Vivika Widow's Blog, page 84

Knock Knock; by Vivika Widow; Episode 4

“So what happened?” asked the police officer, Coogan, who had already asked me the same question one hundred times at least.

“I told you!” I spat with venomous frustration that probably wasn’t helping my cause. “The last thing I remember was that I returned home from the club and went to sleep. Theresa wasn’t at home. She was at her mother’s. I woke up and there she was beside me… dead.”

The image of my dead wife will be forever etched in my mind. The cold stare, the haunting paleness of her skin. I couldn’t begin to grieve because as quickly as I had discovered her corpse lying next to me, I was whisked off to the Coldford jail and accused of being the one responsible. With the finger of blame pointing in my face I couldn’t find a suitable excuse or explanation that would satisfy the wagging tongues of the town and the suspicious eyes of the Coldford police force.

Officer Coogan looked at the papers in his hands again. The statement that I had made on arrival was there in plain writing for him to read over and over again.

“So you say you were returning from the ‘knock, knock’ club?”

“Yes …” I grumbled. “Must we do this again?”

“And that was Thursday evening?”

“No!” I snapped. “It was Tuesday. Stop trying to trip me I up. I know what I meant and I meant what I said.”

Coogan’s stare narrowed on me. “The officer who attended the scene was called on Friday.”

My head began to spin with the information I was being dealt. Coogan continued, “That means that there are two days unaccounted for. The victim had been lying for two days. Do you care to fill us in?” I shook my head. I couldn’t handle Theresa being referred to as a victim. “Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. You did it, didn’t you?”

“No I didn’t!” I protested. “I have no idea what happened to her!”

Coogan folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, his lips pursed tightly. He had the slightest self satisfied grin that most coppers get when the think ‘I’ve got ya!’

There was a knock on the door. Coogan looked at his watch. He frowned to himself, scraped his chair back with a deafening screech and went to the door. He didn’t open it fully and pushed his bald head through and spoke to the visitor in a hushed voice. When he came back to the table he held an expression that was akin to his wife having told him he had lost his manhood.

“You are free to go,” he groaned.

I was confused. Subjects of murder investigations don’t just walk free. “But what about my wife? Don’t you want to ask me more questions? What about the investigation?”

I had never known anyone outside the canine community to growl but that is what Coogan did then. “Do you want me to keep you here?” he tried.

I shook my head. My whole body was trembling. In some feat of unconscious acrobatics I was on my feet and out the door standing under the archway that was the main entrance to the police station.

“Mr Crusow?” I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to find Tabitha from the club. She wore a long grey coat and a hat, the brim of which cast a shadow over her steel grey eyes.

“What are you doing here?” I stammered.

Her painted lips stretched into a smile. “A simple thank you will suffice.”

“You had me released. How? I was being held for my wife’s murder.”

“They just needed to be reminded that you were Samuel Crusow. That is all.”

“Do you know what happened to my wife?”

Tabitha shook her head. “Sorry no. I can help you find out though and faster than the police can I dare say.” She linked her arm through mine and walked me down the steps of the police station and onto the street like a child. “Go home and pack your belongings. Leave everything you can spare. Meet me at the club.”

***

If someone could break into my house and have my wife’s dead body lie next to me without my even realising there was no way I wanted to take any chance of living at home alone. I arrived at the club around noon bringing with me only a small bag of clothes. Dennis and Tabitha were waiting, as though they had anticipated the exact time of my arrival.

“Good to see you Sam!” Dennis beamed pulling my bag from my shoulder and handing it to one of the girls. This time she wasn’t scantily clad in sequins but in a long black dress with a man’s suit jacket over it. “Lisa, take this to Mr Crusow’s room.”

As the girl disappeared with everything I deemed important enough to bring with me the cloud of uncertainty began to break. A peak of informative sunshine shone through. “I have nowhere else to go,” I said.

Dennis patted my shoulder and drew me closer to him. “Please, this is the only place that you need to be. We are so excited to have you with us where you belong.”

Tabitha disappeared behind the bar and began to pour three whiskeys. She sipped at hers, Dennis took a drink then wandered off to oversee preparations for that night leaving the rest on the bar. I swallowed mine in one gulp.

This was going to be my life now and I was damned if I even knew who they were…

***

I had been given a luxurious room considering the face of the club. It was a spacious room at the very top of the building with a vaulted ceiling and a window that looked out onto the street below. I could actually see my old home from there. On the night stand was a photograph of a man with auburn hair like mine, the same emerald eyes that I bore and a smile that looked all too familiar. It had to have been the original Samuel Crusow. My father had been mentioned several times but not once had I been told where he was. Was he still alive? Dennis had mentioned me as a suitable replacement for him so I guess it was likely he was dead.

I couldn’t hear any of the music or frivolity downstairs. At around eight, the young waitress, Lisa came to my room with a freshly prepared meal. She was speaking to me but I wasn’t hearing any of it. I gathered that she was inviting me downstairs but I was too busy writing a letter in my head to Theresa’s mother.

After the club closed I still couldn’t sleep. Given that they treated me like a celebrity I was sure they wouldn’t mind if I helped myself to the bar. The corridors upstairs were in darkness. It was like the whole club had gone to sleep.

As I pushed the door open into the main hall I discovered that the club had not been asleep upstairs but had merely brought itself to the belly of the building and quietened its noise to a sombre thoughtfulness. The house lights were down but the tracing lights twinkled like diamonds. Tabitha, Dennis and most of the staff were gathered. When Dennis saw me he darted onto the stage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Samuel Crusow!”

