Sin Eating with Cat Cavendish

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Catherine Cavendish, Cornwall, Horror, Old customs, SIlver Shamrock Publishing, Sin eaters, The Malan Witch, Witches

The Last Sin Eater—by Catherine Cavendish

 

 

 

My latest novella – The Malan Witch – features two of the most evil witches you could ever encounter. Their sins were innumerable and their possession of an ancient cottage on a remote and picturesque coastline spells danger not only for Robyn Crowe’s life but her soul as well.

In thee circumstances, she might have been well advised to call on the local sin eater – should she have been lucky enough to find one still around. You see, the last one died in 1906, and when you find our more, you’ll probably not be surprised that there was hardly a queue of people waiting to take up his discarded mantle.

You can still visit him -or rather, his grave – for he lies (we hope at peace) in the graveyard of the peaceful rural St. Margaret’s Church in the tiny village of Ratlinghope near Shrewsbury in Shropshire, England. He was evidently held in high esteem by local folk who restored his memorial stone and held a commemorative service for him on its completion on 2010.

 

His name was Richard Munslow and his occupation – if you could call it that – was to eat and drink over the body of a deceased person and, by doing so, take on the sins of the recently departed.

Their services were generally called on in cases of sudden death where the unfortunate person had been unable to perform their final confession and be shriven. The sin eater would ensure that the loved one would enjoy a smooth and untroubled passage to heaven.

Sin eaters were generally poor and would be paid to perform their services. Sadly, they were often shunned by respectable people as they also prevented the sin-ridden deceased from returning to the word of the living and were often associated with witches and all manner of evil spirits. No one wanted to know them – until they required their services. The wooden platter on which their food and drink was served was destroyed after the ‘ceremony’ of sin-eating was performed as it was believed it would be forever infested with evil. Even to look a sin-eater directly in the eye was considered exceptionally bad luck.

The practice of sin-eating is an ancient custom, its origins lost in the far-off mists of time. It was also fairly localized – being practiced mainly in Wales and the English border towns and countryside (known as the Marches). By the 19^th century, it had largely died out.

Curiously, Richard Munslow was not of the poor and downtrodden classes. He was a well-off farmer of good social standing but it is believed that his four children all died of Scarlet Fever within one week of each other in May 1870 and this sent him into such a state of depression and mental anguish that he resurrected the already outdated ritual of sin-eating.

Naught remained of their bodies to be buried, for the crows took back what was theirs.’

 An idyllic coastal cottage near a sleepy village. What could be more perfect? For Robyn Crowe, borrowing her sister’s recently renovated holiday home for the summer seems just what she needs to deal with the grief of losing her beloved husband.

But behind those pretty walls lie many secrets, and legends of a malevolent sisterhood – two witches burned for their evil centuries earlier. Once, both their vile spirits were trapped there. Now, one has been released. One who is determined to find her sister. Only Robyn stands in her way.

And the crow has returned.

You can order The Malan Witch here:

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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 Garden of Bewitchment. 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.

 

In addition to The Malan Witch, her novellas include The Darkest Veil, Linden Manor, Cold Revenge, Miss Abigail’s Room, The Demons of Cambian Street, Dark Avenging Angel, The Devil Inside Her, and The Second Wife

 

Her short stories have appeared in a number of anthologies including Silver Shamrock’s Midnight in the Graveyard. Her story, The Oubliette of Élie Loyd, will appear in their forthcoming Midnight in the Pentagram, to be published later this year.

 

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:

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All in the game with Catherine Cavendish

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Catherine Cavendish, Flame Tree Press, Horror, New book

 

 

Scary Games Your Mother Never Warned You About by Catherine Cavendish

 

Many of us – especially horror fans – enjoy a good scare.

It’s all healthy fun, isn’t it?

Well, it can be but… as my characters discover in Garden of Bewitchment, some games or toys are best left well alone. We’ve all heard of the infamous Ouija board but here are three games to try out that you may never have heard of, or perhaps they are variations of ones you have played when fuelled by slightly more wine than is good for you. These three can all be played by yourself – in fact you must be alone for the last one.

Ready? Then let’s begin with…Bloody Mary

You’ve probably seen this one in a film or two and it’s one you can play alone – if you dare. Simply go into your bathroom, lights off and door closed, but with one lit candle. Face the mirror and say ‘Bloody Mary’ (inject some Karloff-like atmosphere into it). Repeat twice more. Now stare hard into the mirror. You’ll see her standing behind you…or…she will scratch you…or…she will drag you into the mirror and trap you there forever.

On second thoughts, probably best to have someone with you. They can help pull you out.

Baby Blue

)

Another one you can play alone. If you’re successful with this one, a baby will manifest right there in your arms. It’s just… well, you remember Rosemary’s Baby, right?

Here’s how it goes: Off you go into the bathroom (strange how many of these games work best in the bathroom isn’t it? Maybe it’s the condensation). Lights off and door closed again. No candle this time though. You should be in pitch darkness. Look into the dark mirror and cradle your arms as if you were nursing a baby. Say ‘Baby blue, baby blue’ a total of 13 times and you will then feel the weight of a baby in your arms. Once that happens, you need to flush the creature down the toilet. Act fast before a woman manifests herself in the mirror and screams at you to give her baby back. Fail to deposit that unholy devil child and its mother will scratch you.

Elevator Game to Otherworld

For this one, you need a fairly tall building (at least 10 floors, or 9 if you are in the UK) and an elevator. You also, if reports are to be believed, need nerves of steel and a strong constitution as the results can be dramatic and long lasting. Essentially, this game is said to open up a portal to the other world. There are a number of stages, so let’s get going.

