Brogan is beginning a six year sentence for the manslaughter of a prison officer.  He is unrepentant and is temporarily lodged in the derelict former execution wing of the prison where he is held. A battle of wills and wits ensues. He suspects that he is being subjected to an elaborate treatment programme designed to shock him into remorse and rehabilitation. But all is not as it seems.

‘E’ Wing

‘Killing Senior Officer Stewart was murder, plain and simple. And we both know, Brogan, that you should have been given Life.’

Brogan glared his defiance at the Governor and sensed the unease of the younger of the two prison officers who had brought him from his cell. He almost spat his reply. ‘The point is that they chose to call it Manslaughter and six years is what I got.’

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A long empty, seemingly benign house wants to again enjoy days of caring, warmth and happiness.

13 Superstition Drive

I’d had enough.  My life was crumbling around me. At my peak, I was worth something in excess of a million dollars.  That was before ‘the incident’; the incident that ruined my existence.

The murders took place in 1946.  Sam Clarkson came home from the war and found his wife living with Simon Christie, a man who had evaded war service and made a fortune dealing in rubber and petrol.  Sam strangled Christie, caught his fleeing wife, strangled her and then committed suicide.  I was an orphan from that moment.

No one has cared for me since that day.

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Geoff knew his murdered friend had been unconventional but he was about to learn of another peculiarity.

A Moving Story

At breakfast  my mother handed me The Herald Sun folded to expose the story of a man killed by the person he had rescued from the Yarra.  The rescuer’s name was Michael Dodge.

“Think that’s your friend, Gene Simmons  didn’t he change his name to Michael Dodge?” she asked.  “He was a troubled lad.”

“Could be.  Do you have a number for him?”

“I think so.  Somewhere.  I heard neither hide nor hair of them since you joined up.”

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A pianist eternally repeating the first bars of Für Elise. A dancer trapped in the first steps of a solo. And now a singer bound to repeat the first two lines of Greensleeves. It’s not medicine Dr William Oakes must employ to set these lost souls free.

A Muse for Elise

Doctor William Oakes set his black bag down on the front step of the brick mansion. Ignoring the scruffy boy sitting against the wall, he took a deep breath and gave the frosty lion-headed knocker three sharp raps.

The lad jumped up at the sound, the furrows in his brow deepening. “Ain’t no one answering,” he said, battered cap clutched tight in calloused hands. The flush in his hollow cheeks suggested he had been huddling against the wind for the best part of the day. William pulled a few pennies from the threadbare pocket of his tweed suit.

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Lettie’s bird watching turns up a lot more than sparrows and owls. She discovers a little too late that a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.

A Word in Your Ear

Lettie Moore clung to the cast-iron post at the base of her steps, for a moment, to catch her breath before mounting the five steps leading up to her veranda.  It wasn’t a long walk from the store, but her bags were heavy and her arthritis was bothering her today.  Then too, she wasn’t getting any younger.  She stopped again at the top to set down her packages and grab the contents of the old mailbox, before crossing the veranda to the coolness of her house.

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The sequel to Heart of oak. Acorn again sails the seven seas on the good ship The Royal Oak.  This time a deadly foe lurks in the bowels of the ship.  Its sinister presence makes even hardened mariners cringe.  Join Acorn in his quest for revenge.

Acorn and the Creeper

The sun stood high in the sky, the Royal Oak, a Man ’o’ War of his Majesty’s Royal Navy fairly flew through white-capped waves.  White spume flew over the prow, sails billowed aloft like white balloons, fit to burst.  The crew worked like a well-oiled machine, hauling on ropes, trimming sails a myriad of tasks to keep a ship of the line in trim and up to speed.  We were on our way to Tahiti to re-provision and take on fresh water. We all looked forward to fresh food, especially me, Acorn I’m called, sea-cat 1st class.

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When journalist Debbie Delaney receives an invitation to afternoon tea with the town’s crazy lady and a centenarian with a secret, her curiosity gets the better of her. What is the secret Debbie alone has been chosen to hear and why does she feel so at home in Amberley Lane?