They all turned to me and began to give an applause. Flabbergasted by the sudden attention when all I wanted was a quiet drink I climbed onto the stage and said to him, “I am here now. I think you ought to start explaining to me what this club is all about.”

Dennis opened his arms. “Even better. I will show you.”

Tied to an office chair with wheels the Mayor of Coldford was pushed onto the stage. His mouth was gagged. His eyes wide with alarm. His face was bloodied from a very severe beating. He was still wearing the same suit that he had had on when he first disappeared.

“You are responsible for this?” I gasped.

Dennis shrugged his shoulders. “Not me personally.”

I looked at the most powerful man in Coldford, now crying like a terrified infant. “You have to let him go,” I warned, hoping that some of their adulation for me would translate into obedience.

Dennis shook his head. “Sorry this came straight from upper management.”

“What is this place?”

“As I said before we are a group of the elite. We have been granted authority by a higher power to survive by any means necessary. This man has taken from the people of Coldford and embezzled their funds causing another depression. We could have let that go but then he embezzled the clubs funds which we cannot allow.” Dennis saw that I was retreated so he gripped my arm and pulled me back.

Tabitha, sick of Dennis’ theatrics and my hesitation pulled a gun and shot the Mayor through his skull. “He can be thankful that I was feeling merciful today,” she griped.

I stumbled backwards. I was shocked. Blood had spattered over both me and Dennis. The rest of the staff began applauding again.

I tried to pull away. “I will go to the police!” I said as if they would have just let me go.

Dennis and Tabitha looked at each other and shared a laugh. “If the club could be stopped by being reported to the police do you really think we would have lasted for generations?”

I was finding it difficult to breathe. I could see the dead frame of Mayor Feltz in the corner of my eye. “His wife! I will tell his wife!”

Dennis removed a silver cigarette case from the inside of his pocket. He pushed one between his lips and fished out a petrol lighter. He sighed with satisfaction after his first draw. “Go ahead. Mrs Feltz is a member.”

What had I gotten myself into?

Enjoying the series so far?

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Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 5 available 15 January 2016

Further Confessions; ‘Adapted from Vivika Widow’s Confessions of an anatomist

When my student days came to a crashing halt there was something that not even the police found out. Yes, my ‘victims’ – I hesitate to call them that, after all they were serving a higher purpose – were mostly my fellow students but in order to have an altogether prosperous student experience I had to rid of all pesky distractions. Unfortunately, this meant that certain family members had to go.

Firstly there was my mother. When I showed her my grades which were all perfect but one did she tell me how proud she was? No. Her words to me were, “You need to do better.”

I was patrolled around the rest of the family like the prize pup at the fair. I enjoyed the adulation at first but after a while of the forced ‘We’re so proud’ it became boring.

Mother would call me day in and day out to bend my ear about mundane things that didn’t interest me. She was quite committed to offering me a daily list of why I wasn’t as successful as I should be and why I would never make a wife to someone. She was taking up space in my brilliant mind that was needed to concentrate. I am forced to believe that not leaving me to concentrate was what caused my first anatomy test to return from its marking crusade with a big fat F. She had to go.

Then there was dear old dad. He and my mother had divorced just prior to me leaving for medical school. Being the patriarch had kept him busy with work. It was all he knew. The household was the woman’s domain so as long as he brought home the pay cheque from his job at the local bank that was his duties complete. Anything he said was a disdainful remark, usually focused on women being unsuited for pretty much anything outside of the kitchen. That was of course when I could elicit a conversation at all. Again these were silly problems to have and were keeping me from my ultimate goal of becoming a doctor. Daddy dearest had to go.

I know you’re reading this thinking ‘What a selfish little witch’ and I am inclined to agree but when you have the voices of expectation ringing in your ears and Professor McArrogant slapping you around with failed papers drastic measures have to be taken.

It all happened on a weekend I would normally have been spending in the library, leafing through dusty old anatomy books. I took the bus from the University back to my old town. My mother had called the night before and I gave her no inclination of my pending arrival. She was none the wiser.

I arrived at her home around three. It was a third floor flat, now that she and my father sold my childhood home and shared the spoils. She had given me a key so I could come back and forth as much as I pleased. The key fob when swiped caused the door to give a delightful little buzz like it was happy to see you. This made me smile. I didn’t bother to cover my footsteps. My mother always had her television blaring anyway with cooking shows.

I unlocked the door. As I had predicted the television was set to decibels that would cause walls to crack. The only reason she hadn’t received any complaints was because the old girl downstairs was as deaf as a door nail. She was in the kitchen. Her back was turned to me. She hadn’t noticed me behind her. She hadn’t felt a presence looming. I eased a drawer open whilst she was still busy making a cup of coffee. She still didn’t know I was there. I could have been standing there waving lights like an air traffic controller and she still wouldn’t have seen me. Time was of the essence. I still had to get across town to father after all. So I plunged the knife through her back, severing the aorta and killing her instantly. I’m not a monster. She was my mother after all.

On my way across town I began to think of my next test. If I wasn’t able to improve my grade it was likely I would be asked to leave the class by the end of the term. I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t face another F. Ever since I was a small girl all I ever wanted was to be a doctor. Nothing could stand in the way of that. I’m a people person, a healer at heart.

