You know, I think writing dark fiction has always been my calling. It started at a young age, before I even knew what writing was. One of the big quirks that foreshadowed this was my choice in toys.
According to my mom, I never had his face on the happy side, and he used to sit in my cot when I slept. I wonder if he was a furry gargoyle, keeping the bad spirits away. Bit ironic. I still have him to do this day and he sits at the top of my bed. My kitten is scared of him! XD
Thanks for the opportunity, Sheep. I never thought I’d write a guest blog about my favourite childhood toy. :D
by Kateri Stanley
Sept 28, 2023
Genre: Supernatural Thriller
ISBN: 979-8851416583
ASIN: B0C9V97SPH
Number of pages: 302
Word Count: 81K
Cover Artist: Kateri Stanley and Daniel Olah
Some secrets can last for centuries
Marcus Weaving is a retired psychology lecturer and therapist. Not a man to sit around, he volunteers at his local university. Years of clinical practice are put to the test when he receives a mischievous text from somebody called L.
Intrigued and unnerved, Marcus goes to the address provided and is welcomed by a beautiful blonde woman named Lily. Their story goes way back to his tumultuous youth when he had to flee from his abusive mother and other demons skulking around.
Timing for a romantic reunion could not be any worse. Marcus is about to become a grandfather and he has ongoing issues with his estranged, drug addicted son.
Why has Lily shown up after all of this time? And, why hasn't she aged a day?
The
rambler puffed and panted her way up the hill. What had started off as a
pleasant morning in the beautiful rustic countryside had turned into a
torrential disaster of an afternoon. She’d been strolling in a loose
sweater with a fleece wrapped around her waist and now, she was thankful
she’d packed the waterproofs before leaving the house.
She dug her
heels into the mud, pushing on two walking poles, dragging her body
towards the top. Rainwater dripped off the hood of her jacket. After
several minutes of intense core strength, she managed to make it to the
top of the hill and was relieved when she saw the warm lights of a
nearby pub. She could take shelter and fill her stomach with cider,
gravy and mashed potato.
She was not alone on the hill. Somebody else was there, mad enough to attempt to climb the rest of the mountain.
“Hey!” the rambler shouted. “I wouldn’t go up there if I were you, mate. The rain’s too heavy. You’d be better off waiting!”
The
other rambler donned in the same hiking gear turned to face her. He had
a druid beard which hid middle eastern features and hair so long that
it spilled out of his hood. He raised his hand signifying a gesture not
to be worried. Then he smiled, giving the rambler the thumbs up and
continued to trudge upwards. He wasn’t wearing any walking boots. How
strange. His bare feet would get cut to shreds or he’d catch some sort
of infection in this weather.
The rambler glanced at the pub in a
panic. She didn’t want to be responsible if the body of a man was found
buried somewhere on the mountain, even though she’d tried to warn him.
She turned back, the rain was hailing down. She could barely see the
crown of the mountain. The strange thing was, the other rambler had
vanished.
~
The coffee shop on the high street was one of
his favourite places to unwind after a hard day's work. Jove acquired
the booth by the front window, delicately sipping his large skinny
latte. He enjoyed watching people pass by; it was humanity at its best.
They were lost in their own little worlds, unaware of who was observing.
He peered at his watch, his former employee was late, whereas
he on the other hand… was on time. After half an hour, he sensed a
presence enter the coffee shop, then a soft manicured hand lightly
brushed his shoulder.
“I think you should invest in a watch,” said Jove.
“You know I don't bother with that old fashioned garbage,” the voice replied, belonging to the woman standing before him.
Jove
sighed. “I’d appreciate it if you could inform me that you’re going to
be late. It’s called common courtesy. I have other places to be. You
know this.”
The woman plonked her handbag on the opposing seat,
disturbing the gentleman reading his newspaper in the next booth. She
didn’t notice his annoyed expression, she didn’t care.
“Good place to sit,” she said. “You’ve got a keen eye. Watch my bag.”
She
grabbed her purse and marched to the bar. Her sharp high heeled boots
clicked and clacked on the shiny floor. Her provocative walk echoed
dominance and confidence.
“Splashing out I see,” Jove commented when she returned with a large caramel macchiato and a plate of fruit toast.
“It’s a special occasion,” she replied merrily, sitting down. “Our meet-ups are important.
Oh, and by the way, it's Lucille when I'm in this skin. Respect my pronouns haha.”
“Fair enough,” Jove replied. “How have you been?”
She
sucked the cream ravenously from her fingers. “Profits dropped slightly
this month. I'm working on a strategy to increase the market.”
“And what is that?” he asked.
Lucille smirked. “You know I don’t part with my ideas.”
“Of course, I was just venturing.”
She
wiped her hands with the napkin and began to lather the butter onto the
fruit toast with a plastic knife. “You know, I truly think the modern
world was made for me. The secrets, the scandals, the back stabbings.
Souls willing to part with their shares for a couple of thousand
followers, faking chronic illnesses for attention. Social media is a
wonderful thing. It’s an all-you-can-eat-buffet of human depravity. I
love it.”
Jove did not need the loaded information. He already knew about it, and it troubled him.
“How
come you chose Starbucks?” Lucille bit into the toast, ripping it with
her teeth, the way a predator tore into its prey. “I thought you were a
Costa Coffee guy.”
“I felt like a change.”
“I agree,” Lucille nodded. “See that guy outside?”
Jove
watched out of the window, noticing a tall man in a long grey overcoat
with receding brown hair purchasing a Big Issue magazine.
“He
sold me a share because his wife left him for his best friend. Oh, and
that woman, and that fat bloke there. Infidelity is a real mood killer
for passion.”
Jove caught sight of each person Lucille
indicated. The crowds moved similar to a fast-pacing stream. Before he
could hone in on her clients, they melted into the background of the
city. A soul wafted past and he pointed at the window pane. “That girl
broke her leg saving her brother from a house fire.”
Lucille
rolled her eyes at his observation. “Whoop de doo. Good people, so
boring. Anyway, how's everything down your way, or should I say up your
way?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Does anyone ask after me?”
“Your name pops up, now and then. Not in the most civil terms, I might add.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. I'm glad I gave in my notice, no offence.”
Jove frowned. “From my recollection Lucille, you were... cast out.”
Her gaze hardened. “I walked, actually.”
“I’m not here to argue. But, if you cleansed your heart, I'd let you back in with open arms.”
“That’s
sweet, but I love being my own boss.” She wiped her mouth with the
napkin, careful enough so she wouldn’t smear her lipstick. “I think all
of you have your wires crossed. My job isn’t much different to yours.
It’s not... bad. It’s not evil either. I collect and punish the wicked
and sinful. Isn’t that a good thing?”
About the Author:
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Kateri Stanley is a dark fiction author. Her books include bestselling horror debut, FORGIVE ME and fantasy thriller, FROM THE DEEP. She lives with her partner and her cat in the Midlands, UK.
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Some secrets can last for centuries
Bittersweet Injuries by Kateri Stanley
https://www.amazon.com/Bittersweet-Injuries-Kateri-Stanley/dp/B0CCCPKCSW
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