey said.

Paula shook her head. “Neither of us should be here.”

Tracey’s lips stretched into a smile. She had a pretty face with warm blue eyes but Paula couldn’t help but think she didn’t recognise the person sat across from her.

“Tell me it isn’t true,” she urged. “The things they said you did.”

Tracey raised her hands demonstrating the cuffs.

“They don’t put you in this flattering attire and give you free digs at this five star hotel for nothing,” she said sarcastically.

Paula was glad Tracey hadn’t lost her spirit. It was something of a comfort.

Tracey had been studying to become a doctor. She had always been studious and aimed for the stars. She had a more promising future than her elder sister. Paula couldn’t help but wonder where it all went wrong.

“How could it have come to this?” Paula asked.

Tracey raised her eyebrows.

“Clearly I’m not as good as I thought I was.”

When her sister shook her head she added, “They wouldn’t let me finish my final exam. The bastards arrested me right in the middle of it. I would have gotten an A for sure.”

Paula interrupted. “After what you did it wouldn’t make a blinding bit of difference! They would never let you become a doctor.”

A large woman in a guard uniform unfolded her arms and looked over at them. Paula calmed herself and lowered her voice.

“You still haven’t denied it,” she said in a stern big sisterly tone as though Tracey had borrowed an item of clothing without asking rather than finding herself behind bars for the next few decades.

“Why should I deny it?” Tracey replied. “I did it. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Paula looked distraught. Her eyes clouded with tears. “I can’t believe it,” she gasped.

Tracey laughed. “The only thing I can’t believe is that I actually got caught. It took them long enough.”

Paula sobbed. “Think of those families,” she urged. “All those people.”

“Twenty all in,” Tracey finished for her. “Roughly half of my anatomy class.”

Paula used her index finger to wipe underneath her eye. “Do you feel no remorse?”

Tracey’s gaze moved to the guard at the back watching them.

“You don’t understand, Paula,” she said finally sounding serious. “I am destined for greatness. I was failing the class. They were breezing through and they weren’t caring. I worked so hard. I really did. I spent days and nights at the library. The little coffee lady even refused to serve me more expresso. My eyes were popping out of my head. Did it make a difference? Not in the slightest. I had to correct it somehow.”

Paula wasn’t convinced. “All those people are dead.”

“Trust me, they were a sorry bunch. I did the world a favour.”

Paula had heard enough. She stood but before she left the table Tracey said, “ You don’t know the full story. Hear that and then you will understand.”

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What has he gotten himself into!

Name: Sam Crusow

Age: 32

Occupation: Reporter

Club Member: Yes

A reporter for the Chronicle who is well acquainted with taking a risk. Sam Crusow is a feisty, good natured guy who finds himself so deep in the madness of the Knock, Knock club that is impossible to turn back.

Carrying the legacy of the club from his grandfather he has what it takes to stop it’s murderous, self serving ways.

He goes in pursuit of the true story behind the doors. Losing loved ones along the way won’t sway him from stopping those behind it and blowing the greatest story of his career wide open!

Good luck with that Sam. We don’t think it will be quite so easy.

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The Knock, Knock Club Opens it’s doors!

The Knock, Knock blog series has been more successful that I could possibly have hoped. Starting as a small project that I wrote during my many trips around the granite city of Aberdeen the world of the Knock, Knock club came to life, especially on the rainy days where everything felt extra sinister.

It started off as a weekly series I felt would add something extra to the blog. As it went on more and more people paid a visit.

Thanks to this success I am pleased to confirm that the Knock, Knock club has been contracted become a graphic novel!

Further details will be announced soon. However, I can say that the graphic novel will contain never before scenes, extra thickening of the plot and perhaps a new character or two!

Check out the series whilst you can and don’t forget to subscribe to the page for more images, updates and stories from the Shady City!

The full blog series will be available to read exclusively on Vivika Widow online until March 20th.

Click HERE to join the club!

Checking out Teacher

People in the well to do town of Filton were always a little cautious of new comers. They were a close knit community and scrutinised those new to their town with wary eyes, especially those who would be close to their children.

“Have you met the new teacher yet?” Mrs Wan asked Mrs Jole.

Mrs Jole raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t been made aware there would be a new teacher at the Pettiwick school where her daughters attended. One was in the preschool and would be joining the prestigious classes after the summer. Pettiwick was the best education money could buy.

Mrs Wan could understand Mrs Jole’s concern. At Pettiwick the parents always came first. As such they were always kept in the loop.

