Category Archives: stories

A Child in Need: The Story Behind the Burglar (Goldie and the Beare Family Part 5)

Image created buy V.M.Sang using Bing AI Generator

“The door’s not closed.” Mr Beare frowned as he mounted the steps. He turned to his wife. “How come you didn’t close it behind you? I know you were in a hurry, but it is not like you to be so careless.”

His wife followed him into the house, pulling the hatpin from her hat and removing it. She hung it on a hatstand by the door. “Jane was behind me, Albert. She must not have pulled it closed properly.” She went to the top of the stairs leading to the basement and called the maid.

Jane curtsied from the top of the stairs. “What did you want, Mistress?”

“When you came out of the door to go to church, did you close it properly behind you?”

“Oh, Mistress, I really don’t know. I was rushing, see. I’m sorry if I left it.”

Mr Beare hung his cloak and hat on the stand. “You should be careful, Jane. There are all kinds of undesirables around these days. If someone had noticed, they would have been able to walk right in and help themselves.”

Tears trickled down Jane’s face. “I’m sorry, sir.” She curtsied again. “It won’t happen again. I’ll be extra careful in future.”

Mrs Beare placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “It’s partly my fault, Albert. I told Jane to come through the front door instead of the basement. We were late, and it would have taken her a few more minutes to go down to the kitchen and use the servant’s door.”

Mr Beare nodded and smiled at Jane. “Well, let’s forget it, shall we? Go and get changed into your uniform.”

Harold, Mr and Mrs Beare’s eight year old son came out of the sitting room.

“Mamma, someone has opened one of the sweetmeat bags.”

His parents rushed in and Harold pointed to the open bag on the roof of the Nativity scene.

Mr Beare picked it up. “Only one eaten, it seems.”

A scream came from the kitchen, followed by the sound of running feet.

“Oh, sir, I’m sorry. So sorry. Someone’s been in the house. They took a bite from a mince pie.” Jane held out the evidence. “I’m sorry for leaving the door open. Please don’t dismiss me.”

“No one is dismissing anyone,” Mrs Beare said. “So far nothing has been taken or damaged except one sweetmeat and one bite of a mince pie. Go back to the kitchen and see if anything else has happened.”

“We’d better be certain nothing else has been taken, Mary,” Mr Beare said. “First let us see if anything has been taken from down here, then we can go upstairs and check.”

It was Harold who noticed the missing spoon in the dining room.

“That’s odd. They only took one small spoon. Look at all the other silver they could have taken.” Mrs Beare drew her brows together.

As they pondered this, Jane came rushing back. She panted before she managed to speak. “They’ve drunk the soup, Ma’am. I went to heat it up, and there was only a little bit left.”

“Let’s inspect upstairs,” Mr Beare said, striding to the staircase. “Jane, go back to the kitchen and help Mrs White finish the preparations for the meal.”

Jane curtsied and left.

The family ascended the stairs. Mr and Mrs Beare went into their bedroom and Harold went into his. 

Mrs Beare inspected her jewellery box and frowned. She turned to her husband. “The moon brooch you gave me is missing, but nothing else. The burglar only took one spoon and one piece of jewellery.”  

Harold ran into their room. “Mamma, there is a girl asleep on my bed.”

Mrs Beare straightened. “A girl?”

Harold nodded. “Yes. And she’s got Jacob.”

All three went to Harold’s room. Peering through the open door, they saw Goldie fast asleep and hugging Harold’s rabbit.

Mrs Beare’s eyes softened. “But she’s so little. Is she the burglar?”

“It would seem so, my dear. She’s obviously a beggar or a vagrant. We need to notify the police.”

The little girl woke, looked at the three people in the room and leaped to her feet, throwing the rabbit to the floor.

Harold dived for his toy, shouting “Jacob!”

The girl ran for the door and tried to duck under Mr Beare’s arm, but he was too quick and managed to grab her. He wrapped both arms around her, and as he did so, she screamed again. 

“It hurts. Please, it hurts.”

“Don’t hold her so tightly, Albert.”

“I’m not. It shouldn’t hurt her.”

The girl was crying now. “Please don’t get the police. I’ll give back what I took. Just give me some money. Only a little money, or Mr Smith will beat me again.”

Mrs Beare took the child’s hand and prized her away from her husband. “But it does hurt her.” She knelt beside the weeping child. “Where does it hurt? Did Mr Smith hurt you?”

