Vivika Widow's Blog, page 69

Knock, Knock (Episode 9) The Daddy Of Them All

After my failed attempt to escape the club I kept to the room they had given me. They revered me because I bore the same name as my grandfather who founded their murderous group. I didn’t know how long I could count on their loyalty and I wasn’t prepared to find out. It had fallen to evening. Normally, some of the girls working the club would bring me food and water but not that day. That day I was left alone. My stomach grumbled in protest. I made up my mind. If they hadn’t killed me by the evening show which was about to start I assumed they weren’t planning on killing me period so I might as well eat.

The club was busy so I hoped to scuttle around unnoticed like a mouse in a fancy kitchen. Dennis was stood at the bar watching the stage. The chorus girls were fluttering around in a parade of sequins and feathers. They were preparing for Tabitha – the club’s top act – to take the stage and entertain the evening audience.

Dennis caught my eye. He had been the one to stop me leaving. I got the sense that if he had to be stuck managing the Knock, Knock then I wasn’t allowed to leave either. After all, my family had created the club that caused the disappearance of his wife and child. He knew I had no involvement in that. Up until a few weeks ago I didn’t even know the Knock, Knock club existed. I don’t think he blamed me but he seemed keen on keeping me around all the same.

He smiled with that over familiarity he carried with everyone. He waved at me and ushered me to join him. As I approached he swung a vibrant red bar stool round.

“Take a load off Sam,” Dennis urged but I chose to stand.

“I am hungry,” I whined like a child. My frustrations were beginning to surface. I had remained calm – even after my wife, Theresa, had been murdered. I had decided that I would get the full story, take it to the newspaper I worked for in my previous life and expose the club and all its members. I wouldn’t let Theresa die in vain but it was becoming more difficult with each passing day.

Dennis leaned back over the bar. The girl tending bar lit up as he addressed her. “Have a plate of something brought out for Sam, will you kid?”

The girl abandoned her post immediately and danced off to the kitchens.

“How long are you going to keep me here?” I asked. “What do you want from me?”

Dennis didn’t look at me. His large, doe like gaze remained fixed upon the stage. “It’s not my decision,” he stated. “I just run the place.  The order comes from upper management.”

The band had been sent into a flurry, introducing Tabitha to her audience.

“Surely you don’t want to stay here either?” For someone who was overly familiar with everyone Dennis was a bit of a closed book so I tried my luck.

Dennis laughed and finally he did look at me. “Where would I go? Everything I had is gone.” He must have sensed he had said too much because his eyes turned back to the stage. “The club needs someone to lead. The need someone with the Crusow name. Until you are ready to deal with that or they find a replacement both you will be kept here,” he explained.

Tabitha was now on stage. She had been the one to introduce me to Knock, Knock. She had been there at the police station when I was accused of murder. She had done similar for Dennis. She was the reason we both were now in the clutches of the Knock, Knock club. She was an attractive woman with long, flowing brunette hair and a steely grey stare. Her face was soft, round and innocent in appearance but there was an underlying malice. On stage she wore a top hat and tales. Her lips were painted a vibrant shade of purple. Her singing voice was sultry but soft, deep but feminine.

“We could both leave,” I boldly suggested to Dennis. “If we put our heads together they couldn’t stop us.”

Dennis stopped to wave to one of the regular patrons. “Almost eight, Frank. Getting better!” he called over jovially. The man laughed and waved back. He took a seat near the back, adjusting the button on his jacket so they wouldn’t be too strained over his ample stomach.

Dennis didn’t reply to my suggestion. I was almost at the point of repeating it when the bar maid returned with a plate of curling fries. The smell of grease caused my mouth to water. I took the plate from her with a firm thank you and laid it on the bar. I immediately set to digging in, using my fingers instead of waiting for eating irons.

“I promise I will help you find your kid,” I told him.

Dennis suddenly seemed morose so I said nothing more. It was more his loyalty to Tabitha that kept him at the club. Until I found out why that was he was never going to help me.

Those were the unfortunate circumstances I had fallen into. I didn’t like Dennis and I suspected he didn’t like me much either but there we were, stuck together, watching Tabitha entertain.

We stood in silence. I finished the food and the bar maid slid a whiskey over to me to wash it down. One of the door men approached, leaning into Dennis but still speaking loudly over the music.

“There is someone at the door looking for you.”

Dennis was disinterested. He was busy watching Tabitha engage with the audience. “If they don’t have an invite they don’t get in.”

The door man’s goon look made him a natural as bouncer. The goon looked confused as he tried to process too many words at once. “It’s a little kid,” he said.

