Posts Tagged ‘old house’

Hello,

 

I know I have been absent for a while as my health took a turn for the worse. It has been identified and taken care of and I am beginning to feel better.

So, an update, I am being interviewed of Facebook at ten tomorrow night, UK time, which is 23 hours from this post being uploaded. Its an online Facebook interview under this web link and their will be a Q n A section. I am nervous but I’m looking forward to it.

I have been working on Vengeance as well as a new project Spilt Blood, both are the first books of different short novel series.

I have also been looking at Teenage Visions and I am currently trying to find time to do a few tweaks but with everything going on at the moment I don’t seam to have the time.

Would love to see you tomorrow night at the interview as you are always welcome there.

Also I am going to be interviewing Nicolette Grey over the coming months and I hope that a few more of my author friends wouldn’t mind me picking their brains.

Yummm, Braaaaiinnnssss.

Sorry zombie moment there.

Hope  you see you soon and please head over to face book at like my FB page .

Be back soon

Simone

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Hi,

Hope you’re all well.

I am currently working on several project at the moment with various people and various tales.

I may have a model for my new tale which is Stir of Echo’s meets the Grudge with my twisted little take on it.

A tale of a woman hell-bent of tearing the men who killed her apart.

There is also a murder mystery horror which should be good, really good. I can’t wait for mine n the hubby’s office to be sorted then I can knuckle down, get book one out there and book two finished.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello fellow writers

I feel so cross with my self. I’ve not been on for so long, namely due to the work involved in moving. Packing stuff in so many places is hard work. Were taking a trip to my mums on Thurdsday, to pack the stuff we have there.

I do have some posts writen, I just need to Type them up which I will try and do that this afternoon.

We hope to get the keys for the house this week.  Everythings all go for me at the minuite. Busy bee. Lets not forget all the wedding planing, giving notice on Wednesday. then I have a Job interview next Tuesday, one I hope I have a really good chance of getting the job , it’s part time, NHS. Keep your fingers crossed for me

I’ve not heard from back from my e-mail to the agent yet, may get the other e-mail/letter sorted.

Busy, am I ever anything but.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello,

Here is a little bit of fiction for you. Enjoy.

Drip, drip, drip, drip. The water leaked through the small hole in the roff, dripping loudly in the pan. A drip that echoed throughout the large house.

Paula, internally cursed her self for the open plan of the house. She knew in id moments she would be fast asleep and the drip would no longer be heard by her young ears.

As the drugs took effect she slowly drifted to sleep the pain, forgotten, the drip, forgotten. She slumbered with a smile on her face.

She was out, her medication, strong enough to knock her out, completely, racing through her small, crumpled pain ridden body. So deep in sleep she was when the equally youthful man climbed through the window and sat at the edge of her bed. His face scared from glass or possibly acne. He held her hand, his hands clad in leather gloves.

He checked her out. Her limbs still covered in bandages from the burns and cuts . Her torso wrapped up like a child on Christmas morning in Alaska. The burn where every where except her beautiful face.

A tear fell down his face as he shifted his gaze to the pill bottles and boxes on the side table. Pain meds, antibiotics, antivirals, antidepressants, sleeping, vitamin tablets, tablets for everything.

“I am so sorry,” he suddenly whispers to her, “I should never have taken you out when I was drunk.”

He looked down at her perfectly shaped face, her heart-shaped lips and his eyes leaked, one more.

Dropping her hand he felt he was being watched. he feared her father. As he stood and turned in the same move he froze, his face filled and frozen with terror. She stood before him.

No burns, no bandages, no pain filling her beautiful ocean blue eyes. The eyes instead, were filled with anger so intense he could feel it from the impossible figure in front of him and her sleeping body to his right.

His face, controlled with terror, refusing to move as she walked forward until she was a mere inch away from him. He heard her voice, though neither set of lips move. “I have been waiting for your visit. You couldn’t stay away. You caused this, you caused my body to be battered and bruised.” Smiling she knew he knew that sorry is clearly not enough. He began to flex his left hand and then, seconds later the right hand-held the left arm.

His face, still holding the terror, now controlled in pain as he dropped to his knees, he looked up at his beautiful girl friend who conscious apparitions face was twisted into a vindictive smile. On he his knees, gripping his chest he tried to call out with no joy. Nothing left no voice or oxygen, she stood and watched as the life slowly drained from the heart attack ridden body. Her smile twisting her beautiful face into a twisted  version of itself.

She looked at her own sleeping body and within moments the machine to its right beeped marking the death of the young girl. Her father came rushing in and tried, in vain, to bring her back but he soon gave up. He knew she didn’t want to suffer any more.

He only found the body of the man responsable  at the other side of the bed several moments mater.

A smile spread across his face, his grief momentarily forgotten as he said to himself, “That’s my girl,” he said out loud, giggling slightly as he did.

She had her vengeance and now she would rest in peace. She always loved, disappearing, even though she was not visible to her father, her spirit never walked those floors again. She was happy, she died with a smile on her face.

Never again would someone drink drive again in the area. She became  a warning, drink drive and you will see her and feel her wrath.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello Readers

 

Hope you have had a productive week, I know mine has been a little bit of a mix. Monday, I managed to get some work done on Twisted. A slow work in progress. Tuesday I spent time with the In-laws, wednesday I was in appartments all day and at a friends at night. Thursday I was at remploy doing job applications and such and packing, today, friday, is college day then finish packing and then the two hour long journey to my mum’s.

On the plus side, while at Our Celebration on wednesday I managed to get some pictures associated with the Greenbbrier ghost. The myth mentioned in the post “It’s happened Again”, an excellent my. I have done some research and got the details for the people of Greenbrier to contact them with regards to the story I intend to write.

