Catherine Cavendish and a dark veil…

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Book review, Catherine Cavendish, Crossroads Press, ghosts, Halloween, hauntings, Hellems, Horror, Much Marcle, New book, Spooky Houses, the Darkest Veil

 

Hellens – Heart, History and Hauntings

 

Helens – Heart, History and Hauntings  BY CATHEINE CAVENDISH

Helens – Heart, History and Hauntings  BY CATHEINE CAVENDISH

I spent the first two years of my life in a little village, some 16 miles from Hereford, called Much Marcle. These days Marcle is best known for the incredible success story that is Westons Cider, but back in the twelfth century, the foundations were laid for a house that, over the centuries, has seen more than its fair share of history. Not bad for a manor house in a sleepy little backwater of rural Herefordshire.

Hellens (said to be named after the de Helyon family who were early owners of the property) has changed hands many times over the centuries. Early inhabitants were witnesses to the signing of the Magna Carta. Much later, in the sixteenth century, owner Richard Walwyn was knighted by Mary Tudor. She dubbed him (for reasons probably best left to her) Knight of the Carpet. Elizabeth I forgave him when she came to the throne. Sadly this didn’t stop him from dying bankrupt and, by 1619, Hellens was reported to be in ruins.

 

Over the next century, Hellens enjoyed mixed fortune and not a little tragedy. During the Civil War, the Walwyns fought on the King’s side. The opposing Parliamentarian forces stormed Hellens, where the family priest was acting as caretaker. They found his hiding place, dragged him out and stabbed him repeatedly with their halberds, until the poor man resembled a porcupine. He died in the room where Mary Tudor is supposed to have stayed – Bloody Mary’s Chamber. When I was there, a woman on the same tour reported feeling a distinct cold spot near the fireplace and many unwitting tourists have reported being chased out of there by a figure resembling a Catholic monk.

 

Also, at this time, a body was allegedly buried under the floorboards, where it remains to this day. The corpse is that of Sir Henry Lingen, killed in battle at Ledbury (three miles way). Does Sir Henry walk the house at dead of night? And where, precisely, is his body? No one – as yet – knows because it has never been found.

But the hapless priest certainly isn’t the only ghost to wander the rooms of Hellens. Around 1700, someone scratched a message on a window pane in a room now known as ‘Hetty’s Room’. It reads: ‘It is a part of virtue to abstain from what we love if it should prove our bane.’ This sorrowful little homily was etched using a diamond ring, but who did it?

)

Hetty Walwyn, daughter of the house, eloped with a local lad called John Piercel, but he abandoned her and, with nowhere else to go, she was forced to return home and throw herself on the mercy of her family. But there was little mercy for Hetty. Her mother marched her up to her bedroom and locked her in. Poor Hetty was to be denied human companionship for the next 30 years, until she died, still incarcerated in that one room. The only way she could communicate was by pulling a cord which rang a solitary bell. Visitors can still do this – and a more mournful, lonely sound you could hardly imagine. Needless to say, there was no way anyone could reply to her. Interestingly, her faithless lover may have repented, for high on the outside of the window, his name – John Piercel – is scratched, along with the date – 1702. Poor Hetty haunts the room to this day. If you visit, maybe you’ll hear her weeping…softly…just behind you.

Over the next 200 years, ownership of the house changed frequently until Hilda Pennington Mellor, became its new chatelaine in 1945. She married the philanthropist and scientist, Axel Munthe who was physician to the Queen of Sweden. Axel Munthe is most famous for writing bestselling book, The Story of San Michele, about his adventures in restoring a house on Capri, which had been built on the foundations of Emperor Tiberias’s villa. Professionally, he worked tirelessly through outbreaks of cholera and typhus – not to mention earthquakes – tending to the sick, during the years he worked in Italy. He refused to take any money for his services from the poor and even established a hospice for elderly, destitute people in a castle outside Rome.

Today, the descendants of Hilda and Axel still call Hellens home, and the house plays a major role in village life in a variety of ways. This carries on a long tradition. My mother remembered attending the Coronation Ball there in 1953. Much Marcle, Hellens and cider are so inextricably entwined that it was decided that, at midnight, the fountain in the forecourt would flow, not with water, but with cider. Unfortunately, no one thought to warn the family spaniel whose habit it was to drink from that fountain. Not only that, the celebrations started rather earlier than anticipated. As a result, the poor dog was intoxicated by four that afternoon!

This was only the beginning of a chapter of disasters that threatened to scupper the entire event and which are hilariously recounted in Malcolm Munthe’s enthralling book, Hellens – The Story of a Herefordshire Manor. Somehow, the guests – my mother included – did get their cider, the health of the new Queen was drunk and everyone talked about the wonderful masque for months to come.

Hellens is full of atmosphere – and all the better for being a little faded, a little worn and not a little frayed around the edges. It hasn’t been ‘tarted’ up for the tourists. It’s an honest house – a family home, with a big heart, that has been around for nearly a thousand years. Parts of it bear the scars of battle – relics of the Civil War and a World War II bomb, carelessly discarded following an enemy raid on Birmingham.

As you walk its creaking corridors, descend the steep, narrow staircase and marvel at the faded elegance of its rooms, you get a real sense of presence, of a home well loved and well lived in. And, as such, this has to be one of my favourite haunts (in all senses of the word).

Have a look at their website, by clicking HERE

We are the Thirteen and we are one

 4 Yarborough Drive looked like any other late 19th century English townhouse. Alice Lorrimer feels safe and welcomed there, but soon discovers all is not as it appears to be. One of her housemates flees the house in terror. Another disappears and never returns. Then there are the sounds of a woman wailing, strange shadows and mists, and the appearance of the long-dead Josiah Underwood who founded a coven there many years earlier. The house is infested with his evil, and Alice and her friends are about to discover who the Thirteen really are.

When death’s darkest veil draws over you, then shall shadows weep

 

The Darkest Veil is available from:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

 

About The Author

Following a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance, Catherine Cavendish is now the full-time author of a number of paranormal, ghostly and Gothic horror novels, novellas and short stories. In addition to The Darkest Veil, Cat’s novels include The Haunting of Henderson Close, the Nemesis of the Gods trilogy – Wrath of the Ancients, Waking the Ancients and Damned by the Ancients, plus The Devil’s Serenade, The Pendle Curse and Saving Grace Devine.

