Vivika Widow's Blog, page 86

Extract from Vivika Widow’s ‘Myths and Tales’ (Witch aka Bully Poison)

“What is it?” he asked eagerly. “Tell me!” Charlie urged.

“I am a witch.” said Aunt Trudy softly and slowly.

Charlie’s eyes lit with joy. He had always known there was something unusual about his lovable aunt. “Does that mean I’m a witch too?” he asked excitedly.

“Don’t be stupid boy,” said Trudy. Charlie’s hopes were dashed in an instant. When Trudy saw his sad little face she continued, “Being a witch takes years of practice. I will show you but in the meantime … What to do about those bullies…” her voice trailed off as she heaved a heavy, dusty, green leather bound book, slammed it on the table and proceeded to unbuckle the golden clip that held the book closed. Dust flew from the pages as they were turned. Aunt Trudy ran her finger slowly over the hand written words. The writing was so scribbled and hurried it was difficult to read.

“Aha!” announced Aunt Trudy in triumph disturbing their quiet contemplation. “This ought to do the trick!”

Aunt Trudy’s first spell: Removing an enemies voice

With lizard tails,

And an old woman’s nails,

Take a frog and a pot of snails.

Mush them together in one big stew,

Add a drop of blood but it must be new,

Along with rat tails, not one but two.

Give to your enemy; they must drink it fast,

Every single drop or the effects won’t last,

Now they won’t say a word until you ask.

“Lucky we have all the ingredients right here,” said Aunt Trudy cheerfully pulling bottles from the shelf. Charlie picked up a jar labelled ‘pickled raven’s claw’. He opened the lid and brought the jar to his nose. Aunt Trudy snatched it back from him. “Don’t sniff that, not unless you want a pig snout,” she warned.

“I’m not sure about this,” the nephew said hesitantly.

Aunt Trudy began pouring the ingredients into a black ceramic bowl. The contents were bubbling, mixing together to form an orange paste. “Don’t be silly, that bully will learn.” There was a crazed look in Aunt Trudy’s eyes that Charlie didn’t like one bit.

Charlie asked “Will they get hurt?”

“Not unless you want them to.” Aunt Trudy took the bowl, held it high above her head and whispered the magic words. “Munchlum Doodledum Frooglepop.”

She took some to their garden, Charlie followed. The neighbours’ dog, Benny, had managed to climb onto their grass again ruining Aunt Trudy’s vegetable patch and leaving canine deposits everywhere. Benny was yapping uncontrollably.

“What are you doing?” the little boy asked when he noticed his aunt staring at the dog.

Aunt Trudy held the bowl out in front of her. “First rule of witchcraft Charlie, take out the neighbour’s pesky pet.” Benny was wagging his tail eagerly and still yapping. Trudy lowered the bowl to him and he took several large gulps not stopping to sniff. He started yapping again. Charlie folded his arms across his chest in disappointment. “Give it a moment,” Trudy said. They both watched the dog. Suddenly Benny’s voice was lost. His horrid screeching bark became silent. His jaws were open and his lungs were pushing but no sound came out. “I do that when I want to shut that thing up,” said the aunt. “Now you know how it works, give it to your bully.”

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Extract from ‘Conflict of the Throne: Fall of Freedom’ by Vivika Widow and Paul Connelly

In the not so distant future, news had been flashing ceaselessly on television screens around the world. For the first time nations shared a common ground. World leaders and others of importance were being killed indiscriminately. It was still unclear who was responsible but the west began looking to the east and the east to the west and tensions were high. Because of the widespread nature of the murders it wasn’t easy to point the heavy finger of blame in any particular direction. The killings were different each time and despite many militia and terrorist groups laying claim to the assassinations, the culprit was thought to still be on the loose. CIA, FBI, NSA and all the other lesser known government agencies had been searching for the killer or the group offering him the opportunities. The terrorist cells responsible were particularly difficult to place because they seemed to have no real motive. There was no political statement made and no payments demanded. Many terrorist groups throughout the world were claiming the killings as their own but their claims were always found to be without merit.

President Philip Owen had been stirred from his bed as new news was emerging of yet another death.