1. Get into the elevator on the first floor (or ground floor if you are in the UK. From now on, in the interests of simplicity I shall use the American method of counting floors. My British readers merely need to deduct one floor from each measurement!) You must be by yourself. If anyone else gets in, you’ll have to start again. Press the button for Floor 4.
2. When the elevator reaches the fourth floor, don’t get out. Press the button for Floor 2.
3. Don’t get out when the elevator reaches Floor 2. Press the button for Floor 6.
4. Once again, when the elevator arrives at the sixth floor, stay inside and press the button for Floor 2.
5. Don’t get out at Floor 2. Press the button for Floor 10. There have been reports that, on arriving at the second floor at this stage, people have heard voices calling them. Whatever you do, don’t reply or make any kind of response.
6. At the tenth floor, stay inside the elevator and press the button for Floor 5.
7. There have been reports that a woman may enter the elevator at Floor 5 and she may try to engage you in conversation, even though you know you have never met before. It could be a mere pleasantry. It will seem perfectly innocent. It isn’t. Don’t respond or in any way acknowledge her presence or remarks. Stare at the floor, the ceiling, the lift buttons, anything but her.
8. Press the button for the first floor. At this point, the elevator will either do what you request – in which case, get out at the first floor, and leave the building. On no account look back. You were not meant to visit Otherworld today. If, however, the elevator ignores your command and takes you up to the 10^th floor, you may choose to get out. If you are presently sharing the elevator with a woman who entered on the fifth floor, she will probably ask you where you are going. Again, ignore her. Do not respond by word or gesture, or she will probably accompany you and you will have the devil’s own task of getting rid of her. In fact, it is highly likely that she will take possession of you.
9. You will know you have arrived at Otherworld if the only person in it is you.
10. When you decide to return, you must use the same elevator. Once inside, press the button for Floor 4 and then repeat steps 3-7.
11. Once you arrive once again at Floor 5, press the button for Floor 1. The elevator will begin to ascend to Floor 10. Press a button for any other floor and do it quickly – before the elevator reaches the tenth. Provided you do this, you will cancel the ascent and you can press Floor 1 again and descend safely.
12. Once you arrive at Floor 1, have a good look around before you get out. If anything seems wrong, repeat steps 10 and 11 and keep on until all is normal on Floor 1. You will then know you have returned to your own world.

You can see this is not a game for the faint-hearted. In fact, it is my belief you would have to be pretty crazy to attempt it. Before you do, read this account of what happened when the instructions weren’t full adhered to. If this doesn’t put you off, nothing will, so good luck and I’ll hope to see you on the other side.

https://thoughtcatalog.com/anonymous/2016/12/i-played-the-elevator-game-and-i-did-it-wrong-the-woman-followed-me-back/

Don’t play the game.

 

In 1893, Evelyn and Claire leave their home in a Yorkshire town for life in a rural retreat on their beloved moors. But when a strange toy garden mysteriously appears, a chain of increasingly terrifying events is unleashed. Neighbour Matthew Dixon befriends Evelyn, but seems to have more than one secret to hide. Then the horror really begins. The Garden of Bewitchment is all too real and something is threatening the lives and sanity of the women. Evelyn no longer knows who – or what – to believe. And time is running out.

 

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About the Author

Cat first started writing when someone thrust a pencil into her hand. Unfortunately as she could neither read nor write properly at the time, none of her stories actually made much sense. However as she grew up, they gradually began to take form and, at the tender age of nine or ten, she sold her dolls’ house, and various other toys to buy her first typewriter – an Empire Smith Corona. She hasn’t stopped bashing away at the keys ever since, although her keyboard of choice now belongs to her laptop.

 

The need to earn a living led to a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance but Cat is now the full-time author of a number of supernatural, ghostly, haunted house and Gothic horror novels and novellas, including The Haunting of Henderson Close, the Nemesis of the Gods trilogy – Wrath of the Ancients, Waking the Ancients, Damned by the Ancients – The Devil’s Serenade, Dark Avenging Angel, The Pendle Curse, Saving Grace Devine and Linden Manor. Her short stories have appeared in the anthologies Haunted Are These Houses and Midnight in the Graveyard.

 

She lives in Southport with her longsuffering husband and black cat (who remembers that her species used to be worshipped in ancient Egypt and sees no reason why that practice should not continue).

 

When not slaving over a hot computer, Cat enjoys rambling around stately homes, circles of standing stones and travelling to favourite haunts such as Vienna and Orkney.

 

Catherine Cavendish

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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:

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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.

 

 

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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The demons of finding another publisher by Cat Cavendish

Tags

ASpects of Writing, Catherine Cavendish, Crossroad Press, Horror, Horror fiction

 

Catherine.

Well, firstly may I say I am delighted (if confused) that you hammies have invited me back again. I know poor Hamstah Dickens and I have had our differences –mostly over a complete misunderstanding which he took so personally.

 

Catherine ..

It was never meant as such… Anyway, that’s ancient history.

Catherine ..

Right now, I am looking around to see the quickest exit route. Ah, yes, over there. Just so I know. In case I need to make a swift getaway. Those hamster teeth are sharp.

Catherine..

Assuming I make it out here with all my faculties intact… Right now, I am thrilled that these five novellas – Cold Revenge, The Demons of Cambian Street, The Devil Inside Her, Miss Abigail’s Room and The Second Wife  – are out there again.

Then, in October, Damned by the Ancients is released by Kensington Lyrical. This is the third in the Nemesis of the Gods trilogy set in Egypt and Vienna (mainly) and centred on the evil, obsessed Dr Emeryk Quintillus who has hatched a new plan to reincarnate Cleopatra.

Catherine..