Her novellas include Linden Manor, Cold Revenge, Miss Abigail’s Room, The Demons of Cambian Street, Dark Avenging Angel, The Devil Inside Her, and The Second Wife

She lives by the sea in Southport, England with her long-suffering husband, and a black cat called Serafina who has never forgotten that her species used to be worshipped in ancient Egypt. She sees no reason why that practice should not continue.

You can connect with Cat here:

Catherine Cavendish

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The Darkest Veil by Catherine Cavendish.

Five hamsters.

That there was something welcoming about the house is quickly dispelled in Catherine Cavendish’s latest book–a novella that yet feels and reads like so much more and in fact  shows that Ms Cavendish is every bit a master of the shorter genre as she is of a full blown novel. As ever, the time settings are carefully observed and evoked, moving seamlessly from the 1970s to the present day. The ordinariness of bedsit land and life is a perfect foil for the depth and scale of lurking horror in Yarborough Drive. It is often said that the evil men do live after them and it was never truer than of this house. In fact as Alice Lorrimer and her new friends soon find out it’s never left. But will it be to their cost or not? Can they save more than themselves in this gripping, page-turning chiller? The race is certainly on as they start unravelling the past. And the reader is led skilfully down paths where sighs of relief are breathed. But let’s not forget one vital thing. This is Catherine Cavendish’s world  and  a scary one it is. A must for Halloween.

 

 

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Gight Castle, the Gordons and Henderson Close.

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Aberdeenshire, Catherine Cavendish, Edinburgh, Flame Tree Press, Fyvie, ghosts, Gight Castle, Horror, Lord Byron, New book, The Haunting of Henderson Close

Gight Castle and the Lost Gold of Hagberry Pot BY CATHERINE CAVENDISH

 

CATHERINE CAVENDISH  —(Please insert pic 1)

 

 

 

Ghosts aplenty haunt the towns, cities and countryside of Scotland. Near the town of Fyvie in the Grampian region,

stands the ruin of Gight Castle – once the home of the Gordon family whose most famous son was the infamous ‘mad, bad and dangerous to know’ Lord Byron. Gight was his childhood home – he and his mother being the last of the Gordons to live there.

Throughout its history, it was the scene of hardship, financial disaster, murder and untimely deaths. Byron’s mother – Catherine Gordon – had to sell the castle to distant relation the third, Earl of Aberdeen in 1787 to pay off the considerable gambling debts run up by her husband.

Local 13^th century poet and prophet, Thomas the Rhymer foretold, ‘At Gight three men by sudden death shall dee. And after that the land shall lie in lea’.

 

 

In 1791, George Gordon, Lord Haddo son of the Earl of Aberdeen, fell off his horse and died.

The castle was no longer lived in after that but at its Home Farm a couple of years later, one of the servants met a similar fate to that of the unfortunate Lord Haddo. Then a farmworker, who was working on demolishing one of the farmhouses, remarked that at least Thomas the Rhymer’s prophecy hadn’t been fulfilled, as only two people had died. The words were barely out his mouth before a wall fell on him, crushing him to death. The land was turned into lea. Now the prophecy was fulfilled.

The famous Ghost of Gight is said to be a piper who was working underneath the castle and was sent to investigate an underground passageway and never returned. The sound of his pipes can be heard among the ruins.

But there’s more. Indeed, there may be gold nearby. Legend has it that the seventh laird of Gight hid his treasure in the near bottomless pit that is Hagberry Pot, a short distance away on the River Ythan. He secreted it there during the Covenanters’ Riots in in 1644. After the rebellion ended, the laird tried to retrieve his treasure and sent a diver down to its murky depths to locate it and bring it up. The diver resurfaced, scared out of his wits. The Devil himself was guarding it, he said.

The laird was having none of it and forced the poor man to go down again. A few minutes ticked by and then the lifeless body of the diver floated up to the surface. The body was not intact. Something – or someone – had severed it into four parts.

 

It is said the laird’s gold and jewels remain down there – if you have the courage to go diving for it.

Legend also has it that some of the Gordons dabbled in sorcery and black magic and that the devil himself still visits the castle ruins.

For evil of a different kind, here’s what to expect from The Haunting of Henderson Close:

Ghosts have always walked there. Now they’re not alone…

In the depths of Edinburgh, an evil presence is released. Hannah and her colleagues are tour guides who lead their visitors along the spooky, derelict Henderson Close, thrilling them with tales of spectres and murder. For Hannah it is her dream job, but not for long. Who is the mysterious figure that disappears around a corner? What is happening in the old print shop? And who is the little girl with no face? The legends of Henderson Close are becoming all too real.

The Auld De’il is out – and even the spirits are afraid.

The Haunting of Henderson Close is available from:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Flame Tree Press

About the author:

 Following a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance, Catherine Cavendish is now the full-time author of a number of paranormal, ghostly and Gothic horror novels, novellas and short stories. In addition to The Haunting of Henderson Close, Cat’s novels include the Nemesis of the Gods trilogy – Wrath of the Ancients, Waking the Ancients and Damned by the Ancients, plus The Devil’s Serenade, The Pendle Curse and Saving Grace Devine.

Her novellas include Linden Manor, Cold Revenge, Miss Abigail’s Room, The Demons of Cambian Street, Dark Avenging Angel, The Devil Inside Her, and The Second Wife

She lives with her long-suffering husband, and a black cat who has never forgotten that her species used to be worshipped in ancient Egypt. She sees no reason why that practice should not continue. Cat and her family divide their time between Liverpool and a 260-year-old haunted apartment in North Wales.

 

You can connect with Cat here:

 

 Catherine Cavendish

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Catherine Cavendish, One House, Many Ghosts,

Tags

Catherine Cavendish, County Durham, Damned by the Ancients, ghosts, Halloween, Haunted houses, Horror fiction, Kensington Lyrical books, New book, Stanhope Old Hall

The Many Ghosts of Stanhope Old Hall by our fiend, Catherine Cavendish

‘In my new novel, Damned by the Ancients, the Mortimers’ new home is haunted by a presence so evil and so obsessed, it will stop at nothing to get what it wants.