I caught a train across the city and began to make my way to the small house that my father resided in. It was a quaint little bungalow that was a bitch of a commute to get to. I was dedicated to my purpose though so a train ride, a bus and a taxi cab later there I was at his front door. This time I knocked. I had a key for there too but dad always left his own in the lock.

He opened the door and stared at me with vexation. “You should be at school!” he groaned.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Well hello to you too.”

“I’m not giving you any more money,” he stated quite conclusively as he pulled a beer from the fridge and marched into the living room, throwing himself down on a tattered sofa.

If I was wanting to make my way back to the University before my favourite show came on I was going to have to be quick. Three words came to mind. Blunt Force Trauma. There was a heavy wooden statue of a bear that sat in the corner. I never did like it but it had enough weight behind it to serve my purpose. “Put that down. You’re gonna break the damn thing!” dad snapped.

He should have known better than that. Even after smashing a large gaping hole in his skull the ugly bear was still in tact.

So my studies continued quite blissfully until the damn police decided to put their nose in. I could have been one of the greatest anatomists of our time but that just wasn’t meant to be. In hindsight I should have probably paid a little more attention to covering my tracks but they say in the back of the mind of any serial killer lies an exhibitionist just dying to get caught.

The police don’t know about the parents. I think I’ll save that little treat for later…

You can read ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ in Vivika Widow’s ‘Myths and Tales’ now!

 

Vivika Widow Cover Art presented by Leo St Paul

‘Knock, Knock’; by Vivika Widow; Episode 3

After finding our home ransacked, Theresa decided to stay with her mother. She left and after having asked me to join her several times I remained behind alone. In desperate times, my new job at the newspaper was important. Through the night I was restless. I watched the quiet streets from my window until my eyes were burning. After falling asleep on the sofa for a few hours I left to meet Madeline for breakfast at the local diner. She was already waiting for me at a table by the window with a coffee in her hand a a plate of eggs and bacon before her.

“Are you okay?” she asked as I sat at the booth bench across from her. She hadn’t seen me since the house breaking. She was filled with genuine concern. She had actually spent an hour on the telephone with Theresa the night before, calling from her mother’s.

The décor of the diner was a mix of bright red and clinical white. It was harsh on my tired stinging eyes.

“I’m fine,” I said, probably unconvincingly. “I don’t think they will be back.”

Madeline shook her head sympathetically. A large middle aged, grey haired waitress with thick rimmed spectacles approached. “Just some coffee please,” I told her. She grunted and disappeared back to the kitchen to fetch the coffee. “She’s a charmer…” I commented.

“Are you sure you are okay?” Madeline asked again.

“I told you I am fine,” I insisted. “These kind of things happen all the time these days.”

“Nothing was stolen though. If it was a robbery surely they would have taken something. Theresa told me about your visit to the Knock, Knock club. You were threatened!”

“It was just a bunch of crazies. The girl I spoke seemed to think she knew who my father was.”

“You should be careful Sam,” Madeline warned.

“Do you know the club?”

“I’ve been there once or twice,” she stated. “Its a strange place I was trying to get a story on it but the owner would give me nothing.”

“Well my mother left my father when I was small so I have no idea what he could have gotten involved in but now that I know Theresa is safe I’m going to have a talk with the performer, Tabitha. Maybe I will get you your story after all.”

“Don’t do anything stupid Sam.”

As if I would…

***

That evening I returned to the Knock, Knock club. Perhaps my journalistic instinct was getting the better of me or perhaps I wanted to avoid the confinement of my empty home. Either way, there I was knocking on the door as the sign suggested. The man who had greeted Theresa and I on our first visit was at the door again.

“Table for one?” he asked with an ironic smile. “Sometimes it is more hassle than its worth to bring the missus isn’t it?”

“I’m not staying,” I explained to him. “I just want to speak to Tabitha.”

“I shouldn’t let you in at all after the stunt you pulled the other night. Didn’t your mother teach you that it is rude to barge your way into a ladies dressing room? Luckily for you I hate to lose a customer and T isn’t here tonight.” I made to walk away but the man pulled me back. His long fingers wrapped around my forearm. “I’m Dennis. I manage the club. Perhaps I can help.”

I pulled my arm free. “No you can’t.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain. You are Samuel Crusow, correct?”

I blurted, “Why does everyone keep saying that like it is something sinister? What is all this nonsense about? You people – whoever you are – have been the bane of my life for the past few days. My wife won’t come home because she is so terrified. Is this about the mayor?”

Dennis raised his dark eyebrows. “The Mayor? No this isn’t anything to do with him. It is all about you. Let’s not stand here in the cold discussing it. Come inside.”

I followed Dennis across the club. His lean frame was much taller than mine. He strode confidently with long legs. A girl stopped him. She was dressed in a sequinned leotard. She had a large black

bow in her blonde hair. Her face was so thick with make up it almost looked like a mud mask.

“Why can’t I have the headline spot. I am so much better than Meldra is,” she whined.

Dennis shook her off. “Not now Bette. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Bette was relentless. She continued to follow him, pleading her case. “You are showing clear favouritism to that no talent whore!”

Finally, Dennis stopped. He gripped both of her shoulders. He was clearly frustrated but he still spoke in a calm tone. “Listen, why don’t you and Meldra fight it out back stage. I will even throw in some knives and you can tear at each other’s throats. Whoever wins can replace T until she returns. It will give me one less whining woman to worry about.”

Without another word the girl dashed off towards backstage. Dennis showed me to an office where he gestured for me to take a seat.

