Another intriguing blog that caught my attention. This post raised a smile. You may think me strange, human nature can be at times.

Death sighed sadly to herself, she exited her battered old VW beetle. Secateurs in hand, she strolled through Maggie’s ward unseen by all. Mr. D’arcy trotted at her heel, a large doggy smile on his face. Maggies ethereal form stood beside the corpse of Maggie Trout. Wild and terrified was her expression; her […]

via The end. —


Shadow and Light: The Vampire’s Doom


Image: AKuptsova,

I dream into being strings of pearls to grace the throats of ethereal dreams,

Visions gliding silently across mirrors, reflections of things peering from the depths. 

The passage of time uncovers memories buried, things yearning to see light, to be themselves as they were first created.

They live in the realm of Shadow and Light, being reflections of balance and chaos, of Yin and Yang.

These are the words written in her journal, the spidery handwriting touching the paper lightly in places and etched deeply in others. Her presence in the rambling mansion on the edge of the unknown territories was for a purpose, to release her sleeping lover. Release not from sleep but from life itself, he was something that haunted the edge of nightmares and yearning. Forbidden knowledge was his domain, and the power to erase one’s humanity.

She’d hunted him for years, practising deception and prevarication, always with smouldering eyes and blood red lips. He couldn’t resist this vision of beauty and grace, vowing to woo her, to claim her as his regent. Her quarry had no chance once she spied him, for the ways of her Order had equipped her eminently for the task. She was a master of Shadow and Light, of standing between two worlds, poised forever on the edge of a precipice, an Assassin shrouded in mist.

The Assassin approached his sleeping form, a thing of exquisiteness and malevolence. No blood would be shed, only utter desolation and destruction meted out as promise and warning. His atoms would be taken apart, blessed with ancient and cryptic prayers, exorcised and scattered to the outer limits of the multiverses. A most terrible final act, but necessary to keep balance and chaos in polar opposite.

“Visions gliding silently across mirrors, reflections of things peering from the depths”

The words cascaded through her mind, a reminder of her purpose and mission. Silently she glided to his bed, touched his face like the caress of wind rustling through the forest. Spells were woven, words of passion dropped like poison pearls into his ear. She gave him dreams of longing and yearning, gave him what he desired, only for a brief moment showed him the glories of worlds beyond his reach. Pity played no part in this perfect drama, for that would be her undoing. Do monsters deserve pity? Agents of Shadow and Light were merciful creatures where the living and vulnerable were concerned. As for things lurking within nightmares and untrodden paths of the Soul, they faced a different fate.

“I dream into being strings of pearls to grace the throats of ethereal dreams”

She was dream weaver and soothsayer, a creature of many hues and stories. Multifaceted like an incomparable diamond born in the heart of fire, like an oyster shimmering the in the vast Ocean of Creation, gifting pearls of wisdom.

He opened his eyes, unseeing orbs of rubies. Her scent hung in the fetid air of his grave and sanctuary. It sank into his bones, wrapped his cold, dead heart like winged serpents bringing illumination to the dark places of this world.

“The passage of time uncovers memories buried, things yearning to see light, to be themselves as they were first created”

So it was, at a time when the worlds shifted, ushering in different states of being. Memories rose to the surface of waters unstirred for too long. He dreamed of life lived for too long, bearing no regret, feeling no shame for violence unfolded, and lust unchecked. Images fell like withered petals, scattered to the winds.

“They live in the realm of Shadow and Light, being reflections of balance and chaos, of Yin and Yang”

With those words her hand emerged out of nothingness and sealed his doom. It could not be undone.


Image: capsulabiblica, Pixabay

Ephemeral – #wishing star – flash fiction challenge


Image: RondellMelling

She looked at the shooting star speed across the Milky Way. What a pretty, pretty thing! Clad in shimmering star-dust, with limbs of opalescent light and eyes of velvet darkness, a beauty fit to wear the crown. Ah, what ambition nestled within her proud starry heart.

Time to fall my pretty, pretty thing. The Faerie Queen decreed and the starry assembly obeyed. She fell burning from the heavens, bringing hope to many. The Earth waited for this gift, a wish made manifest. How dark the journey looked for this starry exile. Pretty, pretty thing! Hush, dry your tears.


The December 28, 2017, Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a wishing star. It can be central to the story or used in a different way. You can have a character interact or not. Go where the prompt leads.

Respond by January 2, 2018, to be included in the compilation (published January 3). Rules are here. All writers are welcome!