Sad to say, she didn’t have one. Mind you that was a good thing because she was away a lot and the poor thing would have starved. Or the maid, Becky would have screamed and let it out. Either way, it would have been a dog’s life… for a hamster.

 

 

Catherine..

Cold Revenge was the first – born out of a conversation when I pondered, what if revenge really was a cold dish? The Demons of Cambian Street was second and had its beginnings in a spooky walk-in cupboard in the 260 year old Welsh apartment we currently live in. When I decided to approach Crossroad Press (with whom I have another five titles), I read through each of these for the first time in a few years and immediately began re-editing them. I believe my writing is sharper now and the earlier work contained superfluous detail in some instances. I edited this out – trimmed off the fat if you like.

 

Catherine..

Then Crossroad’s editors gave it their professional eye and now we have five brand new editions I am really happy with.

 

 Catherine..

I have always liked scary stories, ever since I was a child. I would snuggle up in bed with a book of horror short stories and absorb M.R. James, Sheridan le Fanu, Edgar Allan Poe and a host of others. Horror is the safe scare. You know it’s not real but it gives you a delicious thrill. The real horror of course is what is happening in the world and that is far from safe. Loving to read horror fiction meant I was naturally inclined to want to write it. So I did.

 

Catherine ..

Crossroad Press is a brilliant, small, independent American publisher with a great ethos. They are such fabulous, talented guys to work with and treat their authors extremely well. They specialise in breathing new life into currently out of print work of a high standard and I share their roster with such names as Brian Keene, Mary Sangiovanni, Brian Lumley, Charles L. Grant, Frazer Lee and the late, great Jack Ketchum to name but a few. They also now welcome original books.

Catherine..

As for losing those titles… I had no advance warning that they were disappearing. It was a fellow author with whom I shared their then publisher who gave me the heads up that a whole shedload of books, not just by me but by many of my fellow authors, had been taken down from all online retail outlets, without warning. I contacted the publisher only to be told that they had decided to discontinue publishing any non-American authors! It was a huge shock. At least, though, I had another publisher, but for some of my fellow authors, had been loyal to this one publisher only to be left with no books for sale. Not, to my mind, a professional way of behaving. Another publisher of mine sadly went out of business and they handled things very

 

 

differently.

Catherine..

Only one? That’s really difficult to decide. There are so many fantastic horror stories out there

Catherine..

but you’ve squeezed me into a corner and…OUCH! That hurts!…

OK, I’ll pick on one by one of my top favourite authors – Ramsey Campbell.

It’s actually the first one of his I ever read and it’s called The Overnight. Why do I love it?

It has all my favourite ingredients. It’s set in a large bookstore where the staff have to do an overnight stocktake. The tension builds steadily as we get to know the central characters but meanwhile, outside, a fog is descending and there is something in that mist. Something evil…and it’s getting closer. Fabulous! Ramsey is such a great storyteller. As I am sure Hamstah Dickens will be…one day…if only he’d stop eating his work!

 

The five titles:

Cold Revenge

 

Some dinner invitations are best ignored…

For no apparent reason, Nadine, Maggie, Gary, and Nick are invited to dinner at the lavish home of top fashion writer, Erin Dartford. But why has she invited them? Why doesn’t she want her guests to mingle? And what is it about the mysterious Erin that makes them want to run for their lives?

Little do they know that as they prepare to eat their first course, an evil as old as mankind is about to be unleashed. And revenge really is a dish best served cold…

 

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Miss Abigail’s Room

 

It wasn’t so much the blood on the floor that Becky minded. It was the way it kept coming back…

 

As the lowest ranking parlour maid at Stonefleet Hall, Becky gets all the dirtiest jobs. But the one she hates the most is cleaning Miss Abigail’s room. There’s a strange, empty smell to the place, and a feeling that nothing right or Christian resides there in the mistress’s absence.

 

And then there’s the blood, the spot that comes back no matter often Becky scrubs it clean. She wishes she had somewhere else to go, but without means or a good recommendation from her household, there is nothing for her outside the only home she’s known for eighteen years. Then when a sickening doll made of wax and feathers turns up, Becky’s dreams of freedom and green grass become even more distant. Until the staff members start to die – and Lord Stonefleet sees her and screams as if the hounds of hell were after him.

 Amazon

Barnes and Noble 

 

The Demons of Cambian Street

Sometimes evil wears a beautiful face…

 

After her illness, the quiet backwater of Priory St Michael seemed the ideal place for Stella to recuperate. But in the peaceful little town, something evil is slumbering, waiting for its chance to possess what it desires. When Stella and her husband move into the long-empty apartment, they’re unaware of what exists in the cupboard upstairs, the entrance to an evil that will threaten both their lives…

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The Devil Inside Her

 

When nightmares become dreams, someone must die…

 

Haunted by the death of her husband and only child, Elinor Gentry’s recurring nightmares have left her exhausted. She’s crippled by debt, and only the remnants of her former life surround her, Then, for no apparent reason, the nightmares transform into pleasant dreams. Dreams that lead her to take back control of her life.

A string of horrific and unexplained suicides–and an unnerving discovery about Elinor herself—lead her best friend to seek help from the one person who has seen all this before, and things begin to spiral out of control. Hazel Messinger knows that Elinor’s newly found wellbeing is not what it seems, and Hazel’s not about to let the demon inside remain there permanently.