“It would be dangerous to tell you everything now. Besides, Tabitha knows more than I do,” Dennis began, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle that had been left on the table. “Your father, Samuel Crusow Sr, was the founder of a group of elite members of society. It began just after the last great depression. It was a way of preserving certain statuses so that the members wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of poverty.”

“I never really knew my father why should I care about any of this?” I asked.

Dennis swallowed the whiskey. “Because, Samuel is no longer with us which makes you the next to take his spot in the club.”

“So I get a birthday card, the odd invitation to a game of golf, that sort of thing?”

Dennis laughed. “Not quite.”

“Well if that’s the case then I’m really not interested,” I stated quite conclusively.

“Don’t let the Knock, Knock club fool you. I mean I love the old girl like my own but she is a hacket old bag. Our base may not be much to look at but the power of this group stretches far and wide.”

“So what is this group about then?”

“We do whatever it takes to survive,” said Dennis matter of factly. “What we need is granted to us. We have the right to survive, even in such troubled times as these.”

“And what exactly do you want from me?”

“Well it would be good to have a namesake take over from where Samuel Senior left off but I will leave that decision up to you. Don’t let the desperation outside take hold of you. There is something here much greater than any of us and it can be yours if only you were to take it.”

“So you are a cult?”

Dennis shrugged his shoulders, unmoved by the term. “Call it what you want but don’t dismiss it until you have seen what we are capable of, what we are willing to do …”

In my head the voices were screaming ‘Nutbag!’ but my hands were shaking and my arms were trembling.

The Knock, Knock club was a front for the mysterious group. They held meetings at the club and I was invited to the next one. Before it all got out of hand I admit I did think this was going to make one hell of a story.

***

That night I climbed into bed. My head was conjuring thousands of different ideas of what could possibly be involved at the Knock, Knock club. I drifted off to sleep just after midnight because I heard the town clock chime faintly in the distance and before the twelfth stroke I had fallen into a deep sleep.

The next morning I awoke refreshed. Slowly I came back from the land of nod into the land of reality. The questions that plaque us every morning queued up like always. ‘Where am I? What has happened?’ I realised quickly that I was at home. The sun had already began streaming through the window so it was later than I would have liked to rise. As I turned I felt a heavy object beside me. The haze in my eyes cleared. I saw the wisps of my wife’s hair streaming out from underneath deep red duvet. My initial thought was that she must have arrived home late and didn’t wish to disturb me. I peeled the sheets back and the bed was heavily stained with blood. Theresa stared up at me with vacant eyes. Her pretty and pleasant face that never had a sneer for anyone had been completely mutilated. Her throat had been cut and her mouth gaped open as though she was still trying to hold on to her last breath.

The police were alerted. I was arrested on suspicion of my wife’s murder. My visits to the Knock, Knock club were not to be taken lightly. It was only going to get worse…

Episode 4 available Wednesday 7th December

Why not go back and read from episode 1?

Episode 1

Episode 2

 

Fall to Ruins by Vivika Widow

Once upon a time, in a land far from where I write to you, existed two kingdoms headed by two great rulers. The kingdoms of Elgany and Navaria bordered each other. Elgany, a kingdom of wealth and culture lay to the temperate south. The kingdom of Navaria, a land of harsh landscape and strong people lay to the cold north.

King Roman of Navaria and King Benjamin of Elgany were the closest of allies and the greatest of friends. Benjamin’s queen, Manon, was the sister in law to Roman’s cousin which made them relations of sorts. In all of their years as friends King Roman’s family had never hosted Benjamin at their home, Castle Kroestov. Benjamin rarely left Mardaux Palace in Elgany so it came as something of a surprise when Roman received a letter from him stating that his arrival in Navaria was imminent.

“So what is the king like?” Roman’s wife, Francesca, had asked having never met Benjamin.

Roman smiled as he considered the thousand adjectives that would befit Benjamin. Burly, friendly, loud, excitable; all of them would not suffice. Benjamin had an overwhelming presence and he treated all as though they were his family. His visit made for an unexpected delight.

Roman waited in the entrance of Castle Kroestov as the convoy of golden carriages carrying the pale blue and yellow flags of Elgany drew nearer. The Navarian king was accompanied by his two sons, James the elder and Edward the younger. Both of them were in the throws of early adolescence. The king’s only daughter, Charlotte, waited at her father’s side. She was unsure of what to expect.

The Navarian guards – dressed in the black and red tabbards of their own flag – opened the doors to allow entry for their regal visitors. In a parade of noise and commotion, King Benjamin came bounding in. His large smile was wide and bright. He abstained from respectful bows to his fellow king and instead gripped Roman in a tight embrace. Behind Benjamin marched a very pretty queen with long golden hair. Her neck was completely covered in glittering pearls. Her fingers were laced in diamonds. She wore a gown of rich purple with emeralds sown into the bodice. Queen Manon was a great deal younger than her husband. She was a youthful woman who shone radiant amongst the finery. Four young girls ushered in behind their mother in order of height. Behind them a nanny carried Ben’s only son, the infant Prince Julian.

“You brought the whole family!” Roman cheered. “I’m so happy to see you all.”

Manon gave a polite curtsey to the Navarian king and her daughters followed suit.

Benjamin approached Edward and tousled his ebony curls. “Your sons are grown now Roman. What strong young men they are.” He drew a small sickle bladed dagger from the pocket of his black travelling cloak. The handle was studded with diamonds. He handed it to the young prince.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Edward in receipt to the gift. His eyes were drawn to the beautiful weapon.