Amore – Twittering Tale #62 – 12 December 2017


Image: Photo from the Commons at Pixabay

Kat Myrman’s photo for this week’s Twittering Tale challenge gave me pause for thought. How so? The lure of messages in bottles is quite seductive and rather poignant reminders of human need. We enclose our notes in carriages of glass, urging the ocean to seek out safe harbours. This bottle is carrying a longing of a different need, desire and love, tinged with saltiness and expectation, loss even.  Who is the unknown author of this love letter?

Dear love, feel my heartbeat
Brush your fingers across my lips
Whisper words of unbridled love
Come to me bare of all fear and insecurity
Feel my heartbeat
For I would walk across the oceans
To find you and only you
I speak your name, will you answer me?
I am your Soul, I am your Heart.

(279 characters)


Ardent Suitor -Twittering Tales #60​ – 28 November 2017


A Creative Commons Photo, Pixabay

My offering this week for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales. Who are the pursued and the pursuer? Nothing is what it first appears to be…

Armand relished the hunt, it filled his dead heart with fire. She was a worthy prize in this dark netherworld. The carriage stopped as their tryst commenced. Black eyes gleamed with hunger and crimson lips parted to kiss his throat. Ivory fangs sank deep, accepting his sacrifice.

(280 characters)

Ms T’s Walk on the Wild Side: A Brief History

Image: kalhh, Pixabay

In honour of the thinning of the Veils between the Worlds I present you with a tale from a well known and beloved character. She presents a persona that many may be unfamiliar with and wished they hadn’t made an acquaintance of. Enjoy.

Peter Pan and Captain Hook, different ends of the spectrum but jolly annoying regardless. I played a role for years, biting my lip and pasting a false smile on a Barbie doll face. For the love of the gods that little, skirt thing was age inappropriate and unflattering. I’m five hundred years old! You do know the story was originally much darker but he had to make it suitable for children. What tosh!

Anyway, Little Miss Tinkerbell is gone, forever. She had an accident, of sorts.  It was a glorious end, she went like her hero Socrates. You know, ingesting hemlock. No one suspected and I was able to disappear to Brazil for several years, settled in Salvador, Bahia. Loved, loved it. The culture, food, arts. Ahhh, refreshed the cold, dark heart considerably. I know what you’re thinking, “how can a vampire take all that sunshine?”. Sunscreen my lovelies, factor 1000. I get it from a gorgeous boutique in Soho, London that is and not New York. Why that look my lovelies? You don’t know that I’m, one of the undead? How remiss of me. 

It happened a long time ago and something I’m not interested in going over again. Hope you don’t mind. Oh, alright, I’ll tell you. I was part of a travelling circus and we were playing somewhere in the Black Sea area. Strange places, where borders meet, the atmosphere is charged and unsettling at times. A few of the troupe weren’t exactly human if you know what I mean…That made it easy when I was turned, they and the rest of the troupe were fantastically supportive. We were considered outcasts by the populous anyway. He came on the day of my 19th birthday. A well dressed gentleman of means from what I remember. Such intense eyes and a low, velvety voice. Sends shivers up my spine thinking about him. He brought pure white roses, such perfect blooms they were. Brought the drops of blood into stark contrast. The white transformed into red soon after. You look shocked. Blood, sex and death are inextricably linked my lovelies. 


Image: fapro1, Pixabay

It took getting used to, you know, immortality. The first hundred years were rather lonely, boring even. Comes with the territory, as that ghastly cliché goes. I even took to a bit of piracy to alleviate the boredom. Captain Morgan was a rum character if you’ll pardon the expression. Won’t go there. That’s how I got mixed up with that crew, Peter Pan and his merry band of  ASBO (antisocial behavior order) laden scamps. It passed the time and here I am now. Able to be who I truly am, a grumpy, scary bloodsucker with thespian tendencies. Hurrah! Must go now, my date’s waiting. Kiss, kiss my lovelies.

Winter’s Eve

Image: Pixabay

Hush, hush echoes the owl’s cry as it watches the seasons pass, from the time of fullness to the must of decay.

The sacrificial King disrobes from cloth of splendour and relinquishes crown of gold. The Executioner comes, garbed in stealth and resolve.

The ancestors gather, bringing news from Otherworldy realms and blessings aplenty. The Dark Mother rises on wings of shadow and dream, awaits the battle of Holly and Oak.

The battle commences, blade against blade, life against death. How the sparks fly, setting the gloom alight. The Light wanes, ushers in the must of decay and life veiling.

The mighty blade cuts, the Oak King is felled, blood spills scarlet. The Dark Mother is satisfied, the sacrifice accepted.

The victor stands triumphant, the Holly King rises, holds blade aloft. Thus is the ritual complete, thus is the Sun mourned.

The Holly King gathers robe of splendour, bends knee to the Mother, awaits the crown of gold.

Thus is he crowned, holds court in the time of Winter. All Hail the Holly King! So is my dream complete.