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The Second Wife

 

Emily Marchant died on Valentine’s Day. If only she’d stayed dead…

 

When Chrissie Marchant first sets eyes on Barton Grove, she feels as if the house doesn’t want her. But it’s her new husband’s home, so now it’s her home as well. Sumptuous and exquisitely appointed, the house is filled with treasures that had belonged to Joe’s first wife, the perfect Emily, whom the villagers still consider the real mistress of Barton Grove.
A stunning photograph of the first Mrs. Marchant hangs in the living room, an unblemished rose in her hand. There’s something unnerving and impossibly alive about that portrait, but it’s not the only piece of Emily still in the house. And as Chrissie’s marriage unravels around her, she learns that Emily never intended for Joe to take a second wife…

 

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A Thousand Passions and Catherine Cavendish

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Anton Schellenbauer Alternberg, Austria, Castle Altenburg, Castle of the Thousand Passions, Catherine Cavendish, Cleopatra, Horror, Kensington Press, New book, Schloss Altenburg

Castle of the Thousand Passions by Catherine Cavendish.

 

 

 

Castle of the Thousand Passions by Catherine Cavendish.

‘I have set a large part of Waking the Ancients in Vienna, Austria where many ghosts and restless spirits walk among the verdant parks and lavish palaces. But Austrian ghosts do not confine themselves to their nation’s imperial capital. They can be found in towns, cities, villages and the depths of the countryside all over this beautiful land.

Also known as Schloss Altenburg, Schloss Tausendlust (Castle of the Thousand Passions) was built in the second half of the 16^th century by Alexander Rüdt von Khollenburg, although it is first mentioned as a farm in the earlier part of that century. It is likely there was an earlier medieval castle on the site but this has not been excavated and today the house is a private residence. It changed hands a number of times over the centuries, belonging to Adam Gabelkhofer in 1605 and passing to his daughter, who sold the estate in 1650 to Christof Rudolf Freiherr von Eibiswald. He gave it back a year later, unable to make a living from the small income supplied by winemaking.

The Haydegg family acquired it and sold it in 1740 and there were more changes of ownership until, in 1790, Anton Schellenbauer Alternberg acquired it. He hailed from Lower Austria and had acquired extreme wealth and a noble title. He also had a reputation for appalling cruelty to his farmers and labourers.

Official history states that he was caught in 1817, arrested and charged with fraud, and was stripped of his nobility, dying in detention in 1829.

But legends go further.

It is said that, one night, his abused workers decided enough was enough. They stormed the house and Schellenbauer hid in the closet. His valet told them where he could be found and they hauled him out. He had hidden from them for years, now they would have their revenge. Using four oxen, they set about tearing him limb from limb.

 It is his ghost who, to this day, haunts the small castle. He is most frequently seen near that same closet, which contains a secret passageway or in the castle grounds. Especially on stormy nights.

 

Following the demise of Schellenbauer, the castle’s fortunes declined sharply. Lightning had destroyed the tower in 1825 and by 1878, most of the castle had fallen into ruin and it was used solely as a winery. It was eventually purchased by the Nyary family in 1903 and an inscription of 1911 above the family coat of arms, shows that major rebuilding began then, and included the construction of a bell tower, under which a chapel was built.

Today, following yet more extensive renovation under its current owners, its beautiful grounds are particularly noted for the magnificent magnolia trees, which bloom in spring. The castle lies on the hill between the villages of Hitzendorf and Berndorf and provides a delightful sight for passers-by.

As for the ghost, the current owners are keeping quiet.

The same cannot be said for Dr. Emeryk Quintillus…

 Waking the Ancients

 Legacy In Death

Egypt, 1908

University student Lizzie Charters accompanies her mentor, Dr. Emeryk Quintillus, on the archeological dig to uncover Cleopatra’s tomb. Her presence is required for a ceremony conducted by the renowned professor to resurrect Cleopatra’s spirit—inside Lizzie’s body. Quintillus’s success is short-lived, as the Queen of the Nile dies soon after inhabiting her host, leaving Lizzie’s soul adrift . . .

Vienna, 2018

Paula Bancroft’s husband just leased Villa Dürnstein, an estate once owned by Dr. Quintillus. Within the mansion are several paintings and numerous volumes dedicated to Cleopatra. But the archeologist’s interest in the Egyptian empress deviated from scholarly into supernatural, infusing the very foundations of his home with his dark fanaticism. And as inexplicable manifestations rattle Paula’s senses, threatening her very sanity, she uncovers the link between the villa, Quintillus, and a woman named Lizzie Charters.

And a ritual of dark magic that will consume her soul . . .

You can find Waking the Ancients here:

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‘I have read all of Catherine Cavendish’s books. In addition to writing the kind of horror I love, she has a real knack for blending past and present. And this first part of this new series does not disappoint, opening and closing with the kind of spine-tingling bang where you just know that for her characters horror is everywhere and there’s no escaping it no matter how hard you run.

Pity poor sensible, not easily frightened, Adeline Ogilvie who not only has the misfortune to be a descendant of Cleopatra, but comes to realise there’s something nasty in the basement and that something might be the very person she’s related to. Then there’s Cleopatra’s one true love and it’s not the men history shows her to have been involved with either. Dr. Emeryk Quintillus will stop at nothing to resurrect his queen. And nothing will stop him.

That’s as many spoilers as I’m giving but I will add that not only does Catherine Cavendish effortlessly blend past and present, giving us all kinds of insights into ancient Egypt, her stomping ground for this book is early twentieth century Vienna, the coffee houses, the streets, the historical figures who graced them.
Bring on part two.’

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. 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:

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Vienna’s Street of blood and some dudes.

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Basilicks, Blood Streeet Vienna, Catherine Cavendish, fiction, Horror, Kensington Lyrical Press, New book, The Knights Templar, The wrath of the ancients, Vienna

Blutgasse, Vienna’s Street of Blood by Catherine Cavendish.

 

( Please insert picture 1.)