Dennis straightened up his tall, lean frame. He groaned in frustration. He picked up a whiskey but there was nothing left but the glass. He slid it down to the bar maid. “Fill that, will you?” he instructed. “With the good stuff.”

I didn’t have anything to do. My stomach was now happily swimming in grease and whiskey so I followed him to the club’s main door that led onto the alley. Tabitha watched us from a distance. Dennis pulled open the door. Standing in the alley was a little boy of about nine or ten. He was wearing grey shorts and an oversized black sweatshirt which was made for a man double his size. He face was filthy and his knees scraped.

“I can’t help you, kid,” Dennis said without an introduction. “There’s nothing here for you. Over eighteens only. Try your luck at the Town Hall.”

The boy didn’t flinch. He was a tough little thing. I could see it but Dennis seemed to have overlooked the resemblance.

“Are you Dennis Platt?” he asked.

“Who’s asking?” Dennis was becoming suspicious.

“I’m Milo,” he announced. “I’m your son.”

Enjoy this?

Subscribe to the page to have each exciting new episode sent straight to your inbox!

For more thrillers click HERE to read the hit novella ‘Maestro’

Check out the story from the beginning:

Knock, Knock (Episode 1): Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock (episode 2): Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock (Episode 3): Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock (Episode 4): Take A Bow

Knock, Knock (Episode 5): Big City Kid

Knock, Knock [Episode 6] Picking up strange women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7 (A night cap at the club)

Knock, Knock: (Episode 8) Just a quick one

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Knock, Knock: Episode 9 (The daddy of them all)

After my failed attempt to escape the club I kept to the room they had given me. They revered me because I bore the same name as my grandfather who founded their murderous group. I didn’t know how long I could count on their loyalty and I wasn’t prepared to find out. It had fallen to evening. Normally, some of the girls working the club would bring me food and water but not that day. That day I was left alone. My stomach grumbled in protest. I made up my mind. If they hadn’t killed me by the evening show which was about to start I assumed they weren’t planning on killing me period so I might as well eat.

The club was busy so I hoped to scuttle around unnoticed like a mouse in a fancy kitchen. Dennis was stood at the bar watching the stage. The chorus girls were fluttering around in a parade of sequins and feathers. They were preparing for Tabitha – the club’s top act – to take the stage and entertain the evening audience.

Dennis caught my eye. He had been the one to stop me leaving. I got the sense that if he had to be stuck managing the Knock, Knock then I wasn’t allowed to leave either. After all, my family had created the club that caused the disappearance of his wife and child. He knew I had no involvement in that. Up until a few weeks ago I didn’t even know the Knock, Knock club existed. I don’t think he blamed me but he seemed keen on keeping me around all the same.

He smiled with that over familiarity he carried with everyone. He waved at me and ushered me to join him. As I approached he swung a vibrant red bar stool round.

“Take a load off Sam,” Dennis urged but I chose to stand.

“I am hungry,” I whined like a child. My frustrations were beginning to surface. I had remained calm – even after my wife, Theresa, had been murdered. I had decided that I would get the full story, take it to the newspaper I worked for in my previous life and expose the club and all its members. I wouldn’t let Theresa die in vain but it was becoming more difficult with each passing day.

Dennis leaned back over the bar. The girl tending bar lit up as he addressed her. “Have a plate of something brought out for Sam, will you kid?”

The girl abandoned her post immediately and danced off to the kitchens.

“How long are you going to keep me here?” I asked. “What do you want from me?”

Dennis didn’t look at me. His large, doe like gaze remained fixed upon the stage. “It’s not my decision,” he stated. “I just run the place.  The order comes from upper management.”

The band had been sent into a flurry, introducing Tabitha to her audience.

“Surely you don’t want to stay here either?” For someone who was overly familiar with everyone Dennis was a bit of a closed book so I tried my luck.

Dennis laughed and finally he did look at me. “Where would I go? Everything I had is gone.” He must have sensed he had said too much because his eyes turned back to the stage. “The club needs someone to lead. The need someone with the Crusow name. Until you are ready to deal with that or they find a replacement both you will be kept here,” he explained.

Tabitha was now on stage. She had been the one to introduce me to Knock, Knock. She had been there at the police station when I was accused of murder. She had done similar for Dennis. She was the reason we both were now in the clutches of the Knock, Knock club. She was an attractive woman with long, flowing brunette hair and a steely grey stare. Her face was soft, round and innocent in appearance but there was an underlying malice. On stage she wore a top hat and tales. Her lips were painted a vibrant shade of purple. Her singing voice was sultry but soft, deep but feminine.

“We could both leave,” I boldly suggested to Dennis. “If we put our heads together they couldn’t stop us.”