It Was A Dark And Stormy Night


Image: Pixabay

10 Months ago

Shadowed Dreams

Apologies for not having anything in this post if you’ve either stumbled across my blog or were looking for this post. I somehow managed to lose the contents today of all days (Halloween…). It was my response to Bernadette’s (of Haddon Musings)  writing challenge, It was a dark and Stormy Night. The post was death related…


My original story was never meant to see the light of day, I understand that now for a variety of reasons. It was a stark story of a woman searching her home town for familiar faces on a dark and stormy night, one that ended badly for her. The spirits were in no mood to be trifled with on that chilling night, even the incursion of this writer into their realm was unacceptable. Hence the disappearance of my offering into the aether. Okay, it sounds melodramatic but I’m just setting the mood. All I wanted to do was make a few amendments directly on the site, forgot to keep a copy of it elsewhere. Then it vanished. How green and inexperienced I was during the early days of blogging. Sigh.

Perhaps it’s time to revisit the storm lashed location for a final ending. The story has been tweaked a lot and shortened. Perhaps due to my mood at this time:

I want to go home but this damned weather is making it harder and harder. Only been gone one day but everything looks so different, like years have passed. This isn’t possible. I’m tired and hungry, it’s disorientation, that’s the only explanation. Don’t feel well, why the hell is my stomach churning so much, I’d only eaten yesterday? Concentrate. There’s the road and looks like a car approaching. Hello! Please stop, stop! He didn’t even see me, what the hell is wrong with people?

At least the road is clear into town. Should be able to get a lift, more people travelling in. So cold, not surprised as I’m soaked through. Need to keep my mind occupied, otherwise I’ll not make it like Vida didn’t that night. They sent search parties out for several days but no luck. I miss her so much. This isn’t helping. Thank god, I can see lights now. Got here quicker than I thought, not complaining though.

There’s someone at a window. Hey! Please open up, I need to get home. Hello, hello. Why isn’t she opening the door? What’s happened to the townspeople? It used to be such a friendly place. The place feels, different. I can feel their thoughts, so frightened and angry. Their heartbeats are loud and fast, throbbing endlessly. They cling on to life selfishly and waste it so easily. Vida thought this was the case, she saw beneath the surface of this town, saw its rotten core.

Wasting my time here. Not far to go now, I can see the old district. Home, I’m coming home. That’s it, just keep remembering that but it’s hard. There’s this deep, deep emptiness inside. It’s a dark place with the shadows hiding things that shouldn’t see the light of day. Ah maman, what am I going to say to you? That I’m only home for this last time, then the world awaits. Freedom, of a sort! The wolves are stirring in the mountains, how chilling their cries sound but I love it. Always have oddly enough. They’re moving quickly through the forest, hunting, one mind, one purpose. We’ve almost destroyed them in our fear and revulsion of what they represent. The heart and spirit of true wilderness, Nature in all her glory and mystery.

Agh! I’m so thirsty and my stomach’s griping badly. What’s happening to me? There’s Mathilde. I’m so tired, a few more steps. She’ll know what to do. Eh, what’s Bastien doing here, with her? So thirsty. Bastard, he always fancied her. Surprised? I wondered when I’d catch you two. You look shocked, why? Because you got caught.

“We buried you ten years ago. You’re dead Vida”

That’s it, run away you coward and leave her here. Stop screaming woman! So thirsty but then you’re going to make that go away Mathilde, aren’t you? Lovely, lovely veins. Such soft skin and ruby, ruby wine in those veins. Don’t struggle, that’s a dear.

Perhaps my original story was never meant to see the light of day.

Gothic Imaginings: Who is the Real You?


Image: Pinterest

Not much to ask is it? Black and red go so well together. As do velvet darkness and moonlit nights heavy with the scent of night blooming jasmine. Black roses unfurl their beauty, beckoning drama and unfolding passion. Where does the siren lead? To paths plunging deep into the inner world of forgotten gods, unicorns and Faerie folk. Ancient songs haunt the winds of change,  telling and retelling tales of tragedy and heroic acts. A little dramatic would you say?

Does it unsettle to look beneath the mask, search out truths and untruths hidden deep? Does it pain the soul to admit failings and regrets? Who and what do we desire to be are questions asked but with no answers forthcoming. Look beyond the illusions and seek the person slumbering within whispers the voice in our mind.



Undercover – Glimpsed #writephoto


Image: Sue Vincent

My response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt Glimpsed #writephoto. In the best tradition of Z-grade horror films I present you with a tale of recycling (one of my stories) premature burial and dark misdeeds. Take care dear reader (it may end up just being one of you) there will be distressing scenes that may offend. Do you want to proceed? Continue reading