Vivika Widow's Blog, page 78

Extract from Confessions of an Anatomist

The second test had seen me to a D. Even at this point I still hadn’t intended on causing more bloodshed. However, the two girls above me – Gilbert and Daniff – had been laughing so loudly at the prospect of their B’s that I was left with no choice. It was their fault really. I remembered how easy it had been to study with Johnson as a fresh specimen and a little part of me still niggled because of how quickly his disappearance had caused me to climb the ranks. With another two out of the way I may reach an A sooner than I had anticipated.

It all happened so quickly I can’t fully remember the details but I had invited Gilbert and Daniff to form a little study group. They had been hesitant at first clearly having better things to do with their time but they finally relented. I was waiting at the lab long after classes had ended. Gilbert and Daniff arrived. Gilbert was carrying a large folder of notes in her arms. Several coloured stickers popped out from the top swaying in the breeze like they were calling for help. We were studying the human eye by this point so Daniff sat herself at a table and pulled out a large chart of the eye clearly displaying its vessels and nerves. The image was colourful and well illustrated but it looked nothing like the real thing. I lifted a sharp scalpel and hovered behind Daniff. I could tell I was making her uncomfortable because her shoulders quivered. As quickly as I could manage I made a simple cut to her jugular and she fell forward. This was a great deal bloodier than it had been with Johnson. Gilbert screamed. She ran towards the doors. I chased after her not really thinking about what I was going to do next. Blood still dripped from the scalpel – I would have to clean that later. Gilbert struggled with the door. As I got closer she gave up and turned to try and fight me off. She cut her hands in the process. I plunged the scalpel into her throat finally subduing her before I cut her jugular to ensure she was actually dead.

With four eyeballs on display each fresh and with the vessels in tact I had everything I needed to get my B in the next test. The remains joined Johnson in the river.

Click HERE to read the full story

The follow up novel MY SILLY LITTLE CONFESSIONS will be available soon!

Zombilicious

I was just a little kid when it first realised I had the power to bring things back from the dead. It’s not a skill that I would put on a resume or anything but it is definitely something that not many people can do.

My beloved gerbil Flower Pot had died and like most kids losing a pet I was distraught.

“We’ll put him in a nice box and bury him,” mum had said softly.

“Just put him in the bin.” My elder brother was not so sensitive.

I hadn’t been able to bring myself to move Flower Pot. When he started to stink we all agreed the time had come.

I lifted Flower Pot from his cage.

“He was a good gerbil,” I muttered ceremoniously. Then I felt his little foot twitch.

“Don’t be silly,” said dad. “That gerbil is long gone.”

I was almost at the point of agreeing when Flower Pot twitched again. I almost dropped him when he flicked his little ears, opened his beady eyes and turned over.

“He’s alive! He’s alive!”

Mum, dad and my brother all shared a shocked expression that could only have been heightened if it had been who had come back from the dead.

I grinned. My little pet was safe and sound. His furry little body was warm again. He gave a squeak. I gushed. Then he sank his teeth into my finger. I had to shake him off. It took dad and my brother’s strength combined to pull the blood thirsty rodent from me. Flower Pot fell to the ground. He ran across the room. In the commotion the chair was knocked over, landing on the gerbil and Flower Pot still ended up in a box in the yard that day.

When word got out that I could bring pets back to life I was inundated with requests. I tried to explain that Fluffy and Snowball wouldn’t be the same when they came back but people were so attached to their pets who was I to stop them?

When Mrs Albot at number twenty four asked me to bring back her boa constrictor George, I had to call it quits. There was already a monster rabbit terrorising the local kids and a vicious goldfish in the pond in the park. We really didn’t need a 7ft reptile with a taste for flesh slithering around.

I hung up my walking dead pet business and life carried on as normal. That was until I met Harry.

Walking home, clutching the straps of my backpack and whistling to myself I passed the church. There was a teenaged boy sat on the steps. He was weeping behind a mop of black hair. His arms were tucked inside the sleeves of his black hooded jacket.

“Are you okay?” I asked. I loathed to see a stranger in trouble.

He looked up at me teary eyed. His eye liner had smudged.

“It’s my girlfriend Zoe. She’s gone!”

He removed a photograph from his pocket. It was of a girl who would have been very pretty if it weren’t for the black curtains of hair almost concealing her entire face. Two blackened eyes peered out and black painted lips pouted.

“She was so young. There was so much ahead of her.”

I felt sorry for him. My aunt called it a gift I had. I wasn’t so sure. She hadn’t seen Flower Pot almost rip my finger off. Then again, I hadn’t tried it on humans before so maybe this time it would be different.

The boy led me to the open casket that Zoe lay in. She looked peaceful. Her face was as pale as it always had been. She wore her signature black. Judging by the photo the girl had been preparing for her funeral her entire life.