Dennis stopped to wave to one of the regular patrons. “Almost eight, Frank. Getting better!” he called over jovially. The man laughed and waved back. He took a seat near the back, adjusting the button on his jacket so they wouldn’t be too strained over his ample stomach.

Dennis didn’t reply to my suggestion. I was almost at the point of repeating it when the bar maid returned with a plate of curling fries. The smell of grease caused my mouth to water. I took the plate from her with a firm thank you and laid it on the bar. I immediately set to digging in, using my fingers instead of waiting for eating irons.

“I promise I will help you find your kid,” I told him.

Dennis suddenly seemed morose so I said nothing more. It was more his loyalty to Tabitha that kept him at the club. Until I found out why that was he was never going to help me.

Those were the unfortunate circumstances I had fallen into. I didn’t like Dennis and I suspected he didn’t like me much either but there we were, stuck together, watching Tabitha entertain.

We stood in silence. I finished the food and the bar maid slid a whiskey over to me to wash it down. One of the door men approached, leaning into Dennis but still speaking loudly over the music.

“There is someone at the door looking for you.”

Dennis was disinterested. He was busy watching Tabitha engage with the audience. “If they don’t have an invite they don’t get in.”

The door man’s goon look made him a natural as bouncer. The goon looked confused as he tried to process too many words at once. “It’s a little kid,” he said.

Dennis straightened up his tall, lean frame. He groaned in frustration. He picked up a whiskey but there was nothing left but the glass. He slid it down to the bar maid. “Fill that, will you?” he instructed. “With the good stuff.”

I didn’t have anything to do. My stomach was now happily swimming in grease and whiskey so I followed him to the club’s main door that led onto the alley. Tabitha watched us from a distance. Dennis pulled open the door. Standing in the alley was a little boy of about nine or ten. He was wearing grey shorts and an oversized black sweatshirt which was made for a man double his size. He face was filthy and his knees scraped.

“I can’t help you, kid,” Dennis said without an introduction. “There’s nothing here for you. Over eighteens only. Try your luck at the Town Hall.”

The boy didn’t flinch. He was a tough little thing. I could see it but Dennis seemed to have overlooked the resemblance.

“Are you Dennis Platt?” he asked.

“Who’s asking?” Dennis was becoming suspicious.

“I’m Milo,” he announced. “I’m your son.”

Enjoy this?

Subscribe to the page to have each exciting new episode sent straight to your inbox!

For more thrillers click HERE to read the hit novella ‘Maestro’

Check out the story from the beginning:

Knock, Knock (Episode 1): Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock (episode 2): Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock (Episode 3): Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock (Episode 4): Take A Bow

Knock, Knock (Episode 5): Big City Kid

Knock, Knock [Episode 6] Picking up strange women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7 (A night cap at the club)

Knock, Knock: (Episode 8) Just a quick one

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The prophecy of Lord Bale

It is said that the great Bale, Lord of all stars and the brightest illumination in the night sky once fell to the land below. His fall was so great that his form began to change. He emerged from the waters with skin like black velvet and eyes so bright they could not be looked upon directly.

He wandered the lands as a man and each night he would look above and long to return to his realm. One day he stumbled across a woman who went by the name of Anna, a dweller of the land. He felt such a sudden rush of affection for her that his starlight energy began to burn white hot.

Anna gazed into Bale’ eyes and was able to withstand their strength. Bale could only maintain his energy whilst he was near her. He loved her and she became a part of him, the crucial part that kept him burning. He offered her his hand and would give her the world above and below. Anna wished for nothing more to be a part of Bale, to offer light to the lands. Before she departed her dwelling and she bid farewell to all she knew the tears she shed filled the rivers. Everything she owned built the mountains and her earthly flesh fed the baby saplings of the woods. Her grief at the loss of the life she once knew was left behind as beauty of the land. High in the realm of the great Bale she felt a true happiness never known to a humble dweller.

Each year, on midsummer’s eve the great Lord Bale can be seen taking his love through the sky in a dazzling display of greens and blues. The aurora reminds the dwellers of the love the Great Lords and Ladies have for them. One day, in a great flash of light, he will return to the lands below.

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Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales.

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A Trail of Ashes (A Red Snow Tale)

It has been done. I have left it all behind. The last sight I had of my kin was of them burning, begging for it to be ended. Still pleading with me to stay with them. It was disgusting.

My lover still claimed me to be the one for him. I removed the heart from his chest. The blood was still warm as I devoured it. So great was my fury that they tried to stop me and greater was my horror at what the love of the king had made me see.