In real life, there are numerous stories of haunted houses and, today, I want to take you to Stanhope Old Hall which has enjoyed a small community of them over the years.

Six years ago, previous owners, Bill and Sue Gandy decided to sell up the beautiful manor house. Not because of the ghosts – of which there are indeed many. When they owned it, they lived in it as their own house. These days, the present owners run an exceptionally well appointed B and B and restaurant. The Gandys had simply found that caring for such a large Manor House on their own was too much work. They were sad to leave. Even though their first days –and particularly first night there – had been scary.

 

The exquisite house and grounds form a medieval manor house situated on the edge of the village of Stanhope in England’s picturesque County Durham and was first mentioned in 1139. It passed from the Craig family through to the Stanhopes and then, as a result of a daughter’s marriage, became the official seat of the Fetherstonehaugh (pronounced ‘Fanshaw’) family for many years.

The last Fetherstonehaugh fell at the Battle of Blenheim in 1704 and from then on the house passed through a number of hands, including a possible link to the Earl of Carlisle. The fabric of the building reflects its age, with huge 15th century open fireplaces still extant along with original oak doors, staircases and flagstone floors.
A number of memorable historical discoveries have been made here.

A 250 million year old fossilised tree stump was discovered and can still be seen in Stanhope’s churchyard and in 1859, a huge collection of Bronze Age items was found at nearby Heathery Burn Cave – including some of the earliest known evidence of wheeled transport on Britain. These items seem to have belonged to a wealthy Bronze Age family who may have been trapped during a flash flood and al perished. Their skeletons were also discovered.

They had probably lain there for around 3000 years.
So what of the spooky goings-on experienced by the Gandys and earlier owners of the house? One strange story has it that a young couple entered the house back in the Middle Ages. They were engaged to each other and were never seen again – until their skeletons were discovered under the floorboards. They were holding hands.

The owner – and old lady – who sold Stanhope Old Hall to the Gandys said she had called in the Paranormal Society as a result of all the strange experiences she had witnessed. The Society’s investigators reported sudden drops in temperature, images of red-robed monks in the boiler room, orbs captured on camera and an old grey lady. The monks apparently had hidden in the basement to avoid Henry VIII’s persecution.

But, despite the warnings, the Gandys fell in love with the house and bought it. They dismissed the woman’s warnings as she considered herself something of a psychic and they didn’t (at that time anyway) believe in all of that. It took just one night for them to re-think their earlier scepticism.

Recovering from a combination of pneumonia and the stress of moving house, Bill Gandy retired to bed late the first night when, just as the couple were dozing off, they were startled awake by a veritable cacophony of noise. Stomping feet, slamming doors, all coming from the floor above. The couple were so exhausted, they didn’t get up to investigate, but they were unnerved.

Nothing quite like that happened again, but there have been other strange events.
A workman employed by the Gandys fled from a bedroom in terror after hearing something he couldn’t see drop invisible stones or pebbles on the floor.
Bill heard the clomping footsteps once more some months after the first occurrence and their son, who lived with them for a time and worked form home, often heard running footsteps going up and down the stairs, even though there was no one else in the house.
The night before Bill’s birthday one year, Sue alleges she woke to see a cheerful Mrs Bridges-type (from Upstairs Downstairs fame) bending over him and singing ‘Happy Birthday.’
The old grey lady spotted by the Paranormal Society also seems to have been seen by neighbours who told the Gandys they had seen her standing at the window of what had been Bedroom 10 during the 1970s and ‘80s when the house was a hotel. That room also proved too much for two local women who used to work at the hotel. They refused to go into that room alone because they felt something wasn’t right with it.

Despite all the ghosts, the Gandys always found the house warm and welcoming. The spirits that linger there are, it seems, benevolent. In its new life, Stanhope Old Hall certainly seems comfortable and welcoming. As a family run B& B and Restaurant, it hosts weddings and accommodation, providing an excellent base for all sorts of walking and sporting activities. In winter, when the winds howl over the Pennines and horizontal rain lashes down, the house truly comes into its own. Those four foot thick walls keep out the weather and an open log fire toasts the toes of the weary walker.
As for the ghosts? The present owners don’t mention their presence on their website but who knows? They don’t seem at all threatening. The same however cannot be said for the ghosts that haunt Villa Dürnstein – especially the evil Emeryk Quintillus…

Here’s what to expect from Damned by the Ancients:
INFINITY IN DEATH

Vienna, 1908

Gabriele Ziegler is a young art student who becomes infatuated with charismatic archeologist Dr. Emeryk Quintillus. Only too late does she realize his true designs on her. He is obsessed with resurrecting Cleopatra and has retained the famed artist Gustav Klimt to render Gabriele as the Queen of the Nile, using ashes from Cleopatra’s mummy mixed with the paint. The result is a lifelike portrait emitting an aura of unholy evil . . .

Vienna, 2018

The Mortimer family has moved into Quintillus’s former home, Villa Dürnstein. In its basement they find an original Klimt masterpiece—a portrait of Cleopatra art scholars never knew existed. But that’s not all that resides within the villa’s vault. Nine-year-old Heidi Mortimer tells her parents that a strange man lives there.

Quintillus’s desire to be with Cleopatra transcends death. His spirit will not rest until he has brought her back from the netherworld. Even if he has to sacrifice the soul of a child . . .

Damned by the Ancients is available from:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Apple

Google

Kobo

Kensington Publishing

 

About the author:

Following a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance, Catherine Cavendish is now the full-time author of a number of paranormal, ghostly and Gothic horror novels, novellas and short stories. Cat’s novels include the Nemesis of the Gods trilogy – Wrath of the Ancients, Waking the Ancients and Damned by the Ancients, plus The Devil’s Serenade, The Pendle Curse and Saving Grace Devine.

Her novellas include Linden Manor, Cold Revenge, Miss Abigail’s Room, The Demons of Cambian Street, Dark Avenging Angel, The Devil Inside Her, and The Second Wife

She lives with her long-suffering husband, and a black cat who has never forgotten that her species used to be worshipped in ancient Egypt. She sees no reason why that practice should not continue. Cat and her family divide their time between Liverpool and a 260-year-old haunted apartment in North Wales.