The child nodded and sniffed, rubbing her hand over her nose, spreading snot across her face.

Mrs Beare took out a handkerchief and wiped it away. “Show me where he hurt you.”

The child turned around. “My back. He hurt my back.”

Gently, Mrs Beare pulled the ragged dress away from the child’s shoulders. She drew a quick breath. There, across the child’s back were three long welts. The remains of blood traced their path. 

She turned to her husband. “This child has been brutally beaten until she bled.” She stood her fists opening and closing. “We cannot allow her to return to such a man.”

“You’re correct, dear. I’ll contact the man in charge of the orphanage. They’ll take her if I ask him. I have influence.”

Mrs Beare looked at the child, who had cowered away at the mention of the orphanage. She frowned. “What is it, child? Surely the orphanage is better than your Mr Smith?”

“Ma said it was a bad place. When I were bad, she said she’d send me there.”

Mrs Beare put her head on one side. “So you have a mother?”

“No. She died. Annie found me and took me to Mr Smith. She said I’d be one of her girls when I’m old enough.”

Mr Beare strode into the room. “That settles it. She must go to the orphanage. We cannot allow her to become a fallen woman.”

Will Goldie be sent to the orphanage she so dreads?

Finding Warmth at Christmas: (Goldie and the Beare Family part 4)

Image by V.M.Sang and Bing AI generator.

Picture shows a small ragged girl sitting in front of a fire in a Victorian sitting room. There is a Christmas tree in the window.

The next day was Christmas, so Mr Smith told them. People would be feeling generous. They would be walking the streets visiting friends and relatives after Church. “Go and make the most of it.  Beggars, look pathetic, and pickpockets, be sneaky.  Merry Christmas, and good pickings.”

As the children descended the stairs, Jack tapped Goldie on the shoulder. “Mr Smith put me on pickpocketing. Go to my old spot by the church. Should do well today.”

Goldie trudged through the snow and leaned against a wall. She thought the church looked pretty with the snow on the roof and spire. Snow coated the ancient yew trees.

She looked at the gravestones. They look as if they’re wearing white hats.

The bells began to ring, calling the worshippers to Christmas Mass. Shortly, doors opened along the street as families made their way to the church. Everyone called “Merry Christmas” to their neighbours, and children laughed in anticipation of the presents to be opened later.

No one noticed the small girl, shivering by the church wall.

The door of a house opposite the church opened. A man strode out, followed by a boy of about eight. 

The man turned back. “Hurry. We’re going to be late.”

“Just fixing my hat, dear.” A woman came out pulling on a pair of gloves. She turned back. “Hurry, Jane. You must not be late for church. Not today, on the birthday of Our Lord. Has Mrs White left already?”

A young woman rushed out pulling the door closed behind her. “Coming, Mrs Beare. Yes, Mrs White is probably already in the church. She has everything ready for dinner, so she went ahead.”

They passed Goldie without giving her a single glance. She watched them enter the church, and soon heard singing; beautiful Christmas carols.

The sky looked leaden. The wind blew the snow into little heaps in corners and at the base of walls. Goldie looked at the houses lining the street. 

I bet it is warm inside. I’d love to go into one, just for a few minutes, to get warm.

Her teeth started chattering as an extra strong gust of wind swept along the street. As she watched, the door to the house where the Beare family lived swung slightly open.

Goldie’s eyes popped. The maid must have failed to close it properly in her hurry when she left.

Could I? Should I?

Goldie sprinted across the street.  Has God done this so I can get warm? Looking around, and noticing the street was empty, the little girl slipped through the door. She pushed it so it looked closed, and gazed around.

She found herself in a narrow hallway with stairs climbing on the right. A small table stood at the bottom of the stairs with a vase containing dried flowers. 

Doors opened on the left and right. Goldie picked the left one. It opened onto a large room filled with warmth from a fire damped down behind a metal fire guard.She ran to its heat and held her hands out to it with a blissful smile. 

As the cold seeped out of her bones, she gazed around the room. Three chairs faced the fire. One had large arms and wings on either side of the back.  

That one would swallow me up.

The second chair was closer to her size, and with no wings it might be more comfortable.

Gentleman and ladies’ chairs. Too big for me.