“You must come immediately,” said the emotionless voice over the telephone. His entire body leapt from sleep to wake in cold shakes. He looked to his wife Jackie lying beside him. The phone was still buzzing on the night stand so he switched it off and without turning on a light he left his wife sleeping and made his way to the Oval Office, pulling a green sweatshirt over his pyjamas to try to make himself more presentable at such an ungodly hour.

Inside the Oval Office a member of his staff had already switched the television on in anticipation. A news report was being carried out by a young journalist wearing a long black coat and a smug expression. President Owen had seen his face so often recently as he kept the world up to date with the exploits of the ‘Chaos Killer’. He was an American reporter named Jaimya Van Hols and he always managed to get himself the exclusives on the murders. People were dying but he could only offer a small amount of care because it was causing his career to flourish. Words scrolled underneath which read ‘Chaos killer strikes in the Middle East’. His Highness Mohamar Al Sayeed Ambhad, a Saudi Arabian prince had been found hanging from the ceiling by his feet in his stately room in the palace. His throat had been cut in a ceremonial way and when his security happened upon his body, blood was still dripping from the wound. Someone had managed to make their way in and back out of his chambers with the swiftness of a cat but no money had been taken and there was no sign of a struggle. It almost seemed like he had gone willingly to his death. Amateur footage that had been taken earlier showed Mohamar hanging and his distraught attendants weeping close to his body.

Prince Mohamar Ambhad had been a pioneer in building relations between his country and the rest of the world. He was beloved by his people and respected by his counterparts in the west. He had no known enemies and his death would only hinder progress.

President Owen dropped his head into his hands and brushed his dark brown hair back, which was gathering more grey as the death toll increased. He reached out to take some water but his hand was met by an empty glass.

Extract from Vivika Widow’s ‘Red Snow’

The people parted and began jeering as a young woman dressed in filthy rags, which hid very little of her nakedness, was brought forth by guards. The woman’s head had been shaved and she was skeletal thin. Her long nose hooked and her chin was pointed. The people threw rotten fruit and vegetables at her, children spat on her. A plump woman screamed that the vile creature was causing her to itch uncontrollably.

“Burn her!” the crowd cried in agreement.

The condemned woman pursed her lips causing her filthy face to seem all the more despicable and spat back at those who were accusing her. The guards, both only young boys in their teens, tied her to the stake and began surrounding her with chopped wood up to her waist.

“She corrupted my poor boy!” The plump woman screamed, her screeching voice rising above the others.

Another woman reached her hand up and cried out, “She sacrificed my child to Satan!”

The woman tied to the stake let out a peel of wicked laughter, revealing she had several teeth missing from her disgusting mouth.

“We really must get out of here! I don’t want Hannah to see this!” Helena protested to the driver.

The driver leaned back and replied. “If you can see somewhere for me to go girl, please be my guest and show me.”

An older man, in the same guard uniform but with golden medals on his chest and fine lace on his shoulders, addressed the crowd. He was someone of high importance judging by the respect and admiration the people showed him. He had a thick brown beard and he stood tall and commanding. The people were almost in awe of him, like he was a being much higher than them. They hushed obediently when he held his hands up signalling he wanted to speak. He was General Drenisov and had long served in Navaria’s battles. He was now acting as the Minister of Navaria by order of Queen Annabelle.

“Rebekka Rarikova, you have been found guilty of witchcraft. The penalty is death by burning. Is there anything you wish to say before sentence is carried out?” asked Drenisov. The people became more impatient and more eager to shed blood, practically salivating in their lust. The snow started to fall again and the sky was beginning to darken into a deep inky blue.

A fiendish smile spread across Rebekka’s lips. “I curse you all!” she cried. “It is your children who will suffer!” she continued, before erupting into more peals of laughter.

Drenisov shook his head in disapproval. “Rarikova, you are a whore. You are a heretic. You are a witch.” The crowd cheered in support of him.

“That wasn’t what you told me last night was it?” Rebekka replied. She showed no fear of death as it leaned close and whispered in her ear.

Drenisov signalled to the young boys to bring their flaming torches. “Hurry up and get it done before she says anything else,” he murmured to the guards.

Hannah stirred from her slumber whining in pain and crying for Helena. Helena lifted the child, holding her close to her chest shielding her eyes and ears from the horror they were about to bear witness to.