You can connect with Cat here:

Catherine Cavendish

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

 

In print and in deepest Berkshire….

Tags

Berkshire, Bisham Abbey, Black Wolf Books, Catherine Cavendish, Elizabeth Hoby, ghosts, haunted Berkshire, Loving ady Lazuli, Shaw House, Shehanne Moore, the Chandos Bride

 

Dark Doings in Deepest Berkshire – with Shehanne Moore

 

Catherine Cavendish….. ‘My guest today is historical author Shehanne Moore. I love her books, which combine adventure with feisty characters, humour and a flavour of the Gothic: ‘

 

   “As God is my witness, this property shall ne’er be inherited by two direct successors, for its sons will be hounded by misfortune.” 

                                                                                By Shehanne Moore.

As God is mine I must say I was heartily glad to read the following….

‘Berkshire is a place of mystery, myth and legend. The county abounds with strange tales of ghostly phantoms, ferocious creatures,

kings & knights, witchcraft, treasure and more.’

Why was I glad?

Because it’s never easy coming to the wonderfully chilling blog of Gothic horror writer, Catherine Cavendish. Certainly NOT when you write romance,  even when it’s slightly Gothic romance.  Thank you so very much Cat for inviting me. despite this.  

Not only is my recently re-released book Loving Lady Lazuli set in Berkshire where the heroine has gone to ground – phew- there was a ton of tales to choose from. 

I am glad to hear it. I thought you sort of chewed tails to bits, cut them right down the middle…  So it said online anyway–I mean about Berkshire of course– which was why I was initially drawn to the ‘most haunted’ Shaw House but the most interesting thing there I could find was the true story of how the Duke of Chandos took as his wife, a beautiful chambermaid who was being sold off by her husband in an inn yard with a halter round her neck.   (Something you hamsters dudes should try for size.)

Not just shades of Thomas Hardy’s, The Hamster…00OPS… Mayor of Casterbridge but proof that the business of dukes marrying what might be construed as women a universe  below their social status….as happens in Lazuli and Splendor and indeed in a hell of a lot of historical romance… is not as daft as all that.

 Moving on though, through covens of witches and headless men, I came to the story of Bisham Abbey…I guess apposite again as Barwych Hall in the book is based on Mount Grace Priory in Yorkshire.  However, the Bisham monks were so furious at Henry VIII for ‘dissolving them,’

 

they cursed the ancient building.  

And indeed…as in another follow through from the book, sort of anyway…the sons of Bisham’s many different owners didn’t just fall down dead, they were beheaded, they died young, they were killed in world wars—and, as in the case of young William Hoby, they had some help from their mama. In this case, the widowed Lady Elizabeth who had such high standards of education,  she not only beat young William to bits and locked him in the Tower Room to do his lessons all over again, she quite forgot, despite being so brilliant herself, that she’d done it, clearing off to Windsor for several days of dancing and banqueting. A very merry widow to all accounts.  After all, weren’t there servants for tiresome things like children after all? Hamsters too……

At least Lady Elizabeth thought so, so she was really quite astonished on returning home to find that everyone thought William was with her…. 

I think we all know what’s coming next.

But did William exist at all? There’s documented evidence for Anne, the Chandos’ chambermaid bride. But William? 

Well, firstly the fact that there’s no genealogical evidence to show he did exist, doesn’t always mean a thing. Not all records survive.  And the Hobys had other estates where his birth could have been recorded. 

“Proof” of William’s existence is sort of provided by the discovery in 1840, during renovations, of copy books containing blots on every page, corrections

by the ‘wicked lady‘ herself and the name, William Hoby. Alas, I say ‘sort of’ because these copy books sort of then disappeared. Maybe Lady Hoby stole them…? A bit like my jewel thieves in the book. 

However 1840 was the point where the son first became known as William. Till then he’d just been a nameless son, like you get these nameless, headless hamsters….oops, horsemen. Lady Hoby did indeed have a son…Francis…who died young in unknown circumstances, at the time she had remarried and her surname was then Russell. 

You pays your money you takes your chances, I’d say on truth and legend mixing to become one…or the other.

Whether or not Lady Hoby caused her son’s death as said,  the Abbey is known to be one of the most haunted houses in Britain, certainly the most haunted in Berkshire and that haunting is done by her apparently grief-stricken self, dressed in black lace and white, washing her hands  a la  Lady Macbeth.  

She tears curtains, throws things. But mostly she just sobs and leaves lights up in the Tower Room.. a bit like Silv in the purple hat there.  Some people think she causes the mists that wreath the Abbey and until 1936 she especially liked to come out for coronations.  

I hope you’ve enjoyed this little venture to the darker side and won’t be afraid to visit the Abbey… 

Talking ghosts… here’s the blurb for Loving Lady Lazuli.

  A woman not even the ghost of Sapphire can haunt. A man who knows exactly who she is.

Only one man in England can identify her. Unfortunately he’s living next door.

Ten years ago sixteen year old Sapphire, the greatest jewel thief England has ever known, ruined Lord Devorlane Hawley’s life by planting a stolen necklace on him.  Now she’s dead and buried, all Cassidy Armstrong wants is the chance to prove she was never that girl. 

But her new neighbor is hell-bent on revenge and his word can bring her down. So when he asks her to be his mistress, or leave the county with a price on her head, Sapphire, who hates being owned, must decide…  

What’s left for a woman with nowhere else to go, but to stay exactly where she is?

And hope, that when it comes to neighbors Devorlane Hawley won’t prove to be the one from hell.

And here’s a snippet from the bit where a past ‘ghost’, Gil,  turns up unexpectedly and proceeds to ‘haunt’ the supposedly dead and buried, Cassidy— further than she’s just been haunted this evening already.

Hastily she tugged a shawl round her shoulders—the first thing to take care of was the fact she faced him half naked, with her undergarments on the floor. Silk ones.

“So? What do you want?”

Apart from staring at her drawers and corset? Well, he was welcome. It was all he was going to get to do with them–whatever else happened here, whatever he’d said. Maybe she wasn’t going to be able to dominate this situation with them on the floor, as much as she’d like, maybe her options were as numerous as one-legged chickens, gathering the garments up would show she knew it.