Tessa, the eternal child, was the last to speak. A curse she warned me of. That was laughable. Her power could never match mine for I was queen and only an immense power could keep them in check. I possessed that immense power. She quipped about a plague that would follow me to my new home and a tragedy that would befall all those who crossed my path.

She said my new husband would be driven insane by the images of what I had done. My misdeeds would forever flood his fragile mind. She said that food would spoil rotten in my mouth, my skin would burn at the touch of silk and any children produced from my marriage would suffer from cradle until they begged for death.

She doesn’t frighten me. She will be forever in the form of a child because of the power I hold over her.

My home has been reduced to ashes in my wake. The evil of its people forever banished.

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Subscribe to the page for more updates, images and stories from Vivika Widow’s Red Snow.

Also on this site:

Whispers in the Woods (A Red Snow Fairy tale)

The Unwanted Throne (A Red Snow Tale)

The Tower (A Red Snow Tale)

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Graveyard Granny (A Myths and Tales … tale)

Granny was one hundred and four years old. She wasn’t actually my gran. She was my mother’s, mother’s mother and Granny agreed that that made her pretty great.

“I’ll live forever!” she quipped on her ninety eight birthday. When she reached one hundred and two people started to agree with her.

When she turned one hundred and four she thought enough was enough. It was high time she had a funeral.

“Give me my favourite blanket though. It will get cold in the winter.”

We all thought Granny was crazy but she insisted. When this particular matriarch had made up her mind there was simply no changing it.

It wasn’t the most orthodox of ceremonies. Granny waved from her casket with a great big smile on her face.

“Granny, you aren’t going to have them screw that casket down are you?” I had pleaded before hand.

“Now that wouldn’t make much sense now would it?” she returned with a wry smile. “How am I supposed to get up and walk about? An eternity locked down would get a little tedious.”

And so the funeral service went ahead. No one shed tears. It wasn’t what Granny wanted. Truthfully, I don’t think people quite knew how to feel, especially when Granny climbed from her casket to give a few words on her own behalf.

At ninety eight she had claimed she would live forever. She is now one hundred and twenty four and still going strong. She will fight for her rights as an otherwise deceased. She had a nice funeral and she chose a beautiful spot for her final resting place where I can visit her anytime I please. She still gives me tea and biscuits.

Enjoy this?

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales

Knock, Knock (Episode 8): Just A Quick One

The evening played out as it always did. The patrons came to the Knock, Knock club, ate, drank and applauded the performances – Mostly Tabitha’s. It was as though there were unaware of the horrors that lay in wait. The night before, when I had tried to escape Dennis – the club manager – had assured me that he would find a way to bring me so far into the club that there would be no escaping. He was vindictive and a monster in his own right but I think the real reason he was so keen to keep me around was so that he wouldn’t be alone. Tabitha had known him for years but with the murder of his father and disappearance of his son he couldn’t trust her. The girls in the club adored him and the patrons loved him but it was a front he put on for them. I was the only one he felt he could talk to, for that he would keep me around.

I kept notes in my head. If I did manage to escape their clutches I would return to my old life as a reporter with the most triumphant article ever featured in the ‘Coldford Chronicle’. I couldn’t risk anyone finding hand written notes so for the time being I kept everything in my head.

A woman had come to the club. She was on her own and she wasn’t a regular face. I could only surmise that she had no idea what the club was about. She was a little unsteady on her feet when she arrived and as the night drew on she drank more and more. Her voice became louder and she spilled wine onto one of the girls serving dinner. She had been calling at the stage and trying to engage those around her in conversation. Most of them weren’t interested. Some of them were even made uncomfortable by her loud, brassy obnoxiousness.

Dennis approached her. She instantly took a shine to him and tried to kiss him. She removed herself from her table and hung on him at the bar for the rest of the night. Tabitha came off stage after her performance. She had changed from her onstage costume into grey trousers and a long grey coat.

“Going somewhere?” I asked.

Tabitha swallowed down a glass of whiskey and slid the glass back to, Lisa, the girl behind the bar. “We all are,” she said with a grin. She pinched my left cheek. “It must be driving you crazy not having been outside the club in all this time.”

Dennis put the drunk girl’s coat around her shoulders. She lifted herself onto her tip toes to kiss him again but he turned his head and she met his cheek instead.

“Where are we going?” I asked. My notes were still drawing in my head.

“To a little party,” said Tabitha, pulling my coat from the coat stand and throwing it to me. “You can see first hand what your Grandfather created.”

Tabitha, Dennis, the drunk girl and I left the Knock, Knock club that night. One of us was never to return.

***

The drunk girl ushered us into her home.

“I thought we might have something of a small party,” said Dennis lifting a bottle of whiskey from a badly treated side board. There was a beaten old sofa and a chair by the window but not much else. The girl looked a little disappointed that Tabitha and I had come with them.