Afternoon Tea in Amberley Lane

The letter, handwritten on scented paper in near perfect script, arrived on Monday morning.  Debbie had read it a dozen times since. Eileen Patrick was a recluse, politely referred to as eccentric, but a little bit crazy in a ‘no harm to anybody’ sort of way.  It was rare for her to venture out of her house and no one could remember an invitation to visit having been extended. As a young girl, Debbie had been warned to stay well clear of the strange old lady in Amberley Lane and so was both curious and apprehensive.  As mysterious as the invitation itself, was the identity of ‘House’ and the secret to be told by the centenarian.

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Jake Granit is taking a leave of absence to look after his orphaned niece. It’s more challenge than he needs while suffering from PTSD. So protecting his loved ones from marauding ghouls just might tip him over the edge.

Algol Rising

Jake eased the battered Ford onto the overgrown verge, turned the key halfway and looked at Emily. She had her knees tucked into her black dress, the heels of her shiny black shoes on the worn, chip-stained seat. She was staring straight ahead at the wrought iron gates, not crying any more though the tear tracks down her baby cheeks rivalled tank tracks.

“Emily, we’re here.”

Her lip quivered as the radio news wrapped up the diamond robbery story to drone on about some inconsequential house fire which had left everyone halfway to all right in that family. She made no effort to unbuckle the seatbelt. Jake grasped his dog tags but they were fresh out of Dutch courage.

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A young woman loses her way on a country lane with surprising consequences.

Away with the Faeries

The small car wound cautiously along the minor road, twisting down the contours of a wooded hillside, dark and glistening with damp from earlier drizzle.  The tangled trees surrounding the narrow path were greening but the vivid hues of their leaf buds were obscured by the mist which enveloped their gnarled branches and veiled their roots.  It was eerily beautiful the way they emerged from a white, swirling mass and rose up, reaching towards a pale, clouded heaven.  Susan kept finding herself staring into the woods rather than watching the road.

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Gary is a very practical man. A major annoyance in his life is that his wife, Louella, isn’t as level-headed.

Oh, and all of the damned zombies, of course!

Be Practical

Gary heard the low, mournful moan as he stepped out onto the porch. In the middle of his front yard, dampened by the early morning dew, lurched a lively corpse. Its flesh was loose and pale; its arms outstretched. It caught sight of him and, with an excited murmur, staggered towards its prey.

“Louella!” Gary called over his shoulder. There was no answer. Where was the silly woman? Gary sighed and deftly do-si-do’d the zombie, trotting up to the mailbox to collect the mail.

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A pact with Hades to take away your memories may be the best way to live, but the deal comes with a hidden price.

Between the Rains

She watches the droplets of rain dribble down the window.

The evening shadows conceal me as I watch her, sitting, holding The Record Book. I know what’s about to happen and I swallow the rising bile. Maybe she survived?

After the rain is the time for waiting, a time for those left to remember and to nurture those caught in the rain. I wonder how the others are coping. How many were caught this time?

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In the real and paranormal worlds, destiny can be linked by shared experience and bloodlines. Can a gambler avoid a gunfight with help from the future?

Blood is Thicker Than Dimensions

Jesse Livermore stared at his tormentors, slowly eyeing each one of them as his gaze moved around the poker table. He held the best hand, he knew it . . . but why would Bart Blackwell raise him only to have “One eyed” Jimmy raise again? Jesse smelled a rat. Looking down at his cards Jesse still held four kings. Nothing had changed except that if he called these two men and lost, he would lose his horse, “Cactus Jack” and it was a long walk to Reno from Virginia City.

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Wackiness ensues when a lecherous vampire and his long suffering ex-wife consult a dentist in an effort to save him from a dreaded disease.

Fang Rot

A horrific screech echoed through the crypt as the massive door was forced open, not an easy feat even for someone with preternatural strength.  An all too familiar voice called out a quick greeting. “Hello Jeffrey?  Are you risen, Love?  Sun’s down and I fancy a bite to eat.  Want to join me?”