 

My latest novel – Wrath of the Ancients – is mainly set in the endlessly fascinating city of Vienna, Austria’s imperial capital and one of the most architecturally beautiful cities in the world. This is largely due to the efforts of one of its most famous Emperors – Franz Josef – who reigned from the turbulent revolutionary year of 1848 until his death in 1916.

It was Franz Josef who ripped up the cramped, unhealthy and unsanitary heart of the walled city and replaced it with the famous Ringstrasse, encircling inner Vienna and flanked by magnificent neo-classical Greek edifices housing the parliament, opera house, post office and much more besides.

Yet some of the narrow, winding cobbled streets remain. No longer unsanitary, these provide a romantic evening stroll and a peaceful daytime wander, away from the hustle and bustle of the main tourist areas.

 

One of the oldest of these streets is Blutgasse – Blood Street – which lies in the heart of the city, near to St Stefan’s Cathedral.

The street is home to a number of picturesque courtyards – most of which are open to the public to wander around. At night, with few people around, the silence can be quite uncanny. The tall buildings effectively soundproof the street and, with no traffic allowed, the sound of your footsteps can be the only noise to puncture the quiet. It becomes quite easy to believe some of the many legends surrounding this unique place.

It is said that, in 1312, the Knights Templar were brutally slain in this street. So many were killed that its cobblestones ran with blood, giving it the name it has been known by ever since.

 

The men had tried to hide, but in vain. It is said that they did manage to conceal their treasure there which, to this day, has never been found. Maybe this is why they return, still searching for that which was theirs.

Their headquarters can still be seen at Blutgasse 9. This leads to a courtyard called Fähnrichshof (Ensigns’ Court)  Here stands an ancient plane tree, said to house the remains of a Knights Templar’s sword, embedded deep within it.

For many years, those who were condemned to death had to walk along this street to their place of execution.

No wonder their cries echo as whispers to this day and take people by surprise. The ghosts don’t wait for nightfall. Many of them can be heard and even glimpsed in broad daylight.

Another legend which refuses to go away is that of a fearsome basilisk, which lived in a deep well along the street.

Such creatures were greatly to be feared as they could kill with one glance and their venom was so powerful, it left a deathly trail in its wake. Whenever anything went seriously wrong, you could be sure the basilisk was at the heart of it.

For one small street, Blutgasse packs a mighty punch. Stroll along it, stop, listen. Is that the sound of swords clashing? Or the hiss of the mighty basilisk, arising from its slumber?

 

 

Destiny In Death

Egypt, 1908

Eminent archaeologist Dr. Emeryk Quintillus has unearthed the burial chamber of Cleopatra. But this tomb raider’s obsession with the Queen of the Nile has nothing to do with preserving history. Stealing sacred and priceless relics, he murders his expedition crew, and flees—escaping the quake that swallows the site beneath the desert sands . . .

Vienna, 1913

Young widow Adeline Ogilvy has accepted employment at the mansion of Dr. Quintillus, transcribing the late professor’s memoirs. Within the pages of his journals, she discovers the ravings of a madman convinced he possessed the ability to reincarnate Cleopatra. Within the walls of his home, she is assailed by unexplained phenomena: strange sounds, shadowy figures, and apparitions of hieroglyphics.

Something pursued Dr. Quintillus from Egypt. Something dark, something hungry. Something tied to the fate and future of Adeline Ogilvy . . .

Wrath Of The Ancients

Available from:

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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. She was the joint winner of the Samhain Gothic Horror Anthology Competition, with Linden Manor. 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, Saving Grace Devine and many more. She lives with her long-suffering husband, and a black cat who has never forgotten that her species used to be worshiped 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:

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Revisiting The Pendle Curse

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book, Catherine Cavendish, Crossroad Press, Horror, Knaresborough, Mother Shipton, Pendle witches, The Pendle Curse, The witch of Knaresborough, Witchcraft

 

 

 

https://dgkayewriter.com/who-has-a-new-book-guest-author-shehanne-moore-lady-lazuli/

The Witch of Knaresborough   By ….. Catherine Cavenidish  

 

 

My novel – The Pendle Curse – has some of its roots in a true story. In August 1612, ten men and women were convicted, in Lancaster, England, of crimes related to witchcraft and subsequently hanged on Gallows Hill. They became known to history as the Pendle Witches.

Needless to say, as mine is a horror novel, my witches are a pretty evil bunch –

powerful too. But back in fifteenth century Yorkshire, not all that far from Pendle, lived a witch of a very different sort.

In 1488, some say in a cave near the Petrifying Well, a young girl gave birth to an illegitimate daughter: one who would be called Ursula Sontheil but whom history would remember as Mother Shipton.

Mother Shipton was not exactly England’s answer to Nostradamus, but she developed a reputation for her prophecies.

These involved not just the local people around and about Knaresborough in North Yorkshire, where she lived, but also the great and good of her time.

One of the most famous of these was the Archbishop of York, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, who had never actually visited that city. Mother Shipton predicted he never would. In an attempt to dissuade her from repeating these assertions, the somewhat rattled Wolsey sent three lords to Knaresborough to see her. They told her in no uncertain terms that one of Wolsey’s first acts on reaching York would be to see her burn for witchcraft. She laughed in their faces. After all, why should she be scared? He would never get there in order to carry out his threat.

(c) Leeds Museums and Galleries (book); Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

The Archbishop was furious

and made haste to travel up from London and prove her wrong. But, just ten miles south of the city, he was arrested for treason and Mother Shipton’s prophecy was fulfilled.

Many of her other predictions are legendary – and, shall we say – subject to a certain amount of embellishment and creative interpretation. Did she really predict the advent of ships, submarines, motor transport and airplanes?