“Nice that.” He dragged his gaze from her corset. “What did you just say?”

“What do you want?”

“Hmm.” He screwed up his face, stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat pocket, looked at the ceiling. “Well now, to quote Hamlet, by that fellow, what’s his name again, William Shakespeare and all that, that is the question. Whether it’s to suffer the there them slings of outrageous fortune, or, you know, take up arms and all them things what you take up, and do what you can, to actually end this protracted situation what you is in. Or is it, the them there stings of outrageous fortune? You know, I can’t remember. But, see, what I am hoping is that I ain’t going to have to end them. Thinking how awful that would be for certain for those concerned, see? You get a big soddin’ arrow sticking in your—”

“Jesus, Cass.”

“Evenin’ Rube.” He sniffed loudly. “Hope it’s a good ‘un.”

“It soddin’ was till yer soddin’ showed yer soddin’ ugly face.”

“Hmm.” He strolled around the copper tub, sniffing the stone cold suds. “Personally I think ugly sodding face is what you might call a better arrangement of the words. See, it has what you might call, a more them there poetic ring to it.”

“The only soddin’ thing I’d like to ring is—”

“Hmm. Well … Sure you ain’t alone there. Still, not to put too fine a point on it, not just you here, Rube, to bid a good and wondrous-to-behold, evening to. Pearl, Sapphire, jewels of the Orient. Here, don’t you think this is just like them olden days what we did have together, them happy times in … what was the name of that place again … Lanthorne Street?”

 

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

Amazon.com paperback

Amazon.co.uk paperback

Black Wolf Books. – Kara imprint

Welcome Blithe Spirit. Hamstahs too.

Tags

Blithe Spirit, films, ghosts, New book, Rebecca, Shehanne Moore, The Writer and the Rake

 

https://t.co/lfBIBofFeU

Welcome Blithe Spirit by Shehanne Moore

 Do ghosts wander the face of the earth?

And if they do, would they be welcomed?

I guess that depends on the writer. Noel Coward certainly turned the idea into a farce in Blithe Spirit, when the dead wife turns up. 

 Daphne du Maurier did something quite different with Rebecca.  Rebecca may not appear as a ghost but her presence clings to every scene. And there is no doubt she casts a huge shadow over her husband, Max. 

And yes, I welcome both these ‘spirited’ ladies because I find them much more interesting than the wives currently in situ, although I might not say that if they came to tea.

Ghosts are said to be restless spirits and the interesting thing is that they exist in every culture, ancient ones especially. Look at the idea of Halloween being the Day of the Dead, where  people left spaces at the table for their loved ones who were no longer with them. 

 Ghosts are invariably bound up with the idea of an afterlife—blame the Greeks for the Underworld, and rivers that we cross. But what if we don’t? Because also invariably, ghosts have unfinished business. 

The heroine of my new release

is not a ghost but she does go to bed in 2017 and wake up in 1765. And, after her initial, ‘it’s a dream and think of the book she can write from this, scenario’ she comes to the conclusion that her ex fiancé has murdered her in her sleep, after she moved into his spare room  with a random guy, in a bid to get her name off a joint mortgage. (As you do.) The afterlife, of course, isn’t what she thinks—how do any of us really know what it might or might not be?—but she is certain that the possibility of getting back to haunt her ex isn’t that daft. Just think about the kind of ‘dead’ person you might be here in terms of unfinished business. Is there anyone you would want to haunt and why? 

While there’s not any ghosts in the book, I suppose that the spirit of the hero’s first wife—where did I get this idea about wives?—

hangs over him. I never thought about that when I was writing it. But he never loved her, she hated him. His family insisted on the match when he was too young to argue.

Okay and he’d er… got a servant into trouble.

Because of that he’s gone to hell in a handcart since. Her clothes, her shoes, are all lovingly kept by their son, Fleming, who resembles her in every way and consequently is the daily reminder that everyone holds him responsible for her death. 

As if that’s not enough about  ‘ghosts’ in someone’ s life, because let’s face it, we don’t need to see or feel them, they don’t even need to be there, for the dead’s influence to taunt and haunt from beyond the grave, her sister, Christian, went and married the hero’s old uncle. Why? So she can stop him inheriting what is rightfully his, of course. And not just that. She has the  ’hots.’ 

To say 

is saying how much he is capable of sinning, because he’s plenty sinned against.  

 Here’s an extract from where Brittany, having fallen out a first floor window and broken a priceless Ming dynasty vase in a bid to escape the carriage she thinks had come to take her to hell, does a quick bit of re-thinking.  You can tell that despite the title of this post she’s not welcome….

“Wife? Mitchell?” 

As Christian spoke, Brittany strove to look composed, serene. She’d fallen down the rope, somehow broken that vase, nearly broken her neck, except she couldn’t break her neck. She’d already been murdered by Sebastian. These things were bad enough. Had she mentioned that Mitchell Killgower was transfixed with horror?

“She is not—”

“But she is very, very nice, Aunt Christian, the mother I never had, so we are all getting along . . .getting along quite famously in fact.”

Brittany struggled to her feet, dug in her pocket, fished out her fags. What a bloody awful thing it was being dead. Even her fag was so bent, getting it between her lips was such a mammoth task, it took three attempts. Five if she counted keeping her hand steady enough to ping her lighter and suck long and hard, wreathing herself in delicious, such needed smoke. She sucked even harder, while she considered her next move. It wasn’t biting her nails, or being pushed into the carriage. She’d a new slant on the carriage. The fag was just what she needed to find her cool and face down whatever these things were. She’d already come to think, ‘ghoul one’ and ‘ghoul two.’ Mitchell made it ‘ghoul three.’

 “Are you sure your new mother is nice, dear, only . . . only she looks . . . Well, I really don’t know what to say.” 

“Believe me, darling, the feeling’s mutual.”

Mitchell‘s eyes were icy as polar caps. “May I say, for the benefit of those who are hard of hearing, this woman is not—” 

“Your wife?” The uncle’s shining, silver cravat pin nearly pinged from his cravat. He grasped his cane so tightly his knuckles were white as his hair.  “I should sincerely hope not. You know our terms and conditions on that. If this is the best you can do, then we should redraw our will now. Unless you’re going to try telling us she’s Fleming’s wife?”