“He’s a music teacher,” explained Mrs Wan.“He isn’t permanent. He’s just helping out with the fall concert. Vincent Baines is his name. He’s the son of Fredrick Baines. Do you remember the concert in the city?”

Mrs Jole nodded her head in agreement.

“That was his father. The only reason I know all about this is because he’s teaching Simon violin. It’s only been a few weeks but he’s come on leaps and bounds.”

Mrs Jole’s concerns seemed to be soothed.

“Maybe he can teach the girls. Elle could really use some extra help with piano.”

Elle was Mrs Jole’s eldest. The annual Pettiwick concert was a big occasion in the town. Parents became blood thirsty in their attempts to have their child in a starring position. Ten year old Elle hadn’t shown any interest in music but her mother’s encouragement never stopped.

Mrs Wan pushed her white ceramic cup aside. Half of her decaf soya macchiato still remained. She leaned in closer to her companion.

“I must admit though, there is something a little off about him.”

At first Mrs Jole assumed her coffee mate was fearmongering so her son Simon would have an advantage at the concert.

“How do you mean?” Mrs Jole pressed.

Mrs Wan raised her hand. “I can’t really tell exactly what. There is just something a little off.”

Mrs Jole pursed her lips. She wasn’t buying any of it. If Mrs Wan truly believed that Vincent was odd she would never have him in her home. She would especially not allow him near her precious Simon.

“He’s started teaching at the Beckingridge house, little George I believe. The daughter, Catherine, was been shipped off to boarding school in the city by that aunt,” Mrs Wan continued.

Mrs Jole nodded. She pushed her own cup away. Unlike her companion she had finished her skinny vanilla latte. She had also devoured the gluten free brownie she had ordered with it.

“The child murderer!?” she gasped.

This was a reference to the Beckingridge home. Some time before a body of a child had been found on the land. It was something the suspicious little town rarely spoke of but they would not easily forget.

The door of the coffee shop opened. A young man in his late twenties, carrying a violin case pushed his way in. Mrs Wan – who was facing the door – watched as he approached the barista for attention. He was fair of face and well groomed. His chin was clean shaven, his brown curls styled. He wore a dark purple cardigan that his youth made seem quite trendy.

Mrs Jole looked over her shoulder to see what caught the attention of her friend.

“That’s him,” Mrs Wan explained.

Vincent waited patiently for a black coffee which the barista fetched in record timing. He paid with cash. As he turned he pulled the lid from the takeaway cup and blew on the steaming hot coffee. His eye caught Mrs Wan. He smiled and straightened up. He approached the women. The barista watched the musician, wiping his hands on his black apron.

“Good to see you, Mrs Wan,” Vincent said politely. “How are you?”

Mrs Wan returned the smile. The same warm grin she used for all the Pettiwick faculty.

She gestured with her hand towards Mrs Jole.

“This is Mrs Jole. She’s another Pettiwick parent. You’ll find her eldest daughter in your concert.”

Vincent laid the violin case on the ground and took Mrs Jole’s hand in a firm shake.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said.

Mrs Jole retracted her hand after sufficient time passed. She folded her arms across her chest.

“I think most people are around here are Pettiwick parents. It’s really is the best school by far.”

Vincent lifted his violin again and nursed the coffee in his other hand.

“It’s been nice meeting you Mrs Jole. If you ladies will excuse me I have to rush off.”

He waved the women goodbye and headed to the door. As he reached it it was opened by a large man with a baby strapped to his chest who allowed the musician sufficient room to leave.

Music lessons would do the Elle the world off good Mrs Jole agreed. Vincent was charming and pleasant. Mrs Jole had suspected Mrs Wan was deliberately trying to put her off. She was right though, there was something a little off about the teacher.

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The student and the master

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Hero or Villain?

I enjoy reading books where the main character or main protagonist isn’t an all out good person. I enjoy following the villains more often than not but when it comes to the hero of the story I enjoy seeing their flaws.

There was a discussion recently on whether or not Vincent (Maestro) was a hero or a villain in the story.

His actions speak that of a villain but is he really responsible for what happened?

His words are those of a hero, but would a true hero do the things that he did.

It was interesting for me to look at him from this perspective because he always was intended on being my protagonist. I guess, like in real life, there are always shades of grey.

What do you think? Do you enjoy your heroes with flaws? Are you more inclined towards the villains like me? Did you feel Vincent was the villain of Maestro?

Click HERE to read Maestro and decide for yourself.

Now free to read on Kindle Unlimited!

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