“Ben, you shouldn’t have,” Roman interceded.

“Nonsense! Every well bred boy in Elgany has one, Eddy should too,” said Benjamin. He smiled at Edward before turning his attention to James. “And you must be James.” This time he shook the boy’s hand with reserved respect. “Future ruler of this wonderful land.” He drew a golden seal with the emblem of Elgany etched on it from his other pocket. “This jewel has never left the confines of Mardaux. Keep it safe.”

James shook his head. “Your Majesty is too generous. I cannot accept this.”

Benjamin shrugged his shoulders. “Of course you can. It is mine to gift as I please. Perhaps when you are king you will remember this and look to Elgany with kindness.”

Before any more objections could be made, Benjamin lifted Princess Charlotte into his arms. A little girl of fewer years than her brothers, Charlotte giggled as she was spun around like a ragdoll and placed on Benjamin’s shoulders. “I have always had a keen eye for precious things and I think I may have found the most precious of them all!”

Roman laughed, “My little princess is not for sale.”

“Pity,” was Benjamin’s retort. He leaned forward still carrying the child on his shoulders he kissed Francesca on both cheeks. “My belle, introductions are not necessary for you. Roman speaks of you so often I feel I know you as well as I would my own sister.”

Francesca curtseyed. “I could say very much the same. It is a pleasure to have you here with us.”

Roman drew Benjamin aside. He lowered his voice to a more solemn tone. “I am pleased that you have come to visit us but I must ask, is there another purpose?”

Benjamin’s large brown eyes clouded with solemnity much unlike him. He drew Charlotte from his shoulders and down his back. “We should speak alone.” He addressed the child, “Charlotte, my Madeleine would very much like to meet you. Will you show her around?”

At the king’s request, Charlotte made to introduce herself to the Elganite princesses.

“So what is wrong?” Roman asked.

“What I have to tell you is of grave importance,” Benjamin began. “My kingdom is in danger.”

***

As Roman and Benjamin drew away to talk alone, Manon left her ladies in waiting behind and was escorted by Francesca to a study. It was a cerebral room, filled with polished mahogany furniture and shelves filled with books. A fire was lit. The cold snow and icy winds outside contrasted the cosy warmth of the study. It was a room that Francesca kept exclusively for her own use. Even the servants of the castle dared not to enter.

“You have a beautiful home, Your Majesty,” Manon commented with politeness.

“It’s draughty and very grey but it is home. Not as lovely as Mardaux I hear.”

Manon smiled coyly. “My husband enjoys the finer things.”

Francesca poured them a glass of deep red wine each in crystal goblets. Like al of her children, she had raven hair and a pale complexion. She was a striking woman with the brightest blue eyes.

“You like the finer things too from what I see hanging around your neck,” Francesca commented, handing a glass to the Elganite queen.

Manon clasped the glass in both hands. She shied away from eye contact with Francesca. “I’m glad I have the opportunity to speak to you alone.”

Francesca seated herself on the sofa opposite. She lay one arm over the back and the other holding her wine. “Really?” she enquired. “Might I ask why?”

Manon took a deep breath. “There is talk, rumours of what you are capable of.” Francesca narrowed her gaze. She already knew what Manon referred to but she wanted to draw it from her like venom from a snake bite. “They say you are a witch of tremendous power.”

Francesca betrayed no emotion. “The say a lot of things,” she answered.

“My little boy, Julien, he is a sick infant. Benjamin has hopes of him succeeding him one day but I fear he won’t see his next birthday.”

“Isn’t that what doctors are for?” Francesca dismissed.

“We’ve had the best doctors that money can buy. It is no use. Please, Your Majesty, if the rumours are true you can help my little Prince Julien.”

Francesca darted a glance at the door before leaning forward. “My twin, who is no longer with us, was also named Julien. He would not have liked to see any suffering in his name sake. I will help your little boy but there is something you have to do.”

“Anything! I am at your mercy. No price is too great.”

Francesca raised her hand to hush her. “Firstly, calm yourself down. I can’t have anyone overhear what I am about to do. Secondly, my husband can know nothing of this. He would worry that his people wouldn’t look too kindly on witchcraft, no matter its intention.”

Manon breathed a sigh of relief. “I am eternally in your debt. Your Majesty is too kind.”

Francesca shook her head. “Hold your applause,” she said. “There is a great penalty attached to giving life, even to one so small. It can’t be conjured from nowhere. It has to be taken from something.”

Manon wiped the tear that was forming in the corner of her eye. “I’ll pay with my own life.”

Francesca stood. She went to a cabinet by the window in an almost gliding step. From a drawer she removed a straw figure in the crude shape of a person. “I can see to it that your little boy never falls to ill health. It can’t come from a parent because that is where the life springs.”

Manon’s upset was beginning to grow. “What can I do?”

Francesca clasped the poppet tightly in her right hand. “If your baby boy means so much to you, choose one of your daughters to be replaced.”

***

Princess Madeleine of Elgany, the youngest of Benjamin’s daughters was making a game of hiding and seeking with Princess Charlotte of Navaria. Charlotte had the advantage of knowing Castle Kroestov as home so she hid and Madeleine went in search of her. Madeleine’s excitement for the game grew when she wandered into the kitchens and found Charlotte stowed away underneath one of the counters. Charlotte cried out and ran, almost knocking the chef onto his backside. Madeleine chased after her, both girls alight with laughter.

