The Attic Room

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…

Useful links:

Goodreads | Amazon UK | Amazon US


Excavating the Archives: The Abbey Ruins

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

Unnoticed, invisible

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.

Excavating the Archives: The Hanging Tree


Every night at midnight, the hanging tree creaked as if a very large weight attached to a rope had just been dropped from one of its thick, sturdy branches.  Then a shadow would descend.  Legend said anyone touched by it would be found hanging from the tree when the sun rose.

A spooky short read from September 2014,

Excavating the Archives: Echoes of the Past

mitchells fold

Footsteps echo on the ancient ground.  Snippets of conversation carried on the wind of time.  Shouting.  Screaming.  Laughter.  Crying.

Experience imprinted on the landscape.  Memories forever carved in stone.  Life and death remembered.

Stories waiting to be told…truths waiting to be heard…

The past is never silent.

A quick read from the archives, dating back to June 2014…

A Mythic Tale of Love

An ancient-Egyptian themed garden had been opened in the city where Zoe lived that year, but she hadn’t felt moved to pay it a visit until that cold November day.

When she arrived she sat down on a bench close to a small shrine that was set out of the way.  Standing in the small shrine were two small colourful statues.  One was of the god Osiris, the other the goddess Isis.  Zoe stared at them, directing her thoughts to why she had come that day and the purpose of her visit.

‘You know their story? A mythic tale of love,” a voice said, breaking Zoe’s concentration.

Zoe looked up to find a woman around her own age – mid twenties – standing a few feet away.

‘I love mythology,’ the stranger explained.  ‘Osiris was murdered but he rose from the dead.  Isis never stopped looking for him.’

Zoe nodded.  ‘Yes, I know.  She got him back. It took a while but they were reunited in the end.  That’s why I’m here.’

‘P-P-Pardon?’ the woman stammered, looking a little confused.

‘Isis got Osiris back even after he had died.  He came back to her.  That’s what’s drawn me here.  Them.  Their story.’  Zoe paused, before continuing, ‘I lost my husband.  I miss him so much.  I want him back, here, with me.’

A look of sadness passed over the stranger’s face.  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, leaning over to take Zoe’s hand .  ‘How long has he been gone?’

‘Three lifetimes.’


candle in the dark

It was the worst night of the year.

It was the best.

A time to remember,

When she spent the year

Trying to forget.


The good times.

The happiness.

The hard times.

The laughs.

Why did it hurt so,

Recalling the past?


“I miss you everyday,”

She whispered,

Tears spilling down her cheek.

“I love you for always.”

A light in the deep.


So she lit all her candles

To guide them all home

So for one night of the year

She would not be alone.


© Sammi Cox, 2016