Tabitha pulled me onto the sofa beside her. The drunk girl stumbled around her living room smiling to herself. Her brunette hair was in disarray. She took the whiskey back from Dennis, threw the lid aside and began drinking straight from the bottle. With a mouthful she finally managed to press her lips against Dennis’. Dennis looked to us. The drunk girl hadn’t noticed him pushing her back. Tabitha was shaking with anticipation beside me. Dennis flashed us a smile. I was as unaware as the drunk girl.

“This girl is wild isn’t she?” Dennis laughed.

“You said you wanted a party,” she groaned. I could barely understand her slurred words.

“We shouldn’t be here,” I said to Tabitha. “Let’s just leave the woman be.”

Tabitha took my arm. “Nonsense, Samuel,” she said.

The drunk girl slumped into a chair by the window, pulling Dennis with her. Dust particles danced in the air.

Dennis straightened up. The woman’s eyes were closed. She had either passed out or Dennis had pacified her.

Dennis removed a cigarette from his pocket. He placed it between his lips but didn’t light it. He watched from the window.

Tabitha stood. She went to the drunk girl, wrapped her arm around her neck and pulled her to her feet. The drunk girl’s eyes flickered but she didn’t waken. A soft smile caressed her painted lips.

Tabitha ran her finger delicately over her neck. “This vein here is quite extraordinary. A single laceration can cause instant death. Its the same vein that wild animals will target when they are looking for a quick kill.” The drunk girl giggled. She probably found Tabitha’s soft caress quite ticklish. “What do they call it?”

Dennis didn’t look round. He still watched from the window. “Do I look like a doctor?”

Tabitha shrugged off his impatience. “Well it doesn’t really matter,” she replied. She drew a blade from her coat. I tried to stop her, I swear I did, but it was too late. She cut the woman’s throat and let the blood spill down her front. The woman gargled. Tabitha had been a little off with her cut so it wasn’t instant death. I had to look away as the woman struggled for breath before finally falling to fate. Tabitha, still laughing, let the woman drop limp onto the floor. She licked the blood from the tips of her fingers.

“Mama!?” came a small voice in the doorway. Two little girls with filthy faces and cheap, oversized clothing looked on in horror as their mother lay dead. Tabitha’s grey eyes shone with excitement. She lowered herself to their height. The girls were confused. In Tabitha’s round, youthful face they saw maternal pleasantness but in her cold gaze they saw danger.

“Tabitha, please don’t!” I pleaded.

Enjoy this?

Click HERE to read more Vivika Widow thrillers

Check out the series from the beginning:

Knock, Knock (Episode 1): Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock (episode 2): Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock (Episode 3): Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock (Episode 4): Take A Bow

Knock, Knock (Episode 5): Big City Kid

Knock, Knock [Episode 6] Picking up strange women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7 (A night cap at the club)

[image error]

Knock, Knock: (Episode 8) Just a quick one

The evening played out as it always did. The patrons came to the Knock, Knock club, ate, drank and applauded the performances – Mostly Tabitha’s. It was as though there were unaware of the horrors that lay in wait. The night before, when I had tried to escape Dennis – the club manager – had assured me that he would find a way to bring me so far into the club that there would be no escaping. He was vindictive and a monster in his own right but I think the real reason he was so keen to keep me around was so that he wouldn’t be alone. Tabitha had known him for years but with the murder of his father and disappearance of his son he couldn’t trust her. The girls in the club adored him and the patrons loved him but it was a front he put on for them. I was the only one he felt he could talk to, for that he would keep me around.

I kept notes in my head. If I did manage to escape their clutches I would return to my old life as a reporter with the most triumphant article ever featured in the ‘Coldford Chronicle’. I couldn’t risk anyone finding hand written notes so for the time being I kept everything in my head.

A woman had come to the club. She was on her own and she wasn’t a regular face. I could only surmise that she had no idea what the club was about. She was a little unsteady on her feet when she arrived and as the night drew on she drank more and more. Her voice became louder and she spilled wine onto one of the girls serving dinner. She had been calling at the stage and trying to engage those around her in conversation. Most of them weren’t interested. Some of them were even made uncomfortable by her loud, brassy obnoxiousness.

Dennis approached her. She instantly took a shine to him and tried to kiss him. She removed herself from her table and hung on him at the bar for the rest of the night. Tabitha came off stage after her performance. She had changed from her onstage costume into grey trousers and a long grey coat.

“Going somewhere?” I asked.

Tabitha swallowed down a glass of whiskey and slid the glass back to, Lisa, the girl behind the bar. “We all are,” she said with a grin. She pinched my left cheek. “It must be driving you crazy not having been outside the club in all this time.”