“Well, Uncle, now that you come to mention it. At sixteen, it is about time. Half the boys in the county, if not the country, are already—” 

 “Oh, really? Mitchell . . .” Brittany took a deep breath and pinged her fag beneath the withered hydrangea. The afterlife wasn’t what she’d thought. If this wasn’t heaven, or hell, then it was some sort of place of atonement. Look at all these ghostly shrubs and trees for a start and those stone dragons poking out of the walls. 

 Ghosts did wander the face of the earth. These must be the ones with unfinished business who’d managed back. She wouldn’t rest till she’d done whatever it took to do that and make Sebastian’s life hell. Mitchell would know the way. Whatever this was about, put out her hand to the weary traveller and he’d owe her big time. Besides why should she suffer all these stinging cuts to her pride? She was the perfect homemaker. Look at all these rugs and pot plants she’d bought for Sebastian’s. The ones he’d thrown at her when there were rows.

   “All right, you win. So you were right. Your aunt and uncle can’t take a joke, but are you really going to let them talk to me like this? We both know I was locked in that room by . . . by a certain person and that person wasn’t you, my dearest. With hardly any clothes to speak of too? All for a joke? Hmm? Fleming, what do you have to say? Let’s hope it’s interesting?”

   “No, I never. How would I do that?”

     “Very, very easily, darling. Don’t lie to your great-uncle. It’s so unbecoming when he’s such a nice man.”

      “You mean, Fleming, you never had any clothes on either?”

         Fleming flushed scarlet. “Uncle. They took my clothes. They put me out wearing a bed sheet.”

         “But, you just said to your great aunt that your new mother was very nice. Well? Which is it to be? Are you lying to me, boy?” 

        “She . . . she is nice, Uncle Clarence. But, I didn’t lock her in my room. How could I?”

They Walk Amongst Us

Tags

ghosts, Halloween, Heart of the Arena, Mishka Jenkins, spooky, The Magic Spark

 

MARY AKEHURST’S SCOTTISH SHORTBREAD

http://theunpredictablemuse.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/scottish-shortbread-recipe.html

All right, so today on the Spooktacular we move to our next guest, the lovely Mishka Jenkins.

A very talented author of several books,

And what Mishka drew in the Spooktacular was the following……..

So, let’s put our paws together and welcome her along to find out just what that is.

GUYS???????

My Favourite Spookiest Halloween character…….by Mishka Jenkins.

‘No contest, it has to be ghosts.

The thought of something haunting you, something you can’t see or do anything about, creeps me out big time!

 I can deal with the vampires and their fangs, or the Freddy Kruegers and their claws; at least you can see them, and then stab them in the chest with a large wooden stake.

But ghosts, not so much! What do you even do if they haunt you?

 Yeah, they are definitely the creature that scares me the most.

 

Especially when so many things can be attributed to them. Like when the curtains blow open and everyone jokes, ‘oh, it’s a ghost’ and then laugh. I’m the one in the corner hyperventilating!

So far, I have never written a ghost character and am not sure I’d ever attempt it. If I did, it would have to be done during the day with lots of other people around!

Blurb:
Successful businesswoman Alex is content with her life in London, and any ideas of romance have been left on the back burner. But when her fairy godmother, FG, waltzes into her office one morning announcing she has come to help Alex rekindle a passion for life and love, she is about to check herself into therapy!

The fairy godmother’s incessant wand-flicking soon lands them in the isolation of the Scottish highlands, where Alex’s next client, Mal Ross, not only stirs her professional interest but her romantic ones too.

Tasked with the enormous challenge of turning a historic castle into a flourishing hotel, the pair must work closely together whilst attempting to avoid the awkward situations the rom-com obsessed fairy godmother keeps forcing them into.

But the path of love is never smooth, no matter how much magic you throw at it.

‘The Magic Spark’ is a light, enjoyable read, full of fun and romance.

Links:

Blog: https://awriterslifeformeblog.wordpress.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8277234.Mishka_Jenkins

Twitter: @writerlifeforme

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mishka-Jenkins/260588067439282

Buy link for my new release, The Magic Spark: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00O1AAT3S

 

 

Bear Night in the Spanish Museum…..

Tags

Elyzabeth M. Valey, Erotic Romance, Evernight Publishing, ghosts, Halloween, Spain, The Reina Sofia museum

 

 

 

Okay, okay, can we have some order please for our next guest in the Spooktacular where I threw some post ideas in the bucket and then drew for our guests?

We’ve had spooky covers, new releases, recipes, an interview with a real live horror writer and a session with a scary musician. Today we zip off to Spain. Do they have Halloween there?

But they do have museums and they do have my doodling buddy, the lovely Elyzabeth M. Valey, as you can see…

.and never mind Shorty….Mitsy and The Dook have already sounded it for her, so let’s go and let the lady speak………………………….

‘Spain is filled with scary things. From the famous Faces of Belmez (images of faces that mysteriously appeared in a house’s concrete floor in 1971)

to the haunted hospital of Agramonte, there are ton of mysterious things going on in this old country.

However, I’m going to tell you about a place that is easily overlooked; a place that is filled with thousands of tourists every day; a place full of art but also of paranormal occurrences.

Welcome to the Reina Sofia Museum.

The Reina Sofia museum has been since 1986, Madrid’s Modern art museum. With over 3 million visitors from every corner of the world, it has pieces from Picasso, Dali and more. It also has ghosts. Numerous ghosts.

Originally built in the 18^th century as the General Hospital, the building was declared a national treasure in 1985. In 1986 its remodelation began. Numerous skulls, chains, medical material and bodies were found.

In 1990, 3 mummies were discovered.

 

They belonged to three nuns from a religious order that once cared for the hospital and their patients.

The museum opened and little by little, more was uncovered.

In the early 1900’s the people that worked there already talked about ghosts walking the halls. Paranormal investigators say that in a circular room where the psychiatric ward was located, you can see men tied to the wall, attempting to attack each other.

However, that isn’t the scariest place.

In the Museum’s basement there are hundreds of roaming souls, for it was there that the hospital’s patients, beggars and soldiers were buried.

