Geri is surprised when her husband tells her that she doesn’t need to phone her mother after dinner. She’s spoken to her mother every evening since her father died and she can’t work out what’s changed.

A Good Night’s Sleep

As soon as she’d finished her dinner, Geri sat back in her chair and looked at her watch.

“I’d better phone Mum,” she said.

“Oh, you don’t need to,” her husband Matt replied as he stabbed his fork into his last chip. “I meant to tell you, love. She phoned earlier and I told her you were working late.”

“Yeah, but no doubt she’s expecting me to phone her back.” Geri stood up and started walking across the room towards the phone. “I’ve spoken to her every evening since Dad died and…”

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A morgue is not the place you expect to find someone wandering around at night, but it is a refuge from the world outside, perhaps …

A Lonely Place

It’s an odd fact that the morgue can be a lonely place at times.  I mean, empty lonely, desperate empty, that kind of lonely.  Don’t quite know why that should be, it’s just a place like anywhere else.  Ain’t it?  Well yes, I mean I know there’s bodies there, course I do.

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Marie Helmsley is a dog person. Returning to her native East Yorkshire she acquires ‘Ben’ from the local rescue centre – a large black mongrel with spooked brown eyes. Is it possible for a dog to carry the spirit of a dead person? Marie supposes not, but is about to discover.

A Resting Place

Marie Helmsley was what you’d call a ‘dog person.’  She could look a dog in the eyes and guess what it might be thinking. She could talk to a dog and it would tilt its head, seeming to understand. The shared bond was fundamental; the abiding loyalty, deeply reassuring.

Marie had mulled over having a dog of her own for several months, spending time at her computer studying photographs of rejected, abandoned, dogs in the rescue centre near to where she lived. She didn’t want a puppy. She wanted a dog that, otherwise, might not get a new home. As she pulled in to the North Cove rescue centre she had the uncanny feeling she was about to find exactly the dog that was meant for her.

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Soon after buying an amazing book about ghosts in a charity shop, Lucy drives miles to visit the widow of the man who wrote the book. The old lady invites Lucy in and as the two women talk, it becomes clear just how amazing the book really is.

All Because of a Book

As she sat down on the black leather sofa, Lucy smiled at the old lady she’d come to visit and marvelled at how her life had changed. Just days before, she’d been thinking how boring everything was, but since then she’d seen a ghost, been to a police station and driven further than she’d ever driven before – and all because of a book!

The old lady she’d come so far to see was the widow of the man who had written the book, and she’d been surprisingly welcoming when Lucy had turned up out of the blue. She’d hardly reacted when Lucy had told her that she’d come to talk about the book, and she hadn’t batted any eyelid when Lucy had explained how she’d got the address from the publisher. She’d just told Lucy her Christian name and invited her to come in.

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A rough-edged cop becomes introspective after he is forced to kill a stalker and becomes haunted by her.

An Inn in the Ivy

The hardest case I never solved was the Pam Fischer murder. There are, it is said, two types of murder mysteries: the whodunit and the whydunit.

This is neither.

It’s even disingenuous to say I never solved it, if I’m limited to those two types. I solved whodnit and whydunit before she was even murdered.

I dunit. I dunit because if I hadn’t dunit she would’ve dunit to me.

I still have questions for her.  I’ll probably spend the rest of my life asking them.

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Autumn is a time of glorious colour tinged with sadness at the turning of a year. Ellie has memories and as she walks, she remembers all that has laid heavy on her heart.

Autumn Leaves

Ellie studied the pattern made by the golden leaves which had drifted from the multitude of twigs and branches on the ancient horse chestnut trees. Ever year Nature created a carpet to walk on, every year the pattern was completely different.  Yet no one seemed to notice, no one seemed to appreciate the talent, the artistic flair shown by the different designs.

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He has been buried for some time, but now he wants to go home!