Dennis put the drunk girl’s coat around her shoulders. She lifted herself onto her tip toes to kiss him again but he turned his head and she met his cheek instead.

“Where are we going?” I asked. My notes were still drawing in my head.

“To a little party,” said Tabitha, pulling my coat from the coat stand and throwing it to me. “You can see first hand what your Grandfather created.”

Tabitha, Dennis, the drunk girl and I left the Knock, Knock club that night. One of us was never to return.

***

The drunk girl ushered us into her home.

“I thought we might have something of a small party,” said Dennis lifting a bottle of whiskey from a badly treated side board. There was a beaten old sofa and a chair by the window but not much else. The girl looked a little disappointed that Tabitha and I had come with them.

Tabitha pulled me onto the sofa beside her. The drunk girl stumbled around her living room smiling to herself. Her brunette hair was in disarray. She took the whiskey back from Dennis, threw the lid aside and began drinking straight from the bottle. With a mouthful she finally managed to press her lips against Dennis’. Dennis looked to us. The drunk girl hadn’t noticed him pushing her back. Tabitha was shaking with anticipation beside me. Dennis flashed us a smile. I was as unaware as the drunk girl.

“This girl is wild isn’t she?” Dennis laughed.

“You said you wanted a party,” she groaned. I could barely understand her slurred words.

“We shouldn’t be here,” I said to Tabitha. “Let’s just leave the woman be.”

Tabitha took my arm. “Nonsense, Samuel,” she said.

The drunk girl slumped into a chair by the window, pulling Dennis with her. Dust particles danced in the air.

Dennis straightened up. The woman’s eyes were closed. She had either passed out or Dennis had pacified her.

Dennis removed a cigarette from his pocket. He placed it between his lips but didn’t light it. He watched from the window.

Tabitha stood. She went to the drunk girl, wrapped her arm around her neck and pulled her to her feet. The drunk girl’s eyes flickered but she didn’t waken. A soft smile caressed her painted lips.

Tabitha ran her finger delicately over her neck. “This vein here is quite extraordinary. A single laceration can cause instant death. Its the same vein that wild animals will target when they are looking for a quick kill.” The drunk girl giggled. She probably found Tabitha’s soft caress quite ticklish. “What do they call it?”

Dennis didn’t look round. He still watched from the window. “Do I look like a doctor?”

Tabitha shrugged off his impatience. “Well it doesn’t really matter,” she replied. She drew a blade from her coat. I tried to stop her, I swear I did, but it was too late. She cut the woman’s throat and let the blood spill down her front. The woman gargled. Tabitha had been a little off with her cut so it wasn’t instant death. I had to look away as the woman struggled for breath before finally falling to fate. Tabitha, still laughing, let the woman drop limp onto the floor. She licked the blood from the tips of her fingers.

“Mama!?” came a small voice in the doorway. Two little girls with filthy faces and cheap, oversized clothing looked on in horror as their mother lay dead. Tabitha’s grey eyes shone with excitement. She lowered herself to their height. The girls were confused. In Tabitha’s round, youthful face they saw maternal pleasantness but in her cold gaze they saw danger.

“Tabitha, please don’t!” I pleaded.

Enjoy this?

Click HERE to read more Vivika Widow thrillers

Check out the series from the beginning:

Knock, Knock (Episode 1): Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock (episode 2): Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock (Episode 3): Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock (Episode 4): Take A Bow

Knock, Knock (Episode 5): Big City Kid

Knock, Knock [Episode 6] Picking up strange women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7 (A night cap at the club)

[image error]

Knock, Knock: Episode 8 (Just a quick one)

The evening played out as it always did. The patrons came to the Knock, Knock club, ate, drank and applauded the performances – Mostly Tabitha’s. It was as though there were unaware of the horrors that lay in wait. The night before, when I had tried to escape Dennis – the club manager – had assured me that he would find a way to bring me so far into the club that there would be no escaping. He was vindictive and a monster in his own right but I think the real reason he was so keen to keep me around was so that he wouldn’t be alone. Tabitha had known him for years but with the murder of his father and disappearance of his son he couldn’t trust her. The girls in the club adored him and the patrons loved him but it was a front he put on for them. I was the only one he felt he could talk to, for that he would keep me around.

I kept notes in my head. If I did manage to escape their clutches I would return to my old life as a reporter with the most triumphant article ever featured in the ‘Coldford Chronicle’. I couldn’t risk anyone finding hand written notes so for the time being I kept everything in my head.