In water, iron then shall float

as easy as a wooden boat…

Through towering hills proud men shall ride, no horse or ass move by his side. Beneath the water, men shall walk, shall ride, shall sleep, shall even talk. And in the air men shall be seen, In white and black and even green.

 Or telecommunications?

Around the world men’s thoughts will fly, quick as the twinkling of an eye 
Indeed, if all the interpretations are to be believed, she predicted the French Revolution, the rise of Nazism, Benjamin Disraeli and just about every disaster – man-made or otherwise – since the year of her birth. She may have even predicted the European Union (although I don’t see any reference to Brexit!)

 

Whether true or not, you can today visit the famous Petrifying Well and the cave where she was reputedly born. The Petrifying Well is said to be unique and, if you take along a teddy bear, leave it there and return five months later, it will have turned to stone. Although, if you can’t wait that long you can always buy one in the shop ( ‘here’s one I prepared earlier’!)

 

She may have got some things wrong though – including the date of the end of the world which she allegedly gave as ‘eighteen hundred and eighty one’, (however, it is entirely possible that the inclusion of any such date was added by someone else, after her death. One of a number of examples of the embellishment I mentioned earlier.)
As 1881 passed and the world carried on, some versions then amended the date, while others dropped it, although I do have a recollection of it being in the little book of her prophecies given to me when I was about eight or nine. That would have been in the early Sixties and I vaguely remember something about ‘nineteen hundred and ninety one’, but my memory could be faulty on this. Mother Shipton was said to have married a man called Toby Shipton at the age of 24 and she lived to be 72, just as she had predicted. Her prophecies and legend live on. Was she really able to see hundreds of years into the future? Or was she just an eccentric, old, poetic witch, mentally a little flaky, but excellent with herbal cures and potions?

We will probably never know…unless we live to see the fulfilment of her prediction of the future after the apocalyptic end of the world:

… the land that rises from the sea will be dry and clean and soft and free

of mankind’s dirt and therefore be,  the source of man’s new dynasty.

And those that live will ever fear  the dragon’s tail for many year

but time erases memory

You think it strange? But it will be!

Four hundred years ago, ten convicted witches were hanged on Gallows Hill. Now they are back…for vengeance.

Laura Phillips’s grief at her husband’s sudden death shows no sign of passing. Even sleep brings her no peace. She experiences vivid, disturbing dreams of a dark, brooding hill, and a man—somehow out of time—who seems to know her. She discovers that the place she has dreamed about exists. Pendle Hill. And she knows she must go there. But as soon as she arrives, the dream becomes a nightmare. She is caught up in a web of witchcraft and evil…and a curse that will not die.

Absolutely compelling
Hands up. I am a big fan of the kind of horror Catherine Cavendish
serves up in spades. A rich blend of good old spine tingling horror usually served in a historical sauce but with a dash of the present  day sprinkled in. The Pendle Witches are well documented. We know their stories, how it happened and the awful ends that befell them. What Catherine Cavendish does so successfully is transport us to that time to try and get to the real story of people who played with fire in their every day lives and suffered the consequences, James by obliging Mistress Towneley in more ways than one, Alizon, by believing a little too deeply in her powers. People who lived in that atmosphere of fear and superstition. But there’s another story and that is that of the recently widowed Laura Phillips and it’s set in the present day.
I won’t spoil things by saying what the link is but the meld is seamless. Hats off to the author for pulling it off.
I turned the pages of this book knowing that eventually I would come to the words, the end, never wanting to reach them.

You can find The Pendle Curse here:

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Other books by Catherine Cavendish include:

 

And are currently available – or soon will be – from:

Catherine Cavendish Amazon page

Catherine Cavendish lives with a long-suffering husband and ‘trainee’ black cat 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. Cat has written a number of published horror novellas, short stories, and novels, frequently reflecting her twin loves of history and horror and often containing more than a dash of the dark and Gothic. When not slaving over a hot computer, she enjoys wandering around Neolithic stone circles and visiting old haunted houses.

You can connect with Cat here:

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Catherine Cavendish, imaginary friends and serenading the devil

Tags

Catherine Cavendish, Horror, Imaginary friends, New book, Samhain Publishing, The Devil's Serenade

 

Imaginary Friends by Catherine Cavendish

When you were growing up, did you have an imaginary friend? Did they seem real to you? Maybe sort-of-real. You could talk to them, imagine their responses, play with them – but you probably kept the ‘relationship’ within certain boundaries, however young you were. In my case, I invented an entire family of siblings – three sisters (two older, one a few years younger) and an older brother who looked out for us girls. Being an only child, I found them comforting, and fun, but I never imagined them to be real. They, in turn, kept themselves firmly lodged in my own mind and never attempted to cross any boundary into the real world.

In my new novel, The Devil’s Serenade, my central character also had an imaginary family when she was a child. Scarily for her, they now start to appear in her real adult world.

Of course, my story is fiction, but there have been a number of accounts of small children making ‘friends’ with most unsuitable imaginary friends – who then cross the line.

 

One such story concerns a woman called Layla who lived with her four year old son, Ryan and her partner in a suburb of Stoke-on-Trent in England called Trentham. Although an only child, Ryan was a good mixer, socialising well with other children and enjoying a normal childhood. He had no history of talking to himself so his mother was surprised to hear him doing just that – quit loudly – as she passed his room one January evening.

On entering his room, she found her son sitting cross-legged on the floor. She asked him who he was talking to and he replied that he had a new friend, “Fred.” They had been talking. Ryan described his new friend as, “silly.”

Layla decided there was no harm in this new imaginary friend and left him to it. For the next few weeks, Ryan could often be heard chatting and laughing and his parents thought nothing more of it, putting it down to his lively imagination.

