As my inaugural article, I figured I would post some things about myself, that I might be able to properly introduce myself to you.
In the last four decades I have played a number of roles: first and foremost a follower of Christ, a father, son, husband, arch-enemy, best friend, brother, soldier, airman, living history re-enactor, historian, craftsman, mechanic, machiavellian genius, psychologist, villain, hero, technician, engineer, and finally, author.
I have found that all of those roles intertwine to fit into the final one.
I have spent years as a casual author. Really, what I spent time writing was no more than an introduction to the numerous different kinds and classes of characters I was working on. Most of them are mere shadows of what it takes to be in a long-term storyline, but a few have made their way into different places of the Legends of the Landrun series.
There was a rumble of distant thunder; it was dreadful that such depth of sound, as of an earthquake, should be created by the sky.
Dolores pushed open the gate, with its glaring danger sign, and Otto followed her into the field towards the stranger. It was clearly someone small, a child. Blank fear burned in his cold joints.
“Where are the goats?”
“I see them over on the far side. They’re sleeping, I think.”
Otto prayed that they were.
As they shuffled slowly through the grass he saw the stranger more and more clearly: a small girl, dressed in brilliant white, sitting on the ground, staring fixedly at them. Her smallness seemed more and more strange, and her stillness, and the colour of her eyes, bluer than Dolores’ dressing gown. She didn’t look real, like some doll left behind by a child rather than a child herself. Her skin gleamed white, her hair a pale flaxen. She didn’t seem afraid at all, or even cold in the sharp autumn air; there was no red in her cheek. A glimmer, which might not have been from their torch-light, showed in the small hole in the ground, where the fairy prince dwelt. The girl was sitting almost on top of it.
Dolores stopped, and with her blazing lamp, and Otto with the heavy shotgun, both tingling with apprehension, they stared down at the child. Dolores curtsied in her dressing gown, and spoke with a faltering voice,
Returning to my theme of a couple posts ago, I have chosen to share another “paranormal” adventure. This is a flash fiction piece I wrote a while ago. It is told from the perspective of a demon. Following in the footsteps of The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis, this begins with a senior demon speaking to younger demons but as his story progresses, he falls into the memory. I hope you enjoy this “light-hearted” look into a haunting.
The ghost hunter team arrived late this afternoon. I knew they would come. The humans who bought the house six months ago planning to bring it back to its original glory are afraid to set foot in the front door. I must share my technique; you will appreciate this my fellow junior demons. It’s an old trick, really. I convinced them that I was the sorrowful ghost of a past tenant, trapped here by some tragic event. That I was benign. Then, when they thought they understood and had developed a connection with me, I went all nasty vengeful spirit. You know, throwing things, pushing humans downstairs, leaving nasty, burning scratches. Fun stuff.
Oooh! It gives me the chills just thinking about it. Well … it would if I could get chills. But since I’m a demon, I don’t have a physical body … currently. But that’s another story.
It is quite easy to scare humans—they are so impressionable—but remember, we must obey the rules. And rule number one is: never reveal the truth of what we are.
The silence that met the angel was almost reverential. Leon seemed to be the only member of the group who could believe what he saw. A gauntleted hand held a cup of the bitter liquid. As Rohiel drank it, the cup disappeared into the light of his face, then reappeared less full. It seemed that it was up to Leon to respond to Rohiel.
“I have brought them, as instructed,” Leon stated, hoping for some sort of acknowledgement.
“Do not seek the approval of others before the approval of Adonai, Judge.”
“You are forgiven, of course.” The angel began to pace around the table, and the eyes of those who were assembled followed his movements through the empty space.
Leon spread his hands wide as he asked, “How… How is this possible?”
Today I thought I would share a little of what I am working on these days. This chapter introduces readers of my Spencer Valley Chronicles series to Ginny Jefferies, the town librarian. This is a work in progress so there will most likely be some errors, from spelling to punctuation to maybe even a few wrong names used, but hopefully not too bad.
If you like what you read here, this third book in the series will be released sometime in the spring of 2022. The first two books in the series are available on Amazon and can be found HERE.
I share a chapter from this story every Friday on my blog (sometimes on Thursdays too) and after I share the last chapter, I publish it as a book on Amazon, currently through Kindle Unlimited, but soon through other services.
Chapter 2 – Ginny
Spencer Valley Library Director Ginny Jefferies unlocked the back door of the library early Monday morning, quickly slipped inside, and slammed the door behind her. She patted down the strands of her dirty blond, shoulder length hair that had blown out of place during her dash, breathing hard. Getting to her job was like an undercover assignment these days. She was seriously getting too old for this. There were hours posted on the front door of the library, but people rarely read them. Why should they? It was a public library after all. Wasn’t it always open?