A woman had come to the club. She was on her own and she wasn’t a regular face. I could only surmise that she had no idea what the club was about. She was a little unsteady on her feet when she arrived and as the night drew on she drank more and more. Her voice became louder and she spilled wine onto one of the girls serving dinner. She had been calling at the stage and trying to engage those around her in conversation. Most of them weren’t interested. Some of them were even made uncomfortable by her loud, brassy obnoxiousness.

Dennis approached her. She instantly took a shine to him and tried to kiss him. She removed herself from her table and hung on him at the bar for the rest of the night. Tabitha came off stage after her performance. She had changed from her onstage costume into grey trousers and a long grey coat.

“Going somewhere?” I asked.

Tabitha swallowed down a glass of whiskey and slid the glass back to, Lisa, the girl behind the bar. “We all are,” she said with a grin. She pinched my left cheek. “It must be driving you crazy not having been outside the club in all this time.”

Dennis put the drunk girl’s coat around her shoulders. She lifted herself onto her tip toes to kiss him again but he turned his head and she met his cheek instead.

“Where are we going?” I asked. My notes were still drawing in my head.

“To a little party,” said Tabitha, pulling my coat from the coat stand and throwing it to me. “You can see first hand what your Grandfather created.”

Tabitha, Dennis, the drunk girl and I left the Knock, Knock club that night. One of us was never to return.

***

The drunk girl ushered us into her home.

“I thought we might have something of a small party,” said Dennis lifting a bottle of whiskey from a badly treated side board. There was a beaten old sofa and a chair by the window but not much else. The girl looked a little disappointed that Tabitha and I had come with them.

Tabitha pulled me onto the sofa beside her. The drunk girl stumbled around her living room smiling to herself. Her brunette hair was in disarray. She took the whiskey back from Dennis, threw the lid aside and began drinking straight from the bottle. With a mouthful she finally managed to press her lips against Dennis’. Dennis looked to us. The drunk girl hadn’t noticed him pushing her back. Tabitha was shaking with anticipation beside me. Dennis flashed us a smile. I was as unaware as the drunk girl.

“This girl is wild isn’t she?” Dennis laughed.

“You said you wanted a party,” she groaned. I could barely understand her slurred words.

“We shouldn’t be here,” I said to Tabitha. “Let’s just leave the woman be.”

Tabitha took my arm. “Nonsense, Samuel,” she said.

The drunk girl slumped into a chair by the window, pulling Dennis with her. Dust particles danced in the air.

Dennis straightened up. The woman’s eyes were closed. She had either passed out or Dennis had pacified her.

Dennis removed a cigarette from his pocket. He placed it between his lips but didn’t light it. He watched from the window.

Tabitha stood. She went to the drunk girl, wrapped her arm around her neck and pulled her to her feet. The drunk girl’s eyes flickered but she didn’t waken. A soft smile caressed her painted lips.

Tabitha ran her finger delicately over her neck. “This vein here is quite extraordinary. A single laceration can cause instant death. Its the same vein that wild animals will target when they are looking for a quick kill.” The drunk girl giggled. She probably found Tabitha’s soft caress quite ticklish. “What do they call it?”

Dennis didn’t look round. He still watched from the window. “Do I look like a doctor?”

Tabitha shrugged off his impatience. “Well it doesn’t really matter,” she replied. She drew a blade from her coat. I tried to stop her, I swear I did, but it was too late. She cut the woman’s throat and let the blood spill down her front. The woman gargled. Tabitha had been a little off with her cut so it wasn’t instant death. I had to look away as the woman struggled for breath before finally falling to fate. Tabitha, still laughing, let the woman drop limp onto the floor. She licked the blood from the tips of her fingers.

“Mama!?” came a small voice in the doorway. Two little girls with filthy faces and cheap, oversized clothing looked on in horror as their mother lay dead. Tabitha’s grey eyes shone with excitement. She lowered herself to their height. The girls were confused. In Tabitha’s round, youthful face they saw maternal pleasantness but in her cold gaze they saw danger.

“Tabitha, please don’t!” I pleaded.

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Check out the series from the beginning:

Knock, Knock (Episode 1): Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock (episode 2): Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock (Episode 3): Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock (Episode 4): Take A Bow

Knock, Knock (Episode 5): Big City Kid

Knock, Knock [Episode 6] Picking up strange women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7 (A night cap at the club)

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In the mind of a serial killer

One of the most surreal experiences of a writer is allowing yourself to become somebody else. Your job is to convince the reader that this particular character is real and sometimes that means convincing the reader that your creation can commit the most unspeakable acts.

In our day to day lives we are held in control by the regulations placed upon us by society. We pay heed to the law and we treat our colleagues, friends and family with respect but what if your character doesn’t? What if your character has so little compassion for their fellow man that they would think nothing of murder. What is their motive? Money? Lust? Jealously? Greed?