Then, one unforgettable night, Layla and her husband were woken by an earsplitting scream. It was Ryan.

They dashed into his room and found him curled up in the corner, white-faced, his hands over his face. Layla tried to comfort him, asking him what was wrong.

Ryan sobbed. He said Fred had got angry with him and shouted at him when Ryan said it was too late to play. Then Fred had screamed at him and scared him.

It took some minutes to calm the terrified little boy down.

The next day, Layla was cleaning out Ryan’s room while he was out with his father. She had a sudden urge to warn the imaginary friend and told him to keep away from her son. “If you ever scare my child again I shall have you removed. I will take Ryan to the doctor’s if I have to.”

She felt rather silly issuing such a warning to nobody, but a strange sense of satisfaction spread over her.

Ryan came home and went immediately to his room. Shortly after, he emerged and asked his mother why he had to go to the doctor’s. “Fred says you are taking me.”

Layla stared at her son, uncomprehendingly. How could Ryan have known about her tirade in his room? She had been alone in the house at the time and told no one else about it.

Ryan continued, each word chilling Layla’s blood. “He says you told him off today when you were alone. He says he’s sorry for shouting at me and he won’t do it again.”

Layla didn’t take Ryan to the doctor and, although Ryan continued to play with ‘Fred’ for some months, nothing further happened to make her concerned. Then, Ryan stopped playing with his imaginary friend altogether.

Forever afterwards, Layla was never able to explain how Ryan could have known about her warning to Fred. Ryan could throw no light on the matter either. It remained an unsolved, intriguing mystery.

 

 

Now, to give you a taste of The Devil’s Serenade, here’s the blurb:

Maddie had forgotten that cursed summer. Now she’s about to remember…

“Madeleine Chambers of Hargest House” has a certain grandeur to it. But as Maddie enters the Gothic mansion she inherited from her aunt, she wonders if its walls remember what she’s blocked out of the summer she turned sixteen.

She’s barely settled in before a series of bizarre events drive her to question her sanity. Aunt Charlotte’s favorite song shouldn’t echo down the halls. The roots of a faraway willow shouldn’t reach into the cellar. And there definitely shouldn’t be a child skipping from room to room.

As the barriers in her mind begin to crumble, Maddie recalls the long-ago summer she looked into the face of evil. Now, she faces something worse. The mansion’s long-dead builder, who has unfinished business—and a demon that hungers for her very soul.

Here’s an extract:

A large flashlight rested on the bottom stair and I switched it on, shining it into the dark corners. There wasn’t a lot to see. A few broken bits of furniture, old fashioned kitchen chairs, some of which looked vaguely familiar, jam jars, crates that may once have held bottles of beer.

The beam caught the clump of gnarled and twisted roots that intertwined with each other, like Medusa’s snakes. I edged closer to it, my heart thumping more than it should. It was only a tree, for heaven’s sake! The nearest one was probably the willow. Surely, that was too far away? I knew little about trees, but I was pretty certain their roots couldn’t extend that far.

I examined the growth from every angle in that silent cellar. The roots were definitely spreading along the floor and, judging by the thickness and appearance of them, had been there for many years. Gray, like thick woody tendrils, they reached around six feet along and possibly four feet across at their widest point. I bent down. Close up, the smell that arose from them was cloyingly sweet. Sickeningly so. I put one hand over my nose, rested the flashlight on the steps and reached out with the fingers of my free hand to touch the nearest root. It wriggled against my palm.

I cried out, staggered backward and fell against the stairs. The flashlight clattered to the floor and went out. Only the overhead bulb provided any light, and it didn’t reach this darkest corner. Something rustled. I struggled to my feet, grabbed the torch and ran up the stairs. I slammed the door shut and locked it, leaned against it and tried to slow down my breathing. A marathon runner couldn’t have panted more.

I tapped the flashlight and it flickered into life, seemingly none the worse for its accident. I switched it off and set it on the floor by the cellar door. Whoever came to fix those roots was going to need it.

 

You can find The Devil’s Serenade here:

 

Samhain Publishing

Amazon

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And other online retailers

About the author:

Following a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance, Cat is now the full-time author of a number of paranormal, ghostly and Gothic horror novels, novellas and short stories. She was the 2013 joint winner of the Samhain Gothic Horror Anthology Competition, with Linden Manor, which features in the anthology What Waits in the Shadows.  Other titles include: The Pendle Curse, Saving Grace Devine, Dark Avenging Angel, The Second Wife, Miss Abigail’s Room, The Demons of Cambian Street, The Devil Inside Her, Cold Revenge and In My Lady’s Chamber.

 

You can connect with Cat here:

 

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Catherine Cavendish, the Pendle Curse and the Witches of North Berwick

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Anne of Denmark, Catherine Cavendish, Horror, James 6th, Samhain Publishing, Scottish Witch Hunts, The Pendle Curse, The Witches of North Berwick, Witch hunts

 

 

The Witches of North Berwick by Catherine Cavendish.

 

 

My new novel – The Pendle Curse – has some of its roots in a true story. In August 1612, ten men and women were convicted, in Lancaster, England, of crimes related to witchcraft and subsequently hanged on Gallows Hill. They became known to history as the Pendle Witches.

But they weren’t alone. Scotland was not short of witches – especially in East Lothian.

 When tourists come to Edinburgh Castle,

they often admire the pretty flowers at the well. They don’t generally notice the detail of the design on the wall, but if you take a close look:

 See it now? Witches and they are certainly not happy and sparkly. During the 17^th and 18^th centuries, more than 3800 so-called witches were killed in Scotland – by strangling, drowning, hanging or burned alive at the stake. This makes that country the biggest persecutor of witches in Europe.