Back Where I Belong

It’s dark in here.  Too dark for me to see anything.  I’m restricted in my movements, why can’t I sit up, move my arms about, lift my head … and what is this strange silky stuff I am lying on? What is this hard pillow I am resting on…

I don’t like this.  Any of it.  Not one single tiny minuscule scrap of it.  Something is wrong and I want to know where and why and how and what and I want to know now. Not tomorrow, or next week, or next year, but NOW!

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Pam is horrified to see her dad cycling along the road as he’s been dead for several years. She takes refuge in the local library, only to find that she’s not the only one with a visiting relative from ‘beyond’.

Has some terrible mistake been made in Heaven?

Borrowed Time

It was one of those cold but clear winter mornings just hovering on the brink of spring. I could almost smell the sunshine, it was so bright and yet a touch of fog dusted the treetops and roofs of the village.

I smiled as I walked, the anticipation of golden days infecting me with something approaching joy. Through the thinning, floating mist my father pedalled towards me on his ancient bicycle.

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It’s said if you go to the crossroads at midnight, you will meet the devil. A would-be blues singer does just that…

Crossroads Blues

Hey, thanks! Been walking that road forever, breathing everyone’s fumes and not one cared to stop for me. Damn thumb near enough aching from being stuck out so long and being ignored, too!

This is one fine car, I have to say. Nice. What’s the music … oh, OK, never mind. I can live with it.

What? What do I like? Blues. Old style blues. Let me tell you a story, then, how I got to be where I was when you picked me up, you being a damn fine person and all, let me tell you. You up for that?

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It can get lonely in the morgue, but Lydia has found a way round this. She gets everyone out of their chilled drawers …

Danse Macabre

The silent figure on the gurney twitched, moved, sat up and looked around.  The tag on her toe said JANE DOE which annoyed her very much.  I’m not a Jane Doe, I’m Lydia … Lydia … The rest of her name escaped her, much as her memory seemed to have done.

Why am I on a gurney with a tag on my toe? Why am I cold and my veins look blue and stark and my flesh looks like marble? I am NOT dead!

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Carly is beginning to have doubts about her relationship with Dave. These days they seem to have very little in common. When she buys an old writing bureau in a charity shop, he becomes interested in her planned restoration. Is there something about the old desk that will help them to resolve their differences?

Dear John

The writing desk stood in the hall waiting for her attention. Carly danced through her housework anticipating the moment when she could start on the restoration. She smiled to herself as she remembered the sight of Dave’s face when she threw open the tail gate of the car to reveal her latest charity shop purchase.

‘What on earth have you bought now?’ he said, putting his hands on his hips and tipping his head to one side. ‘A desk? An old-fashioned one at that.’

‘It’s more of a bureau,’ she murmured. ‘Help me get it indoors.’

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How could that which terrified me in life be embraced in my dream as freedom and escape, and how was my daughter able to love the very thing I feared? Can echoes from the past be heard today?

Depths of Memory

I am a timid swimmer. Ten minutes of being bullied by the waves is enough for me so, toes groping for the slippery rocks beneath, I make my way back to the safe embrace of the sandy beach.  I spread my towel on the warm, soft sand and feel the sun chase away the dread of the water. I lie down to read but gradually my book falls from my hand as I doze. I am dreaming the dream.

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A boy discovers the truth about his relationship with his disturbed mother.

Fair-Haired Boy

William tickled the downy clutch of fur under the tabby’s chin. Charlie was so soft, maybe softer than Bunny, and if he could only locate Bunny, he’d compare the two. He decided to look again in his room because surely his favourite toy must be packed somewhere inside one of those boxes. He rolled onto his back, drowsing in the autumn sunshine, and Charlie curled herself against him. Then she stiffened and screamed. William lurched to his knees, yelling, “Charlie! Charlie!” but she was already streaking to the cluster of birch trees at the end of the yard, and on her heels was the bull terrier from over the road.

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Every town has its secrets, especially seaside towns set along a wild southern Australian coastline. Alice and Matt encounter more than Irish ancestral links and larrikins in the local pub; encounters that change their lives forever.

