They called her Helter-Skelter, with her bird nest hair. She would walk in long loopy zig-zags, across pavement, roads and grass, her path mapped out where only she could see it.
They called her Helter-Skelter, with her strange big eyes. She would look all about her, her head moving in big, slow circles, round and round, but only when she thought no-one was watching.
They called her Helter-Skelter, with her sing-song laugh. She would smile and giggle and wave at those who could see her – and those that couldn’t.
She was always happy, that’s what the storytellers said. Even now, stuck in an endless tour of the fairground, she was happy.
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #91 – Helter-Skelter | Word count: 111
I close my eyes, and I see you
In outline only
A shadow before the sun
A silent silhouette
I know you not
Why are you here?
Why are you here now?
You neither move nor speak
Can you hear me?
I’m not frightened
Should I be?
Not until I open my eyes
The same inky shape
Stands in the doorway
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #89 – Silhouette | Word count: 65
Beautiful cover, isn’t it…
I’m so happy to share that one of my short stories has been included in another of Fantasia Divinity’s anthologies, See Through My Eyes. The anthology brings together a collection of ghost stories; my own offering is entitled, The Attic Room.
Summary (from Goodreads)
A scream slashes through the quiet night, a chill pierces your skin. The shimmering image of a woman forms in the mist, singing a haunting lullaby. She beckons. Will you go? Featuring 25 haunting stories, SEE THROUGH MY EYES is certain to chill you to the bone and make you wonder who is real and who is not. The Living? Or the dead? Join us as the dead seek to claim their revenge upon the living!
The Attic Room
Bryony Thompson is driving to see friends who live in the middle of rural nowhere. When her car breaks down on the way, she is forced to stop over at The Blacksmith’s Arms, an isolated country pub offering bed and breakfast. But the ancient inn is not as quaint as it may first appear…
Goodreads | Amazon UK | Amazon US
The full moon cast an eerie glow over the abbey ruins, lighting up the yellow stone work in shades of pale gold.
Through the empty doorway a shadow moved, indistinct, but with purpose, an unfulfilled mission, centuries old, repeated each night, over and over, on a quest for peace.
Originally posted on this blog June 2014, here:
On the outside
They cannot see me, or
Choose not to
As I am not one of them
So strikingly different
This side of The Veil
Written for the Weekend Writing Prompt #1 – Outcast. Follow the link and join in!
I decided to try my hand at the poetry challenge:
Poetry Challenge – Write a seven line poem where the first letter of each line spells out “outcast” when read from top to bottom. The theme of the poem should somehow tie in to the definition of the word.
I am excited to share that I have a ghost story, A Midwinter Haunting, in an anthology from FunDead Publications called O Horrid Night: Chilling Holiday Tales for the Black-Hearted. The collection was released this week, but my contributor’s copies haven’t arrived yet, so no photo. However, as soon as they come through my door, I will definitely be sharing a picture 🙂
For now, here’s the book description from Amazon:
Pristine, white snow shrouds evil things that revel in the longest, darkest night of the year. A fresh waft of peppermint brightens a monster’s foul breath. World weary ghosts have only until dawn to seek their retribution. The wind howls through the trees, or is that a choir of unearthly voices? “O Horrid Night” revives the tradition of telling ghost stories on Christmas Eve, when it is said that the barrier between the living and the dead is thinnest, and spirits may walk the earth. Such tales were in vogue in Victorian England (remember good old Jacob Marley), but the origins of the tradition stretch back in time, in celebrations of the Winter Solstice, Yule, and Sol Invictus. Gather your friends and loved ones together, get cozy with warm drinks or a roaring fire, and give them the gift of a spine-chilling ancient holiday tradition.
My offering tells the tale of Christina, who wakes one Midwinter night to find she is outside in the freezing cold, something she can’t remember having roused her from sleep, persuading her to go out into the night, into the dark. And what she finds out there she will remember for the rest of her life…
Find it on Amazon and Goodreads
This is the first time I have attempted to write tanka, but when I saw the amazing prompt over at Ramblings of a Writer – decorations and pumpkins – I thought I would give it a go. Hopefully, I got it right…? If I didn’t, I did have fun trying! 🙂
The House in the Woods
The old house needed
No scary decorations
Or pumpkin smiles
For ghosts walked those rooms daily
Terrifying all year round