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Author's Introduction
Submission Reference
The Reverend Dr. Iziah. P. Dollar was in
one hell of a fury, he cursed Satan in the name of the lord, he thrashed
violently as he pronounced that the lords vengeance would wipe the face of
the earth of all Satan’s Children of Darkness for all time. That; there
would be hell-fire and damnation for all in league with Lucifer, that he
would personally cast them into the pit.
“Lord in heaven, look not upon the bodies of these your children,
the Beast walks among us lord, this is the work of none other than the
Antichrist. Lord, send us the power and the strength to smash our foe and
our mortal enemy, lord send us your blessing and divine love, and forgive
me; but we got some killing to do. I know you understand and will deliver
us from evil, amen.”
He looked to his flock of mindless sheep, they agreed with every
word saying
“Amen” and “Hallelujah!”
One cried out.
“May the love of the sweet lord Jesus, strike fear and terror
into the heart of the Devil and destroy the Beast.”
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Author's Introduction
Submission Reference
Prologue
1900
The child has been sleepwalking – again. Housekeeper and lady of the
house hold conference and decide upon aniseed in her milk and herbs under
the pillow. An ancient repository of herbal remedies is brought out and
consulted.
A small figure in white comes downstairs in a natural enough manner,
and moves towards the main door in the entrance hall. The only unnatural
aspect about her is the fixedness of her stare, that unseeing stare of the
blind and the somnambulist. She is forestalled as she reaches up to turn
the handle; her aunt has caught up with her, takes her hand and
guides her back upstairs, taking care not to waken her.
The house settles down again, and night passes into dawn – a
distant cockerel sounds the morning fanfare, the vixen calls her cubs and
the badger returns to his den.
The child awakens with no recollection of anythingbut a deep night’s sleep, punctuated by vivid dreams that mirror
her waking days in the great and magical land to be found outdoors.
Another day in such a land stretches out before her and she can think of
nothing else other than racing through the trees after mythical beasts and
rainbow-coloured birds.
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Author's Introduction
Submission Reference
There were women everywhere.
He hated them, he always had, and for one very good reason: he knew they hated him.
He had been young, just a child around five or six years of age, when he'd first realised the truth, first realised that every female in the world hated him and wanted to hurt, destroy him. He didn't know why, didn't know why his life, his EXISTENCE enraged them so, but he knew it to be true nonetheless.
The worst of it all, though, was how they tried to destroy him, how they expressed their hatred, revulsion.
It was by telling him they loved him.
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Author's Introduction
Submission Reference
“What About
Christmas?” is a short story about Christmas with a paranormal twist.
The setting is real but the characters are purely fictional. I hope it is
entertaining.
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Author's Introduction
Submission Reference
A short story (approx. 5000 words) concerning Orphan, who is taken on
at Great House as a servant. She bears a fading birthmark that brought her
to the attention of Great Lady. Is Orphan the hope she nurtures for her
son? Only time would tell...
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Author's Introduction
Submission Reference
East Grinstead’s strategic position,
halfway between London and the south coast, led to the establishment of
many coaching inns.
The name Dorset Arms goes
back to before 1636.
In the eighteenth century it
was almost rebuilt, using some of the original materials, and has also
been named the Newe Inn, the Ounce and later the Catt (references to the
white spotted leopard featured on the Dorset family coat of arms.
In its heyday of coach travel
there were an estimated 103 beds and 247 horses in the town – most of
them at the Dorset.
It has been a centre of activity in the
old High Street for nearly 400 years.
If these walls could speak...
This
story is based on fact, but I have taken licence to expand its depth and
warmth, because sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction. Copyright
2005 Bonx Trigwell
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