In 2001 the museum was remodeled again to become the beautiful building that it is today. However, the paranormal activity has not ceased.

 

More than one worker of the Reina Sofia Museum has quit their job, unable to cope with the screams, the praying nuns roaming the halls and the constant movement of the disconnected elevators………………………….

 

 

ArcanusAmator… Elyzabeth’s NEW RELEASE……

 

 

 

As an Arcánús, one of Cupid’s blessed children, Amandus’s mission in life was to aid his father in bestowing love upon others. Unfortunately, when he found his own soul mate he was incapable of making her perceive their connection. Furthermore, she doomed their love forever. Amandus’s only hope is a spell concocted by Cupid: The ArcánúsAmator: Spell of the Secret Lovers. Hailey is desperate for love. She’s so desperate that when she finds a spell on the internet that promises to connect soul mates, she decides she must try it. Convincing her friend Hannah to help her, the girls embark on a one-night craze that will produce life-changing results and bring to life what was thought to be only a myth.

Buy Links

Evernight

Amazon

Amazon.uk

Bookstrand

All Romance Ebooks

 

Author Bio:

Defined as weird since she was about eight, Elyzabeth honors the title by making up songs about her chores, doodling stars and flowers on any blank sheet of paper and talking to her dog whenever he feigns interest.

Losing the battle to the voices in her head is her favorite pastime after annoying her younger sister with her singing. Writing stories full of passion and emotion where love conquers all is her happy pill and she’ll forgo sleep to make her readers live the dream.

Stalk me at:

Blog Website Facebook Twitter Goodreads Pinterest

 

Excerpt:

She frowned. “What the hell’s happened?” She was quite sure this was not how the spell worked. Granted, she hadn’t exactly read the entire information sheet on the website.

“No one does,” she whined, bouncing on the balls of her feet while staring at the flickering flame of the candle. The thing was more than 20 pages long. It was like reading one of those software agreements. No one read the damn thing. She’d read the instructions and the first page with all the warnings and that was more than enough. Taking a deep breath, she managed to settle her nerves a little. Everyone thought she was the ditsy blonde obsessed with the occult, but she wasn’t. She was a hard worker, impatient when things didn’t go as expected. It was partially the reason why she’d filed through so many relationships. Why stay with a guy when he clearly had nothing to offer? Some of her friends argued that she didn’t give them a chance. She begged to differ. She’d given them a chance, they just hadn’t taken it.

True, her impatience sometimes got her into some trouble but it also saved her from a lot of it. That, however, wasn’t the case now. Annoyed that the spell had gone awry, she brushed back her bangs impatiently. Whatever had happened was not important. The priority was getting Hannah back home. Scanning the room for her discarded laptop, she did a double take.

Obstructing the exit to the living room stood the most gorgeous man she had laid eyes on. He was massive. His head almost brushed the top of the doorframe. His heavily muscled arms were crossed in front of him, his chest bare except for the intricate design of a red-inked tattoo that started around his left nipple and descended across his side to his hip. Low on his hips, he wore a long black skirt made out of what looked like leather.

Hailey hesitated a moment before finally glancing fully at his face. Her breath stilled as their eyes locked. A clear shade of violet, they were not from this world. Swallowing, she took a step backwards without breaking her stare. The stranger’s eyes glittered with curiosity and amusement.

“Careful with the center of the star,” he warned. Hailey stumbled and froze. His voice was deep and commanding and had a familiar ring to it that sent her senses reeling. Shaking her head slightly, she continued moving away from him.

“Watch—”

Breath exploded from her lungs as she crashed into a shelf, a few ornaments she and Hannah kept, crashing to the floor.

“—out. Are you all right?”

Hailey winced, the back of the shelf digging into her skin, but she nodded anyway. The stranger flashed her a grin that made her knees weak. Hailey swallowed. The urge to see him smile again clawed at her insides like a desperate hunger.

Ignoring her, he glanced down at the pentagram, his silky dark curls framing his strong jaw and straight nose.

“You don’t look like you knew what you were getting into.”

Hailey held on to the bookcase behind her. She was afraid that if she moved the whole thing would topple over her head and she’d wake up, realizing that the man in the center of the room was nothing more than a dream.

“Read the first page of the instructions and didn’t bother to read the rest, huh?”

His eyes lifted to hers with a sassy smirk that lit up his violet eyes. Hailey stared speechless, the urge to touch the man making her palms itch as if she’d stepped into poison ivy.

“Yeah, you never did care what you got into, Ariadne.”

 

It’s Black Friday..with Catherine Cavendish

Tags

Catherine Cavendish, Georgia, ghosts, haunting, Horror, Poole Mill's Bridge, Samhain Publishing, Saving Grace Devine, the undead

 

 

 

 

Okay…okay… Firstly there is no It’s girl Friday today.

Incy Black, author of the fast and furious and fabulous Hard To Hold

has launched a wonderful  new feature

The Redoubtable Shehanne Moore

Sorry…that’s not what it’s called. It’s called

Fire Starters
Writers/Books that ignite that ‘something’ in me…

http://incyblack.weebly.com/blog-into-the-black/july-04th-2014

So, yeah I am blowing my own trumpet cos it’s damned good of Ince to do this and help me out when I’ve been kinda snowed under. I’m also going to be having a kind of week of Girl Friday on the themes, settings, characters  of my own books, kicking off  with a Scottish themed week on Monday for His Judas Bride,

 

 

That’s what you think….  What kind of hero, what kind of heroine, how action leads to reaction and drives the plot forward,  etc, etc, etc, so for today we are giving It’s Girl Friday a miss and  welcoming the lovely Catherine Cavendish….get off her neck…

Catherine has been here before but she is one talented lady and what’s more  has a new book out. Saving Grace Devine.

Let me tell you all you fans of horror, it’s a cracker. Right up the street of those who like that little bit of past mystery with their horror. Ooh, got the chills already.

So here she is. Par excellence. With a  very special creepy blog post.

I know……..