I would post the pictures however if I do I may get in to trouble as I do not own them and I do not own the copyrights to them.

Oh well. At least I got the  research done. Okay, time to get to doing my college work.

Happy Writing.

Simone

Here’s a little tale for you guys.

The woman stood in the middle of the field, rain pelting down hard on her short cropped hair. Hair now dripping wet, slicked, stuck to her beautiful pixie like face.

Her white lace dress stained, in places with blood, drops, splotches, and two large handprints.

She was looking straight ahead. Ignorant of the cold wetness that painfully pelted her. A large kitchen knife in her left hand, The water that touched it turned pink, mixing with the blood that covered it, despite the wetness around her.

The ground before her empty, no bodies, small traces of blood travelling in water from the knife, from the dress, from her hands, from her dark, matted, wet hair.

She stared, her eyes betraying nothing, no emotion, no feeling, no information, she betrayed nothing.

She was no more than a teenager. She was not more than eighteen and she was completely alone. On one near to help, no one close to see her plight.

The building close by was quiet and the muddy footprints from the building to where the young beautiful woman was stood completely motionless and void of any conscience, thought or feeling.

On the door jam of the buildings main entrance there was a bloody hand print and there was also a bloody footprint on the step. The smell of freshly shed blood mixing with the fresh smell of summer rain.

Suddenly the field was filled with an ear-piercing scream. A scream coming from deep within her tortured, painful soul.

Would she ever remember what happened?

That, my friends, is another story.   I know, I’m evil.

Hope you enjoyed.

Happy writing

Simone

Hi people,

Here’s a tale that has come to mind during a day spent in bed, pain all over my body, my knee in agony.

Anyway, here goes…

The house was silent, no noise, Two children in one room, both males lay sleeping in one room, in the room next door a young woman lay sleeping as the dark room surrounded her. She was oblivious of the fact that a tall dark figure was watching her. His eyes trained on her. Not moving. His gaze never wavering.

As he watched she lay sleeping, quietly, barely a noise she made. He watched as she moved silently, her body doing something she had no control over. She was oblivious to the fact she was alone. She normal slept with her husband. she was oblivious to the fact that she was alone.

While she was alone her husband was in the living room, his heart starting to falter, he had been stabbed twice and his heart was slowly pumping what was left of his blood all over the white leather sofa.

The children in the next room were not sleeping like they appeared to be. They were no longer living, their hearts no longer beating, no longer living, their hearts stopped by a quick, silent, bullet to their head. The only one living was the woman, the wife the mother. Oblivious she was to the growing read stain in the living room and the boys bedroom.

Thankfully, thankfully she was oblivious to the deaths, the quick deaths of her two children and her life long partner.

As the figure moved closer to her, closer to her sleeping figure, closer to the beautiful blond sleeping figure. His knife, bloody, raised, poised ready. The figures dark eyes showing intent, intent on harming the beautiful figure.

The knife landing down on the hair of the woman, cutting it short. She remained sleeping. She stayed asleep without realising what was happening. She didn’t move. She was deep in sleep as he pulled her hands and tied them together to the post at the top of the bed. Her legs tied to the bottom post.

There was a sudden loud creak as the figure moved his weight to look at the womans sleeping face. His eyes intent. Her eyes suddenly opened and were immediately filled with fear. Fear at the hate filled eyes and bloodied knife in the intruders hand.

Let me know what you think.

Stay tuned.

xxx

Hi

I know this has been several days in the making and I am so sorry, my crappy illness got in the way of me typing this. I hope you enjoy it.

Please, Feedback is more than welcome.

Haunted House Prose

The house was empty, quiet, creepy, dusty, it made me itch, my nose itch, I desperately wanted to sneeze but it was too soon, I was in hiding, the plan, the plan was to scare Jacob, my life long friend. I knew he was on his way to meet me for our nightly story telling night, telling each other scary stories and attempting to scare each other, we did that all the time. We wanted to see who would scare the easiest, and it wasn’t as easy as you may think.

Jacob was the same age as me. He was your typical hard boy, never one to show is scared, he would always jump and shrug it off that he burped or something. He never admitted that I had ever scared him although I know there was at least three occasions I had nearly made him crap himself.

The plan for the scare was simple, wait for him in the abandoned house on the outskirts of town, where we alway meeting there. I waiting behind the doorway that lead to the basement, waited silently for his footstep on the wooden veranda. I was waiting patiently.

The only thing is, despite my plan I realised he was running late and sat on the top step, looking down at the empty basement, only it wasn’t empty and I became aware of a calm, gentle voice, softly calling my name from the basement and I saw a denim clad leg sticking out at the bottom of the step.

I quietly quickly walked to the bottom only to discover Jacob, unconscious at the basse of the stairs and the voices calling my name continued. I looked at him, I needed to find out what was going, what had happened to jack, it scared me, petrified me.

I looked around the basement and I could hear it the voices coming from the far corner of the room, I couldn’t see what was making the sound. My heart was racing, the voice was so gentle but yet so eerie, I was on my tip toes when I heard a foot step behind me, I turned to see Jacob behind me, blood on his face, eyes closed, he opened them, they looked like cats eyes, mean while the room was filed with voices softly saying my name.

My heard was going ten to the dozen and the floor about us creaked, like some one was up there. I froze, Jacob wasn’t human anymore, I don’t know what he was.

Suddenly, he Laughed at me, breaking the act, breaking the scare. I jumped back, scared out of my skin, my hand went to my heart. I could have slapped him that night. He won that night, it was his best scare by far.

Hope you enjoyed it

Simone