“You’re all going to die! I curse you all!” Rebekka cried, her final cackle floating into the air like the smoke. The crowd gasped in horror. Mothers began pushing their children away. The boys lit the wood surrounding Rebekka’s legs and immediately it erupted in flames. The crowd began to sing as they watched the young woman die. Rebekka screamed a high pitched shriek of fear and pain that echoed above the song. The flames licked her legs and lit her clothing. There were large gaps between the screams to allow for heavy coughs as the smoke filled her lungs. It was a long and very painful wait for her skin to ignite and for Hell to finally consume her. The smell as Rebekka’s flesh burned was unbearable. It reminded Helena of a time her father had killed their pig and was roasting it for supper. Andrew had fallen asleep drunk and the pig flesh burned to an inedible crisp, filling their cottage with a sickly stench.

Hannah was shaking with fear listening to the screams, the chanting, the singing and the death croak as Rebekka became nothing but charred bones. Helena brought Hannah down into the cart beneath the blanket to soothe her until the crowd began to dispel and the horse had room to move again.

“What a horrid place!” Sofya commented. “What kind of barbarians would do such a thing?”

Helena lowered her voice to a whisper as Hannah had closed her eyes with the intention of falling asleep again. “Things are different here in town. We will just have to get used to it.”

“Get used to public murder?” Sofya gasped. The very idea was unimaginable.

Is your neighbour a monster? SURVIVAL HINTS AND TIPS

Popular media would have us assume at around 80% of the population are either a werewolf, vampire, ghost or zombie.

Statistically you are more likely to be living next door to a centuries old vampire than you are to a non horror fiction writer. That sounds like pretty damning evidence to me so how do we combat such a horror in our lives? Well here are a few tips that I have found quite effective:

VAMPIRES

Ah the blood sucking, immortal creatures that have been the subject of many different books and shows. In the elder days it was the young engaged couples travelling alone who really had to bother with this but thanks to the exploits of Dr Van Helsing that variety of carnivorous fiend seems to be long gone, leaving his little helper Igor chewing away on flies all by himself and disappearing back into the pages of Bram Stokers novel mumbling about simpler times when a vampire master was in need of a lackey.

Nowadays it is with the young teen girls that we have to concern ourselves. Just when father’s across the globe had enough to worry about their daughter dating now there is this inexplicable influx of young heart throb vampires keen on the young girls (who only look their own age). So parents, lock your doors and bar your windows because that pale faced yet handsome little blighter who moved next door and is only seen at night may just be planning on making your daughter his eternal companion.

TIP: Invite them for a dinner laced with garlic. Not Christian? Doesn’t matter, get those crosses up!

WEREWOLVES

Many cultures around the world have their own legend of the werewolf but we can get down to brass taxes and assume that we have adopted the Germanic folklore.

In a time when all one had to doout of the woods on a full moon to avoid werewolves the half man and half dog could co exist quite peacefully providing the predator was well fed on deer and elks.

Nowadays, for three nights a month the rampant calling of werewolves can be heard from the city streets to the moors of England. Like the vampires the new breed of werewolf seems to have adopted a more boy band styled approach to his daily life. They may seem pleasant on the surface (a German Shepard dog can be too until it rips your face off) but they are essentially dangerous creatures, at least whilst the moon is high and fat.

If your neighbour disappears for three nights a month or if you hear strange calling from their home it may very well be that they are a werewolf. This also means that a vampire could be lurking nearby because apparently after a tumultuous courtship the two now get on famously and there can’t be one without the other.

TIP: Stock up on those silver bullets! (and a gun to shoot them would be helpful)

GHOSTS

Okay so these particular neighbours tend to be more nuisance house guests but all the more reason to be prepared for them.

If you pass a little girl in eighteenth or nineteen century dress on your way to the bathroom during the night then it may very well be your house is infested with ghosts. Most people make the mistake of calling the priest in for an emergency exorcism but going by past experience that just makes them mad. So unless they are rattling their chains all night and keeping you up all night or if they continue throwing tantrums or playing peek a boo to the point of distraction just leave them be. They won’t really take up much room and its not like they’ll eat you out of house and home.