Fancy

‘It’s only a barrel, mate,’ slurred the scruffy young man, through missing front teeth.

Unperturbed, Matt continued to focus his phone camera on the hotel wall of memorabilia, taking several close-ups of the wine barrel and some of the surrounding sepia prints of pioneer families.

The larrikin winked at Alice as he again tried to provoke Matt in an even louder voice. ‘It’s just a friggin’ barrel, mate.’

Alice sipped her portagaf, screwed up her face and added a dash more lemonade to the stout mix. The unsavoury character appeared to be the only customer in the saloon besides them, but he made noise enough for several others with his taunts.

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Angie is shocked when she discovers who is haunting her house – and even more shocked when she finds out what she needs to do to get rid of the ghost.

Footsteps in the Night

After she’d switched the engine off, Angie stared at the white bungalow and sighed. She wasn’t at all sure that she was going to be brave enough to go and knock on the door.

The old man she’d come to see had lived in her house once, and one of her neighbours had told her he knew all about the footsteps in the night, but talking to him about the ghost was going to be terrifying, she thought, as she took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

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Back to haunt his precious hotel, Reggie Johnson a digital ghost, soon makes life difficult for his daughter Lydia. But how did Reggie materialise and can Lydia get rid of him? Luckily Declan is around to help…

Ghost Johnson

“What have you done with the white sheets, Lydia? I look ridiculous in this!”

Open-mouthed I stared at the apparition before me.

It couldn’t be true.

Dad had been dead six months yet here he was standing before me shrouded in a yellow gingham duvet cover and ordering me about as usual. His grey hair was much longer than it used to be, halfway down his back, but apart from the ridiculous outfit he looked much the same…

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How are you supposed to cope when you’ve lost your husband? And what if your phone rings and there’s never anybody there? Can a phone be haunted?

Caroline is alone now but someone seems to want to contact her. The caller wants something, and Caroline may know what that is.

Harry

The telephone rang insistently in the empty air. Outside, while birds sang and traffic roared, a key scraped in the lock and a woman rushed through into the neat hallway, leaving the door wide open behind her. She dashed for the phone on the polished fruitwood table in the living room. Just as her hand closed over the receiver, the ringing stopped.

Irritated, the woman walked back through the hall, slamming the front door shut on her way and sweeping her hand down to retrieve the carrier bag she had dumped there when she heard the phone ringing.

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the aged star is packing up to move, clearing out memorabilia when he comes across a bundle of letters. They were written by one of his fans and he had kept them for many years. As he opens the bundle, Laura arrives. Has she come to visit the man she adored or is there an ulterior motive for this ghost’s presence in his home?

Laura’s Letters

The afternoon sun streamed through the glass panels of the front door, making the red carpet glow with warmth.  Dick Alexander tied string round the top of the dustbin liner he had just dragged through the hall.  He leaned it against the wall and stood back.  Three bags so far and there was still the trunk to go through.  He stood for a moment, reluctantly admitting that the effort had been too much.  He should have left the clearing out until his son arrived to help, as he had promised.

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Mel has been lying to her son. She’s not proud of herself, but she only told him a lie because she thought it might help him.

Little White Feathers

When Mel heard her son going out of the back door, she looked across the living room at her husband and waited for him to speak.

“Well,” she said, after a few seconds when he’d done nothing but glare at her, “aren’t you going to have a go at me?”

“What would be the point?” Ben replied, as he slumped back into his chair. “I couldn’t believe it when you started telling our son a complete pack of lies, Mel, but I didn’t say anything then, and it seems pretty pointless saying anything now! If you’d told me what you were planning to do…

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When Hayden is shot, his soul finds itself in the perfect position to play pranks on people. No one can see him, and no one can hear him, except Ava. As the two of them try to figure out why Hayden’s soul is still roaming this world, and why Ava is the only person who can see or hear him, they decide to have some fun in the process.