I touched her forehead. Harry gave a gasp that echoed through the church as her eyes opened. She sat up like a villain in a vampire movie. Zoe reached her hands out and Harry helped her out of her satin bed.

It was quite a romantic scene really until she lunged forward and tried to chow down on his neck.

“Yeah, she may get a little bitey,” I warned.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked her.

“Urrggh,” she replied.

Harry turned to me. “What is wrong with her?”

“Considering she was dead not a few moments ago I think she looks great,”

“Urrrrgghh!” she agreed.

“She won’t make much of a conversationalist and you will have to stop her biting people, but all in all you have her back. She looks zombilicious!”

Enjoy this? Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s collection of poems and short stories.

Author’s Log; My Silly Little Confessions: Part 2

Well the end of October is upon us. The first draft submission for MSLC is fast approaching. I can’t believe how fast the time has flown. One day the book is announced and you feel like you have all the time in the world. Before long you are getting nervous messages from editors and publishers asking how it’s coming along and reminding you they will need a full first draft. Sheesh!

The most exciting thing about writing MSLC is that is so different from my previous books. The black comedy that runs through it took me completely out of my comfort zone. However, the main character, Tracey, spoke to me in a way that no other character ever has. Her personality leaps off the page. Her dialogue feels like it has already been said before it reaches the page. I could put this down to her being one of the most effervescent characters I have written yet or it could be the result of me gaining more experience as an author.

It makes me a little nervous that I don’t have fairy tale plots or fantasy backgrounds to hide behind. MSLC, although set in the same universe as Maestro, is raw in its settings, characters and theme.

I was asked by a reader what surprised me the most about this book. Well, I would have to say the fact that the short story ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ which featured in ‘Myths and Tales’ volume 1 managed to explode into a full novel. Tracey has her own following which I hadn’t anticipated when I first wrote it so now I’m very much looking forward to seeing how readers respond to her first novel appearance.

Can’t wait until January? Click HERE to read the short story ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ that started it all.

Throw Back: Red Snow

As its Thursday we thought we would throw back to some early images from Vivika Widow’s Red Snow.

When Red Snow was released back in 2013 this was one of the first images that went out to the wide world. It was the creation of Leo St Paul who also developed Red Snow’s 6N6 series, not to mention the 2016 cover that is shown below.

It had the elements of fairy tale and gothic horror of Red Snow and proved popular among fans of the book.

Click HERE to read Red Snow

Graveyard Granny

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.

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s full collection of short stories and poems

Monster Hunter

Another dead and the town had gathered. Set deep in the Mendelov Woods the village of Caster was hidden from the wider world. The timid people had presumed themselves safe until recently when bodies began to be found, torn apart as though from wild animals.

“A bear of a wolf,” a recently widowed woman cried, clutching onto her children. “What ever it was it ripped poor Frank to pieces.”

The town mayor raised his hands to try to calm them. They were frightened. They hadn’t seen anything like it before. Frank Islay was the most recent but it had been happening more and more lately. Frank had been found close to the village entrance. He had been torn limb from limb. His eyeballs were ripped from his skull and what remained of his face was shredded beyond recognition. Only a lvoing note from his wife that he carried in his pocket had identified him.

“It was no bear!” one of the village elders called. “I’ve read about this kind of thing. It used to happen all the time. It is some kind of monster.”

The town erupted into a frenzy.

“We’ll have no talk of monsters,” said the mayor sternly. “There are no monsters in these parts,” he grumbled. His twinkling blue eyes met the gaze of his grandchildren. He didn’t want them to be frightened.

“There are monsters. I have seen them!”

The gathering acknowledged as a stranger amongst them. He had been with them ever since the killings began. He had sat quietly in the tavern every evening before retiring to the small room he rented. No one had conversed with him. Strangers were always welcome in Caster but since he didn’t seem willing to share they left him be. Now they turned to him as though he had answers to life itself.

“My name is Edgar Scholtz,” he announced. “I have seen attacks like these before.”

Edgar had a captive audience so he continued.

“They prey on the evil amongst us. The liars, cheats and thieves.

The widow sobbed. “My Frank was none of those things,” she protested. He was a good man.”

Edgar thought about it for a few moments.

“None of us are without misdeeds to our names. A stern word at the dinner table could be enough to invoke the wrath of this creature.”

The mayor himself was now intrigued. “You say you have faced these monsters before?”

Edgar nodded. He smiled just enough to be charming but not so much to seem as though he wasn’t taking the situation seriously.

“They are of an ancient magic that is the blackest ever found. They are drawn from pure souls and sent in search of sinners like hounds on the blood trail,” Edgar explained.

The crowd gave a collective gasp. They considered themselves good people but there were misdeeds they had committed. If we take a closer look, haven’t we all?

“The creature you face is called a Hangram and I will stop them.”

Click HERE to read the full story of the Hangram.