Ghosts are nothing if not consistent. They seem to enjoy old fashioned costuming and that has changed very little over the years. You are still more likely to find a spirit of a Victorian Chambermaid than you are of Mrs. Prettin down the road who died just last week aged 92. Little kid ghosts can be the worst, especially if you have kids yourself. They will roll bright red balls up and down your corridors, sing creepy lullabies and follow you into every room.

TIP: If they are being a true nuisance the best thing is to just accept defeat and move. That is what many people have to do.

ZOMBIES

The end of time has been predicted by thousands of philosophers and holy men. The Mayans had their views. Nostradamus was certain of it. However, for some reason we seem to be at a huge risk of a zombie apocalypse. Maybe its all the nuclear material being passed around like a kids party or maybe its just that viruses are onto us. If it is a slipshod scientist dropping a vial in a laboratory or its a nuclear attack one thing will be certain… supplies will run out, all men will become gun toting action heroes and all women will be scantily clad and unable to function without said action hero (there are a few exceptions of course).

So if there is a rise in the brain eating mutant beings it is likely you will be at most danger from your closest neighbour. Perhaps that is where it all began … Patient 0 if you will. To ensure you are effectively protected make sure your doors are closed over (zombies can’t function door knobs) and secure yourself in an upstairs room (zombies have trouble with stairs too).

To prevent this you may want to keep a close eye on your neighbour. Do you see him/her scuttling about in a white lab coat at all hours of the night? Do you see strange packages being delivered at all hours of the day? if so there is a chance that you have a mad scientist in your midst and the chances are he already has a pet zombie.

TIP: Aim for the head.

MUMMY

Only really relevant if you live in Egypt, or close to a museum but lets face it these creatures have had centuries to wake up so its safe to say that they are in no hurry.

TIP: Learn to read Hieroglyphics.

So there you have it, my darlings. Those are my tips on what to do if your neighbour is a monster.

‘Red Snow’ is available now!

Red Snow by Vivika Widow

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Technology

These days we have so much at our hands.

We even have devices that make all of our plans.

We live in a world of electronic coffee pots,

video chatting doodaas and face calling what nots.

On the computer, information at your fingertips,

paying your bills and giving weight loss tips.

But what happens when the technology doesn’t play nice?

Your old friend ‘the freezer’ could just as easily make ice.

When the computer fails, cutting you from the rest of us,

and you actually have to go to the station to book a train or bus,

remember there was a time before social media,

when libraries held more than the wikipedia.

When the intel powered lap top is smashed on the floor,

and the smart phone has been launched out of the door,

when none of the decices talk to you in the kitchen,

when an urgent message is needed – you can always send a pigeon.

Vivika and technology rarely mix well.

(c) Vivika Widow 2015. All rights reserved.

BULLYING: WHY IS IT OKAY?; By Vivika Widow

Firstly, what is a bully? To me a bully is someone who deliberately targets those they deem weaker than themselves to give a sense of empowerment. In my experience – from the play grounds to the work place – a bully is masking insecurities of their own and looking for a target to vent their frustrations.

It was always understood to be a childhood ailment like the chickenpox. ‘Every child goes through a bit of teasing’ it is said. Is that dismissal good enough? Is a child coming home after having suffered a day of physical and mental torment simply a rite of passage? It shouldn’t be. Children can be cruel to each other, especially teenagers. At a time of life where they are at their most vulnerable and most insecure is when these bullies tend to surface (being vulnerable and insecure teens themselves). So who is to blame for this distinctly inhumane way of behaving? After all, no child is born bad. Television, magazines and mass media not only fuel these insecurities by displaying glossed over images of what they should aspire to be but they also make violent images and videos more accessible. This is likely to be a contributing factor but I don’t think it is wholly responsible. After all, bullying has been present in our society long before the age of social media.   The home life of the child can also be a huge influence on how they behave with their peers. If bullying is witnessed at home it will follow them into the rest of their lives. This isn’t always the case either. I have met many children from difficult backgrounds and they still approach life with the most pleasant natures. The issue of bullying isn’t something that one solitary person/scenario can be blamed for. It is a problem which we as a society need to take collective responsibility for. Some where along the line the younger generation have been given the impression that it is okay to treat those ‘weaker’ or ‘different’ with hostility.This isn’t a new phenomena. Bullying has been around since society was first established. An alpha instinct is deeply embedded within our psyche but as civilised people we should be moving past that.