My Heart and Soul

Prologue

It is raining heavily. The wound in the side of my stomach sucks the life out of me, as my blood seeps out and flows with the water of the rain. My head hurts because of the impact of my fall. I cannot feel the rest of my body. I know I will die here tonight. But not before my life flashes before my eyes, one last time.

I see my mom and myself as a child of six. A tear rolls down the corner of my eye as I think of my mother after almost a decade.

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Gillian, a freelance writer, looking for inspiration, dismissed the school reunion, thinking, it unexciting; she gets a surprise as an old picture of a Viking warrior comes back-to-life and seeks revenge.

School Reunion

“You hardly look any different, Jane. What have you been up to?” Gillian asked.

“I have my own business now, and you?” Jane replied. “You look much the same too. How did you keep so slim? – Which is more than I can say for Linda – I love the hair.”

“Hey you, I like to be different,” Linda said flicking her scarlet tresses.

“Hey red, I love it.”  Gillian shrugged. “What have I been up to? Oh, a bit of this and that. I’m a writer, but not a very successful one at the moment. I hope to get some ideas from this reunion.”

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After enjoying a relaxing holiday on the Costa del Sol, Neville and his family are ready to head back home to England, but he is now confronted with a big problem. There are only two choices he can make. If you were in his position, what would you do?

Spanish Midnight

The sound of small feet, pattering across a marble floor, caused Neville to glance over his shoulder. ‘Molly,’ he asked, ‘did you hear any strange noises in the night?’

His daughter placed a finger on her cheek. ‘Not really, only Jack snoring as usual. Can I go and play with Mummy?’

‘Where’s she gone?’

‘Swimming in the outdoor pool.’

‘What’s Jack doing?’

‘Listening to his iPod, he said he’d come with me.’

Neville didn’t want to scare Molly, but couldn’t resist telling her, ‘Make sure you hold on tight to your big brother’s hand on the way down there.’

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The boy seems to care nothing for the potential danger.
Perhaps he feels, as I do, that the old Château can never harm those who love it.

Spirit of the Château

The boy is dressed all in black. His loose trousers and shapeless top are black. Even his footwear is black. I suppose he is a boy, at my age anyone under thirty seems young. His hair is long and dark. It moves, gently blown by a breeze I cannot feel. His face is pale, too pale for summer, for health. He looks sad, lost. I follow as he wanders around the Château. I cannot hear his footsteps echoing through the empty rooms.

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When Tom and his friends hatch a plan to organise ghost walks in their seaside town, it seems like a harmless laugh. But soon Tom is wondering exactly who it is that’s doing the haunting…

Spooky Strolls

I wish we’d never listened to Dave and Angela. It all started one Saturday night at The Anchor, just as a fresh batch of tourists rolled in with the creases still in their shorts. Dave was holding forth about his latest brainwave. “Bet this lot would cough up five quid a time,” he said, jerking his thumb towards the gaggle at the bar. “Crying out for a bit of light entertainment. Every seaside town has a ghost walk nowadays”

“Would we need a licence?” said Janice, my wife frowning.

“I’ll look into that,” said Dave. He tapped the side of his bulbous nose. “Friends at the Council.”

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Rachel’s happy family life in her new home seems under threat from those who’re so against outsiders that they’d even risk poisoning them. If that wasn’t enough she had to deal with an interfering mother-in-law and a neighbouring sickly child that only she seems to notice.

Tainted Water

Rachel took her tea outside; she deserved a break. Every surface was washed down, every packing crate opened and the contents put away. There was much more to do, but it could wait.

Rachel daydreamed of the beautiful garden she hoped to create; vibrant spring bulbs, scented roses for summer, a blaze of autumn glory and a few evergreens for winter.

“Co-ee,” a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts, “are you there, Rachel?”

“Coming, Mum,” Rachel called to her mother-in-law.

“Gosh, this place is looking better. You’ve done wonders.”

“Well, I’ve made a start.”

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