A loud groan answered the cheery call.  Jeffrey Bellington-Kemp managed to pull himself up in his coffin and snarl at his ex-wife.  “I’m really not feeling up to it tonight, Velda.  Go away!”  He fell back into the dark satin folds and closed his eyes.

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This is a modern fairy tale based loosely on Grimm’s story, ‘The Fisherman and his Wife.’

When Gavin discovers some fraudulent goings-on at the museum where he works, his wife decides to use the information to get out of their dismal lodgings and improve their life-style.

Gavin the Afternoon Angler

When Gavin woke up at the usual time of 1pm he was pleasantly surprised to see an oblique band of golden sunshine creeping in over the bedroom windowsill.   It beckoned him out into the so-called garden – a minuscule pit of a plot next to the steps that led down from street level to the door of their basement flat.  It was paved with uneven flagstones, and a few straggly weeds struggled up between them.  In the far corner, however, there was a leggy buddleia, and as this was late June the sun was high enough to touch it for a few hours around midday.

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Acorn the prodigal ”sea cat” abandoned and lost as a kitten, befriended by lame john, a sailor of the king.  Now Acorn’s adventures start, cared for by greasy Westcott, mentored by Horatio the crusty 1st “sea cat” aboard the good ship Royal Oak.

Heart of Oak

I could feel the cold rain on my fur, feel the icy wind against my face and feel the hunger in my belly.  It was dark and I felt so lost and alone. Where my mum, brothers and sisters were I do not know, in fact I never found out.

“What’s this then”, a voiced boomed, it was loud, though not nasty, but I was frightened.  “Shiver me timbers, why it’s a little kitten”, the human said.  “Soaking wet and freezing, shivering all over.  Why, it can only be just weaned, no sign of the mother, must be abandoned.

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When Ama’s cousin Kerr invites her on a hunting trip she gets to capture something she as only seen alive at a zoo.

Human Scooping Morning

Kerr heard it first. The distant sound of a blacksmith’s hammer as it beat out a steady rhythm of metal on metal CLING, cling…CLING cling. My ponytail was already pulled through the half-moon closure of my cap. I was more concerned with tucking stray stands of brown hair up under the rim than with being quiet as I lagged behind. Annoyed by the snaps and crunches that came from every stick and dried leaf I stepped on, my cousin Kerr motioned for me to be still.

“You need to be quieter.” He hissed. He knelt down beside me, adjusted his empty game pouch across his shoulders. Its camouflage bottom almost touched the ground.

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The digging has disturbed the slumber of the fell spirit which charged Jack The Ripper. Jack was only a body which limited it. It has grown stronger in its slumber and the multitude it can now sense excites. To possess so many. It waits for the optimum time to strike.

Leather Apron at the Olympics 2012

The demon which made Jack The Ripper is roused from its enforced dormancy.

Something disturbed the spirit which had burrowed deep into the bedrock beneath the Old Ford Lock after The Vessel had been dumped off Lea Bridge. It knew it had been dormant for a time. It had just forgotten how humans measured that most nebulous of concepts. Separation from the host did that. The ruckus continued.

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Can a young woman really be her sister’s keeper?  Find out as Gallandra struggles between fulfilling family obligations and fulfilling her own magical destiny.

Nellandra’s Keeper

“Where is Nellandra?  I told you to guard her until after the wedding.” The high priestess’s mind voice prickled uncomfortably in the back of my head.

“She’s probably just gone for a walk.  I’ll find her.”  My answer was much calmer than I felt, a little trick of mindspeak I had developed.

“She should be preparing to meet her bridegroom, not off hiding.  I don’t want her to be late for the betrothal feast, too many people will be watching.”  I winced as I felt her annoyance.

“Yes, grandmother, I’ll make sure she’s there.”

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Piper Elinham has learnt all she can about the family business and wants to prove to her father she can make it on her own.  In America, however, she’s finding that her appearance is causing her problems.  For one thing, prospective employers aren’t taking her seriously.  Fortunately, Piper is more than capable of looking out for herself  - as the Mayor of Woodruff is about to discover.