The Elgany princess lost her Navarian counterpart somewhere along the third floor so she was searching from room to room. Her heart beating a little faster with the thrill and anticipation of the game. One of the doors lay ajar. Madeleine assumed Charlotte had hid in there so she boldly charged inside. She almost crashed into a man larger in presence than her father. He wore a military uniform but not like that of the guards at the entrance of the castle. He was an officer.

“And who might you be?” he asked. His grin stretching in maliciousness from ear to ear. His mouth filled with pearly white teeth.

Madeleine hesitated. She stepped back towards the doorway. “I’m looking for Her Highness, Princess Charlotte.”

The officer bore down on her like the jaws of a great monster. “Little girls shouldn’t be in here,” he said. His voice was husky but polite with underlying tones of danger.

Madeleine’s eyes were drawn to a table behind him. Spread across it was a map of Navaria with red pins in ever widening circles around Castle Kroestov. The officer noticed her gaze and challenged it. Still smiling his dark eyes blazed like a fierce forest predator. The sheepskin fur forming part of his uniform seeming much too soft for such a marauding creature.

“Drenisov?” barked the little Princess Charlotte.

The officer – Drenisov – looked past Madeleine to the Navarian princess and offered her a most congenial bow. “Your Highness, this young lady appeared to be lost. I was merely directing her onto the proper path.” He gracefully moved back towards the table and folded the map away.

“This young lady is Her Highness, Princess Madeleine. She is also my friend. You will show her the proper respect.” Charlotte took Madeleine’s hand and pulled her away. Drenisov watched them with a growl until they were out of the line of view before closing the door and locking it.

***

Benjamin paced the room. Roman watched his restlessness from an armchair by the fire. At the Navarian king’s request they had been left alone.

“There are whispers of my people overthrowing me. They no longer believe in my right as a ruler granted to me from the Lords above,” Benjamin was explaining.

“How can you be so certain?” Roman asked.

Benjamin shook his head. “My life has been in danger for some time. I can’t even trust my own people. They are looking for my head.”

“I never thought I would see the day where a rebellion would rise in Elgany.” King Roman was flabbergasted. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Benjamin affixed his usual light air again. “My Minister, Antoinie Lubek, has been a tremendous help. He is keeping the people appeased until we can find the source of this upset.”

“Navaria will always be your friend and ally,” Roman assured him.

Benjamin gripped his arm. “I don’t fear for myself. As a King my life has always been forfeit to a higher purpose. It is my young boy Julien that warrants my concern. Should anything happen to me they will make an example of him as heir to my throne. They will tear him apart or worse, they will make him a puppet to their whims.” Roman listened to his friends concerns with silent horror. “The reason I came here – aside from seeing your lovely home – was to ask you a personal favour.”

Roman urged him to continue. “Should there be an uprising in Elgany, will you provide safe passage and refuge for Julien?”

“Of course,” said Roman immediately without having to give any thought to the matter.

“I don’t ask you this as a king and ally. I ask you this as a friend and a father.”

Roman had already decided. He too had a strong paternal instinct. Roman’s first dedication was to his children. This was a bond that he and Benjamin shared. “Of course I will assure that Julien is safe here but what about you? What about your girls?”

Benjamin itched his nose like he did most often when he was feeling nervous. “Nothing is certain yet. I just want to be cautious. I have to return to Elgany. If there is to be a revolution then my leaving will only fan the flames. My girls will be safe enough. Manon can take them as far as Hagen Moor if she needs to and they will not be disturbed. They will be of no consequence to the rebels. However, they will bay for Julien’s blood and so I need to know he will be somewhere he can be protected until he is old enough to return to Elgany and resume his throne.”

“You needn’t fear. For as long as I live your family will always be kept safe…”

***

Princess Marie, the eldest of King Benjamin’s children, had taken quite a shine to Prince James of Navaria. She had watched as he finished talking with his young brother and began to make his way to the third floor. She followed him in the hope of being able to elicit a conversation. In early adolescence, Marie was blossoming into a beautiful young woman. As an Elganite of noble birth she took great pride in her appearance. She was dressed often in pale blue as it matched the soft tone of her eyes and lemon because it highlighted the warmth of her golden tresses. She watched as James made his way along a long corridor on the third floor engrossed in his own thoughts. He quickly turned, having forgotten something and made his way back towards her. Marie turned to the painting on the wall at her side. She focused on the artists attention to detail and the brush strokes that had been given so much thought. She couldn’t really be sure of what she was looking at because she felt James close beside her. Her heart began to beat a little faster.

“Are you lost?” James asked politely.

Marie turned to him, hoping she seemed nonchalant. “I was just admiring this painting. There is so much beautiful art work around the castle. It must be thrilling to be able to look upon it every day.”

James too looked at the painting. It was an image of Castle Kroestov painted generations previous to theirs. “Well as thrilling as it can be looking at a picture of a the castle every day whilst in that castle everyday …” Marie shied away. James laughed. “I’m sure Mardaux Palace must be brimming with art work.”

“It is but the art there seems so … superficial. When there is so much of it, it begins to become less special. What you have here is genuine.”

Prince James had a handsome smile. He had the finely sculpted features of his mother and the handsome charm of his father. His raven hair was thick and well presented. He was not overly indulged in jewels or finery. His simple refinement echoed the strength of his people. “I’m very glad you like it. You are Princess Marie aren’t you?”

Marie offered a polite curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

James took her hand and kissed it. “The pleasure is all mine I assure you.” Marie bowed her head and smiled coyly. “It is getting a little stuffy in here. I was going to walk in the gardens for a little while. Would you like to join me?”