Giving them a motive is just the beginning. Take yourself out of your own head for a moment and into the creation that has been made. Where did it go wrong for this person? Are they a person at all? You can be there at that precious moment where something inside the mind of this character clicks and their murderous urges come racing to the surface. What is the selection process for their victims if any?

A lot of readers of my novel ‘Red Snow’ have commented on how large a body count there is, even in the genre of ‘Horror Fiction’. Without any spoilers I will explain my process. There are a lot of characters within ‘Red Snow’ who think nothing of murder. In fact an entire kingdom of people have been created who hold little value on life. How was I able to do this? Being the upstanding citizen that I am it seems far fetched that so much blood shed would occur as a result of a certain characters urges and whims. However. in order to write that you have to delve into the mind of a serial killer.

WHERE TO START…

Of course there is lots of information out there on the motives and techniques of well known serial killers such as Ted Bundy. Most serial killers follow the same general pattern. Childhood Trauma – Teen angst – not so well adjusted adult. Your character has had their own experiences. Childhood is always a good place to start. It is likely that their parents were one of two kinds; overbearing or emotionally unavailable. Both can be just as poignant in creating a serial killer. In the case of ‘Red Snow’ a particular character was hailed as something of a Goddess. Growing with the belief that she was above others and had the right to decide fate over them took away any emotional attachment to the people around her.

MOTIVES…

It’s not enough to say that a character had a terrible upbringing. There is always an option to say your character is mentally unstable but there is no originality in that. By them committing serial murder mentally unstable is suggested. Perhaps your character is a fantastical creature that needs to feed on the flesh of others. In ‘Red Snow’ that is partially true but she does gain a certain satisfaction from watching life escape others. Lust is always a popular choice but again that had to stem from somewhere. Financial gain is also likely but sometimes rather than just making a character greedy it gives the character more dimensions if there is an event causing them to need money or even something in their circumstances that is drawing the greed from them.

THE FIRST KILL…

This is an important moment in any character willing to kill. Their initial victim will set the tone for any further. Many people don’t realise it but the difference between a character who has killed in self defence and one who has been calculating can completely change the plot.

A helpless victim who managed to fight their way out of a sticky situation with blood on their hands may become an ambassador for many like them. Their prey being those who wrong others. However, a character who has been cold blooded is very unlikely to be a champion of the helpless.

How the reader feels about the first victim also sets the mood for how the character is portrayed. If their first victim is one who is antagonistic and downright unlikeable the reader may root for the killer (even though their knowledge of how a society operates would tell them otherwise). Whereas if the victim was something or someone with the reader sympathises with (children, animals, pleasant people) the killer will never be able to redeem themselves in the readers opinion.

FINALLY …

Now that the killer has made their journey and left a trail of horror behind them it is time to decide how they are to exit the story.

Pulling all the building blocks you have used to bring your monster to life their conclusion will be the last remaining impression left on by the reader.

Do they get caught? Do they face justice? Do they escape?

Each of these will offer a different feeling to the reader and your choice will depend on how you want the reader to feel when the story has ended – angry, shocked, pleased, happy.

Each story is different as is each writer so the best advice I can give for writing a perfect ending is to steer the reader down the path which offers the biggest reaction.

Happy writing!

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The Bus Ride to Hell

I was a bad seed.

My whole life I wasn’t what one would call an angel. So it came as no surprise when I passed and death said,

“It’s Hell for you my dear friend Gus. You have been so bad you must take the bus.”

Not even the courtesy of a ride of a quick journey into the seventh circle for my eternal damnation.

So there I was, at the bus stop for the direct line to Hell. Torrential rain was falling and there was no shelter – although it did have the strong smell of urine that would normally accompany one.

Of course the bus was over an hour late. I was cold, miserable and just wanting to get to Hell already.

Death took some glee in my punishment.

“That’s what you get for being such a shit! You’re not going to like this, one little bit.”

The bus arrived. The most broken down, hideous piece of metal on four wheels you could ever hope to step aboard. The driver had a face so sour it could peel an onion.

“Get on!” he snapped. “I ain’t got all day.”

Death pushed me on board.

The seats were torn, broken and mostly filled with graffiti.

REG WAS ETERNALLY DAMNED ERE’

Death slumped beside me.

“I hope you are ready to press that bell. The next stop for you is the depths of Hell.”

Rude driver, broken chairs and a sticky floor you wouldn’t dream of touching. The bus to Hell was pretty bad. I think I’ve been on worse.

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Coming soon as a web series from Torrance Media!