The first major witch trial took place in 1590 and was presided over by the King of Scotland himself – James VI, later to become James I of England.

He believed witches were out to kill him. He based this reasoning on an incident that took place a couple of years earlier when his new bride – Anne of Denmark – was on her way from her home country to Scotland, following her proxy marriage to the king. Fierce storms blew up from nowhere, forcing her ship to put into a safe harbour in Norway. James did the gallant thing and set out to bring her back. The treacherous journey saw them buffeted by three consecutive storms, which nearly wrecked the ship.

If it had, it is almost certain the king and his new bride would have drowned.

At that time, James learned of a coven of witches operating at the Auld Kirk Green in North Berwick, East Lothian. He believed they had vowed to assassinate him and, in order to do so, had conjured the storms. The king was assisted and encouraged in his beliefs by his wife. She, her family and many members of the Danish nobility attributed the near death of a relative to witchcraft, while, in Denmark itself, witch-hunts were rife.

Now James was convinced he too was a victim. He set out on a holy crusade to rid the land of witches by any means – including barbarous torture.

Suspicion and fear became rife in North Berwick as the inhabitants speculated on who was and who wasn’t a witch. One man – David Seaton – reported his maid, Geillis Duncan. The poor woman had been rash enough to help sick people get well. She was arrested, but refused to confess. In jail, torturers discovered a witch’s mark – a mole or similar blemish which, when poked with a sharp implement, didn’t bleed.

Terrified out of her wits, Geillis accused a long list of others in the neighbourhood, totalling more than 70 men and women.

One of the accused – Agnes Sampson – was shackled to the wall of her cell. A witch’s, or ‘scold’s’, bridle was secured to her head. This contained four sharp prongs which pierced her cheeks and tongue. Perhaps not surprisingly, the woman confessed to being a witch and implicated others. A lot of others. She said that around 200 witches had met with the devil at the coven on Auld Kirk Green and summoned the violent storms to kill the king.

 

 For her co-operation, Agnes was granted the mercy of being strangled before being burnt as a witch.

James decided to make a further example of accused schoolmaster, James Fian, who had initially confessed, following hideous torture, including the infamous, bone-crushing boot, accompanied by having his fingernails pierced by needles and then torn out by pincers. Bloodied and maimed, he later retracted his confession, but James was having none of it. The schoolmaster was burned to death on the esplanade at Edinburgh Castle in January 1591.

In all, the trials of the North Berwick witches lasted two years, resulting in multiple executions – the exact number of which is unknown. We can probably assume that the overwhelming majority of those brought to trial would have been condemned to die.

James’s experiences led him to believe he was now an expert on witchcraft, He wrote his treatise, Daemonologie, which was published in 1597. The Scottish witch-hunts had begun in earnest.

 

Now, here’s the blurb for The Pendle Curse:

Four hundred years ago, ten convicted witches were hanged on Gallows Hill. Now they are back…for vengeance.

Laura Phillips’s grief at her husband’s sudden death shows no sign of passing. Even sleep brings her no peace. She experiences vivid, disturbing dreams of a dark, brooding hill, and a man—somehow out of time—who seems to know her. She discovers that the place she has dreamed about exists. Pendle Hill. And she knows she must go there. But as soon as she arrives, the dream becomes a nightmare. She is caught up in a web of witchcraft and evil…and a curse that will not die.

Here’s a short extract from the beginning:

His spirit soared within him and flew up into the storm-clad sky as blackness descended and the rain became a tempest.

He flew. Lost in a maelstrom of swirling mists. Somewhere a baby cried until its sobs became distorted, tortured roars. Beyond, a black void loomed. He saw Alizon’s spirit just ahead and tried to call out to her, but his voice couldn’t reach her.

Beside him, another spirit cried out. His mother. He flinched at her screams before they were drowned in the mass—that terrible parody of some hideous child.

The blackness metamorphosed. An amorphous shape formed as his eyes struggled to see with their new vision—the gift of death. Small baby limbs flailed towards him. Eyes of fire flashed as a toothless mouth opened. Screeching, roaring and demanding to be fed. Demanding its mother.

His spirit reached out for his lover. Tried to pull her back. “Alizon!”

She turned anguished eyes to him. “It calls to me.”

He recognized it instantly. The blazing fire. The devil child. That cursed infant had come for them.

Again he reached out with arms that no longer felt connected to him, but he was powerless to stop Alizon being swept away, deep into the abomination’s maw.

“No!” His cry reverberated around him—a wail of anguish in a sea of torment.

Then…silence. Only he remained, drifting in swirling gray mists of time.

“I will find you, sweet Alizon. One day I will find you. And I will find the one who betrayed us.”

From somewhere, he heard an echo…

You can find The Pendle Curse here:

Samhain Publishing

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

About the author

Catherine Cavendish – Cat to her friends – lives with her husband in a haunted 18th century building in North Wales. Fortunately for all concerned, the ghost is friendly and contents herself (she’s definitely female) with switching on lights, and attempting to discover how the TV and washing machine work (it’s a long story!).

Following a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance, Cat is now the full time author of a number of paranormal, ghostly and Gothic horror novels, novellas and short stories. She is the 2013 joint winner of the Samhain Gothic Horror Anthology Competition, with Linden Manor, which features in the anthology What Waits In The Shadows.  The Pendle Curse is her latest novel for Samhain; her first  – Saving Grace Devine – was published in 2014.

Her daily walks have so far provided the inspiration for two short stories and a novella. As she says, “It’s amazing what you see down by the river, as it flows through a sleepy rural community.” Those with delicate constitutions are advised not to ask!
You can connect with Cat here:

Catherine Cavendish

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