Bullying doesn’t stop in child hood. It is becoming evident that more and more adults are experiencing bullying in the work place. Let’s be clear… This means that grown men and women are subjecting colleagues to taunts, slurs and sometimes even physical abuse. Someone once said to me, “I’d rather be the bully than the victim.” This was a man in his twenties.

I have always had a special resentment against bullies. It is likely to come across in this article. Having been the victim of taunting because I was a ‘different’ child and because I would rather read than spend time with my classmates. The advice I received at the time was to make myself more like the other children my age. That was not helping. I am thankful that it made me a stronger adult for others this doesn’t ring true.

The problem with bullying is that it becomes more acceptable by people dismissing it as ‘a way of life’ or in adulthood by making the victim feel like they have done wrong by not ‘taking it’.

To quote a much beloved character penned by writer and friend Paul Connelly, ‘Bullying is the worst kind of cowardice’  I wholeheartedly agree.

Image courtesy of mind42.com

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Meeting of the Kings part 1

The land of Hogsmoor was preparing to host a royal gathering. It was an annual tradition that had been passed through generations where the kingdoms of Navaria, Elgany, Ravensedge and Alnwick would gather in the neutral spot to discuss the comings and goings of their respective homelands.

King Alfred of Ravensedge arrived first, having the least amount of travel. His kingdom lay directly north of Hogsmoor. Castle Sparrington was perched high in the Elinway mountains. Not many of his people ever left the naturally fortified kingdom. Ravensedge held many secrets behind its gates and weren’t privy to hosting visitors. He was familiar with the tradition of meeting the other rulers. It had become somewhat of an inconvenience to him. However, he bowed to the pressure  of his peers and felt it easy to meet his fellow rulers lest they take a look behind his walls.

King Benjamin of Elgany and King Roman of Navaria arrived together. Situated to the west the two kingdoms bordered each other with Navaria lying in the temperate north and Elgany lying in the more seasonable south. Benjamin and Roman were close friends. Benjamin’s queen, Manon, being the cousin of Roman’s sister in law. Together with Benjamin’s great wealth and the strength at Roman’s disposal the alliance of Elgany and Navaria could never be challenged.

Finally, travelling furtherest from the east came King Robert of Alnwick. Alnwick was a small island which harboured great power. Despite being the smallest of the kingdoms, no war with Alnwick was to be entered into lightly. Being an island the people of Alnwick had become expert in naval warfare. There was no record of their borders ever having been breached by an invading force.

One by one as they arrived the kings were shown to a large suite in the Wolfgarten, a large mansion house which presided over the muddied swampland of Hogsmoor. It was filled with long windows which were covered with such thick and colourful stained glass they barely allowed any sunlight through. An array of fresh meats (which was the finest in all of the kingdoms) and fruit only that region had to offer had been placed on a table for the guests.

“Finally, you are here,” King Alfred grumbled as Roman and Benjamin entered. He was pacing impatiently rubbing the insect bite he had received on his neck at the point of his arrival. “I don’t want to stay in this infested place any longer than I have to,” he added.

Benjamin lifted a leg of meat from the table and threw himself onto the sofa. King Ben was a larger than life character. As imposing as his abundant frame was his personality often charged ahead of him. “Have a seat. Relax,” Ben said. “We are all friends here.”

Roman, a handsome king with dark brown hair and pale skin, sat himself at the table. “I think your charm is lost on him Ben,” he commented in jest. Alfred, being the eldest, had little patience to share with his fellow rulers. However, of them, Roman was the one he could abide the most. Ben on the other hand tended to play quite heavily on his last nerve.

“Shall we get started then?” Ben beamed a wide smile and began gnawing on the meat.

Roman craned his neck to try and get a glimpse from the window. “Maybe we should wait on Robert,” he suggested.

A trumpet blared outside. A rabble of voices ensued. The door was thrown open and King Robert of Alnwick charged inside, still breathless from his urgency.

“Robert? What is the matter?” asked Roman.

Robert leaned against the frame of the door. His worry was so great it had drained all strength from his body. Although tears hadn’t formed, his eyes were glazed over with grief.

“I need your help,” he gasped between breaths. “My son, my eldest boy, has disappeared!”

END OF PART 1

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Getting to know Vivika Widow