Marie became a little giddy. “I would love to.”

The snow had ceased to fall and the sun sat high in the sky as James and Marie made their way through the well tended gardens of Castle Kroestov. They saw little snow in the South so Marie was enjoying the glittering sparkle that lay across the deep red of the rose bushes.

They were discussing matters that brought them far from their regal parentage.

“I enjoy sailing,” Marie was explaining. “I have my own little boat which I take up and down the Chessy River.”

James was intrigued. He had heard much of the Elganite way of life but had never witnessed it first hand. “I was on a boat once when I was a small child. The rocking motions made me sick the entire time so I have never been back on one since. My little sister, Charlotte, loves boats. So what is your boat’s name?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

James raised his hands. “I promise…”

“Alice,” Marie admitted.

James shrugged his shoulders. “That’s a fine name for a boat.”

Marie explained, “I had an invisible friend as a child. We went on all sorts of adventures. The boat is named after her.”

James chuckled. “Now that is just adorable.”

Marie laughed too. She slapped James’ arm playfully. “I warned you it was silly.”

James shook his head. “Not at all. I’m sure Alice is the finest vessel in all of Elgany.”

As they made their way to the furtherest end of the gardens they passed a large crooked tree that sat at the very edge of the grounds. It was old and withered. Amidst the winter splendour the crooked tree stood brazenly against the beauty. It was not inviting, it was not life giving. The withered hands of the branches were threatening.

Marie began to feel dizzy. James noticed her steps lurch so he gripped her arm. “I’m feeling a little faint,” she said.

“Do you want to sit down?” James asked with genuine concern.

“No I will be fine. It will pass.”

Marie’s delicate frame became a dead weight and with a sudden pull she slipped from James’ grasp and tumbled at the foot of the crooked tree. Blood spilled from her mouth onto the fresh white snow. She was gone. The doctors claimed her heart had failed her as though it had been crushed under a vice-like grip. Francesca watched from the window as attendants and a distraught king and queen saw to their daughter.

Fear, panic and horror would quickly spread and the two great kingdoms of Navaria and Elgany would fall to ruins.

Vivika Widow’s ‘Red Snow’ is available now

Visit www.vivikawidow.uk for more!

Vivika Widow’s ‘Myths and Tales’ series Coming Soon!

Coming this winter

Directed by Leo St Paul

Written by Vivika Widow

Starring Simone Connelly as Vivika Widow

Visit www.vivikawidow.uk for more!

The Ojibwi

“Keepers of peace”

Leader: Chief Sonyo Kolla

After many years of tribal warfare throughout the world the Ojibwi were formed to govern all Tribes and Clans. Their main priority is to be keepers of peace and for this the Ojibwi are highly respected throughout the world, so much so they were granted seats in the Senate House as a symbol of their authority.

Of Native American decent the Ojibwi have formed friendships with many tribes worldwide.

The Ojibwi are expert negotiators but are also comprised of highly skilled warriors. They have proven to be deadly in combat when all else fails making them both feared and REVERED in equal measure.

For more visit www.vivikawidow.uk 

10 facts about the Conflict of the Throne Series …

Conflict of the Throne was an award winning saga prior to the publication of the first novel in 2015.
The Rogue Battalion cherub was based on the likeness of creator Paul Connelly’s daughter.
The Conflict of the Throne saga has been more than a decade in development.
The name Diorra was derived from the pantofola di’oro football boots, a favourite of former Celtic player Paolo Di Canio.
The next five instalment of the saga have already been written…
Fall of Freedom was originally intended to be the fourth part of the story.
The entire first instalment of Conflict of the Throne was written on a phone.
Conflict of the Throne began it’s life as a sci fi story. Over the years it developed into a real world situation.
The original title for the Conflict of the Throne series was Hunter’s Pursuit.
Conflict of the Throne has been voted by fans as ‘off the scale awesome!’ Cheers braves!

Bobby Diorra’s Pizzeria

Fancy the finest slice of New York? Why not try Bobby Diorra’s Pizzeria!

‘Knock,Knock.’ by Vivika Widow; Episode 2

So I admit, it gave it more than a second thought. Holding the card tightly between my fingertips wondering ‘who was this woman from my home land who seemed to know me?’ I had left Westcliff at such a young age that I don’t remember meeting anyone there and they most certainly wouldn’t remember me. Then there was the club – The ‘knock,knock’ club – that I had been invited to. I had never heard of it before that night and yet it seemed strangely familiar.

“Why don’t we go out and celebrate my new job,” I suggested to my wife.

She was apprehensive. “Where would you like to go?”

I raised my eyebrows and offered a wry smile. “I hear there is at least one club opened. I may even be on the guest list.”

Theresa slapped my shoulder playfully. She managed a smile. “That isn’t funny Sam. That woman threatened you. She was horrible!”

I put my arm around her. “Don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen to me. It will give me the chance to find out what she wanted. Would you rather stay here?”

Theresa shook her head. “No I don’t want to be home alone again.”

“I’m sure you will find that it was all for nothing. She probably just has some information on the Mayor.”

Theresa hesitantly agreed…

***

Around 8pm, Theresa and I were wandering the rain lashed streets. The rain had stopped so I carried a large black umbrella under my arm.

“Let’s just go home Sam. I don’t think we are going to find that club,” Theresa said.