The Blue Girl of Poole Mill’s Bridge

By Catherine Cavendish

‘In my new novel, Saving Grace Devine, a young girl is drowned, but her spirit returns to haunt the lakeside where she met her untimely end. She seeks help from the living, to help her cross over to the afterlife.
From my research, it would appear that my fictional Grace is not alone. Many people have reported seeing ghosts of drowned girls who are all apparently earthbound. Searching for something, or someone. In need of help from the living to help them join the world of spirit.
So it is with this account – that of the mysterious and frightening Blue Girl of Poole Mill’s Bridge.

Situated in Forsyth County, Georgia, Poole Mill’s Bridge is set in a delightful location and is one of the few remaining lattice work covered bridges. There are a number of stories relating to hauntings there but that of the Blue Girl is probably the most persistent.

Back in the 1930s, on a burning hot day, a young family – mother, father and nine year old daughter -decided to take a picnic there. Enticed by the cool water, the little girl ran down to the creek to paddle. She ignored the calls of her mother to be careful and, what none of them realized was that recent heavy rain had made the creek much deeper than it looked. The child kicked off her shoes and socks and jumped into the water. Her screams sent her parents running down to the water but the strong current was already sweeping her away, into imminent danger.

 

In those days, a water wheel operated a grist mill there and the little girl was swept straight towards it. Her father dived in and, although he was a strong swimmer, he could not save her. He grabbed at the big blue bow on the back of her dress just seconds too late, as she was swept under the mighty wheel. Even the efforts of the mill workers weren’t enough to save her. They retrieved her lifeless body – her face as blue as the bow on her dress. The devastated couple left with her and never returned to the county. No one knew their names.

News of the tragedy spread quickly and soon strange stories began to emerge. People reported seeing a young girl dressed in her Sunday best in a pretty dress with a large blue bow. They would see her at the bridge, totally dry – except for dripping wet hair. Then she would vanish.

Years went by and a Vietnam veteran named Chuck Morse, down on his luck, happened to be sitting in a bar, when he got into conversation with a World War II veteran who showed him a large gold nugget he said his grandson had found up at Poole’s Bridge. Chuck could barely believe his eyes. By the size of it, the nugget must be worth thousands of dollars. When his companion told him there was allegedly much more where that came from, Chuck didn’t need any greater motivation. He wasn’t even deterred when the older man told him that the new park built on that site meant daylight digging was impossible without getting caught and that, at nighttime, people tended to leave it well alone. “Why?” Chuck asked.

The man told him of a friend of his – BJ Corliss – who had been up near Poole Mill’s Bridge and had seen a young girl, dressed in her Sunday best dress, not a wrinkle on it, but with wet hair. As he approached her, she vanished. Then she sprang up again not ten feet away from him. He saw the bluish tinge to her skin and ran for his life. Chuck had heard stories of the Blue Girl since his childhood. He wasn’t about to believe in such fairy stories. He laughed, paid the tab and left. The older man was insistent – BJ had told him no amount of gold would ever tempt him to dig there after dark.

Chuck started for home. An old man’s wild stories. Impossibly large gold nuggets. Couldn’t be real, could it? But if there was just one slim chance it was, his whole life could transform overnight. All he had to do was go up to Poole Mill’s Bridge and dig there. After dark. Then he’d find out one way or another.

Back home, he thrust pickaxe, shovel and any other tools he might need into the back of his old truck and drove off up to Poole Mill. First he had to find the remains of the now long-demolished grist mill – and the old millstone. He stepped over heavy stones, tripped and slipped into the cold water, bashing his leg against a rock. In pain and anger, he threw the heavy stone out onto the bank. Then he retrieved the flashlight he had dropped when he fell, and shone it into the water. Something glittered. But it wasn’t a gold nugget. He picked up a small, heart-shaped gold locket that must have lain buried under the stone that had injured him. As he examined it, his flashlight suddenly went out.

 

But behind him a strange glow he thought at first was moonlight, grew stronger. Then he heard a sound that chilled his blood. Tiny footsteps splashing in the water. He whirled around and saw the girl, glowing blue, dressed in her Sunday dress with her wet hair. He cried out in terror. “Please God, help me!”

The girl stared at him, her eyes sad and filled with longing. He realized he was rubbing the locket.

It’s hers. She wants it back, he thought. His fear almost paralysed him but, with a great effort, he held it out to her. She came closer and took it from him. Then she smiled. And vanished.

Despite his injured leg, Chuck raced up the hill and back to his truck. He never returned to dig for the gold. Plenty of others have – but no one has reported seeing the Blue Girl since. It seems that her locket was her only remaining link with her family. It must have come adrift during her terrible accident. Now she has been reunited with it, her reason for haunting is over.

But still those who have heard Chuck’s story won’t venture up there after dark.

Here’s a flavour of Saving Grace Devine:

Can the living help the dead…and at what cost?
When Alex Fletcher finds a painting of a drowned girl, she’s unnerved. When the girl in the painting opens her eyes, she is terrified. And when the girl appears to her as an apparition and begs her for help, Alex can’t refuse.
But as she digs further into Grace’s past, she is embroiled in supernatural forces she cannot control, and a timeslip back to 1912 brings her face to face with the man who killed Grace and the demonic spirit of his long-dead mother. With such nightmarish forces stacked against her, Alex’s options are few. Somehow she must save Grace, but to do so, she must pay an unimaginable price.
You can find Saving Grace Devine in all usual ebook formats here:

Samhain Publishing
Amazon.com
Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.ca
Amazon.com.au
B&N
Kobo

and in paperback here:

Samhain Publishing
About the author
Catherine Cavendish is joint winner of the Samhain Gothic Horror Anthology competition 2013. Her winning novella – Linden Manor – is now available in all digital formats and the print anthology will be published in October. She is the author of a number of paranormal horror and Gothic horror novellas and short stories. . Her novel, Saving Grace Devine, has just been published by Samhain Publishing.
She lives with a longsuffering husband in North Wales. Her home is in a building dating back to the mid-18th century which is haunted by a friendly ghost, who announces her presence by footsteps, switching lights on and strange phenomena involving the washing machine and the TV.

When not slaving over a hot computer, Cat enjoys wandering around Neolithic stone circles and visiting old haunted houses.

You can connect with Cat here:
http://www.catherinecavendish.com
https://www.facebook.com/CatherineCavendishWriter?ref=hl
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4961171.Catherine_Cavendish
http://twitter.com/#!/cat_cavendish