Click HERE to read more of Vivika’s horror fairy tales ..

Who was that boy?

Two girls sat on the steps watching the building opposite. There had been coming and going from it all day – more than usual. It was the residences for students of the university. That morning paramedics had come to remove a body from one the rooms.

One of the paramedics had set about pushing the students back who had been drawn by morbid curiosity.

“Step back please!” she cried as her colleagues carried the dead  boy to the waiting transport. She was a seasoned professional. She had been on the scene of many an emergency although none would assume it from her youthful face.

Some of the students gasped in horror. Others felt compelled to call home and speak to their loved ones.

But that was earlier. Early evening was beginning to descend as the girls sat on the bench. Although the shock of what had happened had dissipated there was still an odd air circulating the old architecture.

One of the girls shivered.

“I heard he killed himself,” she said.

Her friend didn’t have to ask to whom she referred. She already knew.

“I heard it was an accident. He took too many pills.”

The first girl shook her head. They both fell into silence. They watched a solemn youth with his head bowed enter the building.

“Such a shame,” piped the first girl. “He must  have been very young. What a waste of life.”

Her companion agreed. “He must have been very desperate to have taken his own life.”

The first girl sniffed. “I heard his mother has been informed. I can’t imagine what she will discover as she tries to put the pieces together.”

Click HERE to follow Dorian’s journey and the events that caused him to make such a desperate decision.

 

Disclaimer

All articles featured on this blog are written by Vivika Widow

Copyright 2016 Torrance Media. All rights reserved.

Unless stated otherwise.

Enjoy!

Authors log: My Silly Little Confessions; part 2

Chapters written: 1 -13

Body Count: 9

Well that really got out of hand!

As I make my way through the middle chapters of ‘My Silly Little Confessions’ it occurs to me that the main character, Tracey Campbell, isn’t the real antagonist. She is my main narrator and despite the despicable crimes she has committed she isn’t what one might traditionally describe as the villain – at least not the main one.

The real villains in this book are bullies, those who would step on others to improve themselves and those so wrapped up in their own prejudices they fail to treat others with respect.

The main problem with writing ‘My Silly Little Confessions’ and the short story that spawned it, ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ was that the main character had to hold the attention of the reader in a way that was entertaining as well as still holding their sympathy for her.

Because I don’t want the reader to stop following Tracey’s pursuits her victims have to be carefully chosen. Tracey still has to be likable even though she is racking up a body count. Therefore, her victims have to be so detestable they eclipse her murderous nature.

The full first draft should be complete by November. Then it will go through the editing process. It will be battered, bruised and shaken up to make it the best little book it can be in time for its January release.

The short story ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ is available now as part of the Myths and Tales collection. Click HERE to read.

 

 

Cheese Louise!

I know as you read this you will find my predicament quite silly. After all, who in their right mind would want to be made of cheese? I certainly didn’t. It was quite accidental. I’ve just had to learn to live with it. The magic I possess has been passed down to me through the generations of women in my family. Dad was a little weary of it, especially when he had to spend a week with an extra head. The extra head was great for heightened senses but not so good for his job as a buttoned down insurance salesman. Poor dad struggled to converse with his clients. Not everyone was accepting as we were. Even with the second head and other little magic mishaps, dad loved mum all the same.

As I grew older the magic became strong in me. Every time I sneezed I would set fire to the coffee table. We would chuckle and put the fire out. Not necessarily in that order.

The magic was difficult to control and when it was mixed with a clumsy gene it was positively dangerous. It was actually written somewhere that my great grandmother – a well respected witch – had been asked by the villagers for help to make their crops grow. Grandmama was only too happy to oblige. Soon the village had more food than they could eat but poor Grandmama had blown herself up in the process, which brings me to my current situation.

Most witches opt for a black cat as their familiar. Sometimes an owl or even a raven – so I have been told – will do the trick. I had opted for three white mice. That was my first mistake.

Squeaky, Screetchy and Clive – that would be the mice – were the best familiars any witch could ask for. They were cute, fun and always greeted with a squeak and a smile.

They loved cheese as most mice do, at least in cartoons. (I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this). One day the local store was out of the brand the mice liked best so I thought I could save myself some money and make my own cheese. Now, not every girl has a cow at home and even for those who do, who has time for all that churning? Not me! I would conjure the best cheese my little mice ever tasted.

I had everything I needed. The mice watched in eager anticipation from their cage. With a sway and a swoop, a jump and a loop I set about making my magic cheese. That was when it happened. In my nostrils I felt a tickle. I tried to hold it back, I really did. A loud sneeze escaped me and the whole thing back fired. Instead of a mountain of tasty cheese for my mice I instead became cheddar.

Its taken some adjusting, like keeping myself constantly refrigerated. I had a boyfriend who was allergic to dairy. Needless to say that didn’t last very long. But my mice are happy. In fact they are positively giddy when they see me…