I was just about to agree with her when I noticed a brazen neon sign flashing deep within the alley. ‘The Knock, Knock Club’. Perhaps it was my own apprehension, or maybe empathy for my wife’s concerns but I found myself asking, “Are you sure about this?”

Theresa gripped my arm. “We are just going to see if we can find some information aren’t we?”

I smiled and sighed, the nerves gathered as a fluttering in my chest. We approached the heavy door. The main street seemed one million miles away. The door wasn’t particularly welcoming for a cabaret club. The sign above offered a light humming drown as the bulbs committed tirelessly to their duty.

I knocked heavily – twice for the irony. After a few tense moments the door was finally opened. A tall man with a cigarette between his lips greeted us. He was lean, tall and adorned in a sharp – well tailored black suit, a power red tie and a white shirt.

“Evening,” he muttered without removing the cigarette. “Table for two?” With a flick of his wrist a scantily clad young girl dashed over and ushered us to a vacant table. She offered us a menu each. They were simple, black with the name of the club on it. It was sticky and well used. There was a stage as the main focus of the club. The band was deep in their music. The chorus girls were dancing around in a parade of sequins and feathers. The knock, knock club was actually so homely it was a pleasant place to be. Theresa even began to settle. We ordered some food. It wasn’t fine dining but it was effective none the less.

The man who had greeted us at the door stepped onto the stage. He had replaced his suit jacket with one from an outfit of evening wear. His red tie was now a black bow.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” his voice boomed over the soft playing of the band. Most of the room looked up from their conversations and offered him their full attention – including my wife and I. “Welcome to the knock, knock club. It has now come to that part of the evening that we love. I know it’s my personal favourite. Please welcome on stage – knock, knock’s finest – Miss T.” In a rush of drums and wind instruments, like the welcoming flag parade of a queen, the man rushed from the stage. The spotlight caught a very striking woman in its clasp. She was met with a thunderous applause. I turned back to Theresa just as one of our waitresses laid down a plat of strange meat. I thanked her and she replied in the way of a well taught serving girl who can offer politeness without saying a word. I looked at Theresa. Her already pale face had drained of all colour.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

She reached her quivering hand out and pointed to the stage. “That’s her! That’s the woman who came looking for you.”

***

I turned back to the stage. Miss T was singing a melody with a touch of old school cabaret and the smallest hint of raunch. She wore a silver dress which glinted underneath the stage lights. Her voice was sultry and deep. It was a pleasant tone, soft and warm like honey.

Theresa remained frozen in her chair, staring at Miss T until the performance was over, complete with appreciative calls from the crowd. I stood.

“Where are you going?” Theresa cried gripping my arm.

“I’m going backstage to find out what she wanted.”

Theresa shook her head furiously. “Please don’t. Just leave it. Let’s go home.”

“If I’m not back in ten minutes alert the police.”

Theresa’s hand instinctively went to her mouth to conceal the true level of her grief.

I was surprised that no on stopped me as I slipped backstage. At the end of a long hall, carpeted in a very rich shade of purple, lay a door with the letter T on it. I assumed it to be Miss T’s dressing room. I knocked.

“Come in,” came the same silken sound to match the singing. As Theresa had said, her voice was sprinkled with the harsh but musical tones of West cliff accent. I pushed open the door. The cabaret singer was facing the mirror so she spoke only to my reflection.

“You are very lost, my man,” she said. A smile formed. There was a larger than normal gap between her front teeth which gave her an almost child like quality. She had removed some of the pins from her hair so her chestnut brown tresses were in disarray.

“I’m Samuel Crusow,” I said with some severity. “You came to my house.”

She smiled. “You are mistaken. I don’t make house calls.”

I became more frustrated. “My wife is outside waiting on me. She recognised you. She told me you were from Westcliff.”

The woman’s smile widened. “I’m not the only one to leave dear old rainy Westcliff for the opportunities of the big city. Look at yourself.”

I could feel tension building in my shoulders. “Just stay away from me and stay away from my wife!”

As I proposed to storm away the singer finally turned herself to face me. She pulled me back with a ferocious grip. “Now, Sam, let’s not get excited… Your name, is it a family name?” she asked.

I found myself replying, “My father was also called Samuel.”

“My name is Tabitha. I’m sorry if I frightened poor little Theresa. I’m not going to harm you. I’m trying to protect you.”

“There are people out there who would seek to destroy what your father built.”

Having never known my father or anything about him, other than his name, this came as quite a shock. “What do you know about my father?”

Tabitha lowered her eyes. “Nothing that I can discuss with you now. If you go outside you’ll find that Theresa has already left. I believe you told her to alert the police. She doesn’t mess around does she? I suggest you stop her before she does something childish like tattle to the authorities. If you come back to the club tomorrow I will give you everything I have.”

***

I managed to catch up with Theresa just outside the club. She embraced me tightly and kissed my cheek. “What happened?”

“Nothing, it’s fine. Like I said just someone playing silly beggars trying to stop me covering the story on Mayor Feltz.”

Theresa wrapped her arm around mine and brought herself close to me. She still seemed to be a little shaken but the crisp night air did some work in taking away our cares.

We found our bright green door lying ajar. We both stopped suddenly.

“Wait here!” I instructed, leaving her and venturing into the house to assess the damage.

The door hinges were broken. The furniture overturned. In the initial inspection it appeared that nothing had been taken. Someone had been just trying to shake me up. What was clear though was that whoever it was, they were relentless.

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Episode 3 available 20th November 2016

Why not go back and read Episode 1? Exclusively for the official Vivika Widow blog.