Playback

Inside, the diner looked exactly like the ones you see in the movies.  Glass fronted, door at one side, a row of tables with those built in padded seats along the window and a polished counter stretching all the way along the room.  There was even a television mounted high on the wall.  It was hardly welcoming, though to be honest, it didn’t have to be.  Having spent the last eight hours hitching I was glad just to see furniture.

The place was pretty much empty.  I walked to the counter and ordered a coffee.  There was the usual moment of hesitation from the waitress, too young to be travelling alone, quickly replaced by not my problem, and she handed over the change without speaking, before moving away.

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Having had to abandon university to return home, Sean spends his time surfing and stacking shelves in a supermarket.  But a chance encounter at the beach one evening threatens to change his life – that’s if it doesn’t end it completely.

Promises and Obligations

Sean felt the change in the board’s rocking motion and looked over his shoulder.  Here it came, the set he’d been waiting for, at least six rollers each promising to be bigger than the last.  Lowering himself onto his chest and using his hands and feet to manoeuvre he turned until he was facing the beach.

The tail of the board lifted, its nose dipping as the first unformed wave passed under him.  Judging the moment with care, body flat on the board, nose close to its tip, he began to paddle.

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On a new world a young boy learns the value of even a small creature and how a young girl’s curiosity saved a planetary expedition.

Putting on the Blue

Javian held his prize carefully, showing it first to Mazo and then Alyc.  He pulled it back when Alyc reached to touch it.  His friends didn’t have hunting weapons of their own and he was enjoying showing off.  Javian picked up a rock and nestled it in the sling, a smaller version of the one his father used, letting it swing gently back and forth while he looked for at target.

The big Parashon tree was too far away.  A chittering sound caught his attention.  There by the DaWakanda’s hut a blue-faced digger was using its long clays to get into her basket of fruit.

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An Urban Fantasy about a lonely woman who summons a character from a tarot card for a romantic interlude.

Seven of Swords

Cassandra rose and crossed the room to draw back the velvet curtains.  They were so heavy that the runners made a resounding whoosh – a sound that usually brought her querients back to reality.  And if that didn’t, seeing the stark white door behind the curtain usually did.  But Debbie, who had come today in the hopes of clearing up some husband worries, was in no hurry to leave.  The incense had burnt out, which indicated that they’d gone over her thirty minutes by at least another ten.

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We all have our purpose in life. Sometimes it takes a while to find it but when we do, it can be life changing, for us and others.  Jonathan is about to find out his true purpose in life – and it will liberate him.

Shiloh

His father’s fist exploded into his face. Jonathan fell against the stone wall, feeling blood and tears spurt simultaneously.  Pain flared and blinded him. Through the haze he heard the angry voice beating at his ears, at his mind.

“I said, get out and milk the sheep! I care not if it’s Garrett’s turn!  In this house what I say is done!”

Jonathan heard his brother snigger, heard a page turn in the precious book, the one he so longed to look at, to learn to read. The pain was such that he dare not speak, dare not risk more blows

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Frank and Norman cut through the works boiler room to avoid the crush and meet two very odd people. They end up going the long way home.

Short Cut

Five thirty-five pm, the lift out of order again and a crush of people at the top of the stairs.

“Let’s go this way,” said Norman, “It’s a short cut.”

He led the way through the door marked ‘Boiler Room’ and down the clattery iron stairway, “It leads out onto the car park,” he explained.

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The first love of any young male’s life is so often that very important bike, and what he actually paid for it is not remembered in time.

Sole Obsession

John Fosters was taking a short cut through the showroom when he first saw it. He fell madly and passionately in love.

The Black Triumph flaunted itself on the dais emitting a tangible lure of black, black power, promising the excitement of speed, endurance and stability.

The more John studied it, the more besotted he became. He was only twenty years old, after all. The excitement and longing moved through him like a fever. His right hand clenched around an invisible throttle.

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