The third chair looked like a child’s seat. Much smaller than the others, and placed right in front of the fire where she could warm her feet. She sat in it and held her feet out to the warmth of the fire.

In the window stood a large tree. The family had decorated it with wooden ornaments, all different shapes and brightly painted. She also spotted some little bags hanging from the branches. A large star decorated the top.

How pretty.

Below the  tree was a scene with little figures. There was a man and a woman gazing at a  baby lying in a crib filled with straw. At one side, three more men, one with a lamb over his shoulder, knelt before the baby. On the other side, three men carrying elaborate boxes with a camel behind them had their eyes on the baby. A donkey and cow completed the scene. 

Over the fireplace was a large mirror that someone had decorated with holly. The glossy, green leaves contrasted with the bright red berries. Branches of green rested on other surfaces and gave a sweet scent to the room. 

Goldie crept towards the tree. She longed to taste the sweets hanging there. She reached out her hand, but pulled it back. After standing there for a few minutes, she pulled a bag from the tree and opened it. Taking out one of the sweets, she popped it into her mouth. Sweetness burst over her tongue. She had never tasted anything so sweet, and she was unsure if she liked it. She spat the sweetmeat out and threw it into the fire, dropping the bag on the floor, where the other sweets tumbled out.

On the mantelpiece, a clock ticked. How long would the church service last? When she’d sat outside before, it had seemed like a very long time.

It’s only just started. I can stay here for a bit longer. Then I can go and get money when the people come out.

She gazed around the room and decided to explore the house. 

Rising, Goldie crossed the hallway and entered a room with a large table in the centre. It was set for three people with crystal wine glasses and silver cutlery. In the centre was  a bowl with holly and ivy. 

She picked up a silver spoon and popped it into her pocket. 

Mr Smith will be pleased. He might even give me extra food like he did when I got some silver coins. These people won’t miss a little spoon.

That would be worth more than she could collect by begging. 

On leaving the room, she sniffed. The enticing smell of food drew her to the stairs leading to the basement. Her stomach growled. Maybe she could find something to eat down there before going upstairs. Careful, in case there was a servant who had not gone to church, Goldie crept slowly down.

The stairs led into a kitchen with a range at one end and a scrubbed wooden table in the centre. A cupboard stood opposite the window and on it were some pies and a large cake. Goldie picked up one of the pies and bit into it. 

“Ow! That’s hot.” She placed the pie back on the plate and peered around. There on the top of the range was a copper pan with soup in it. She felt in her pocket and fished out the spoon she had taken from the dining room. Dipping it into the pan, she first blew on it, then took a sip. 

“Mmm. Delicious.” She continued eating until her stomach felt full.

Putting the spoon back in her pocket, she returned to the hall and then climbed the stairs to the landing. The first room she entered was a large bedroom overlooking the street. She peeped out of the window. No one about. They’re still in church. Good.

The bed was huge, and covered with a red counterpane. Opposite it was a dressing table. 

There was a glass tray on the top, and a pair of glass candlesticks, one on each side. A small box decorated with painted roses stood in the middle of the tray. She lifted the lid.

A brooch took her eye. It sparkled with what she thought might be diamonds and was in the shape of a crescent moon. She slipped it into her pocket. Mr Smith would be so pleased with her that he would never beat her again. 

She heard a voice in her head. Her mother’s voice. We might be poor, but we are honest. Taking things that belong to someone else is wrong.

She took the brooch out and stared at it.

Ma wasn’t goin’ to be beat if she didn’t take something. She had a job in the mill.   She put it back into her pocket

I wonder if there is anything in the next bedroom?

She made her way across the landing and into what was obviously a child’s bedroom. A small bed with a blue counterpane stood opposite the door, and on it was a fluffy rabbit with a blue bow around its neck. On a chest of drawers Goldie noticed a toy train. Blue curtains hung at the window, tied back with a blue cord.

Goldie yawned. The warmth and the soup filling her stomach made her sleepy. What a lovely rabbit. She picked it up and cuddled it. It was soft and warm. She stroked its fur, burying her face in it. The rabbit seemed to want her to cuddle it more so she sat on the bed and leaned back, holding the toy close to her chest.

Slowly her eyes closed.

I hope you are enjoying this story. Please leave your comments in the box.

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The Story of Goldie: A Journey Through Poverty Part 2

Artwork by me and Bing AI

“Come on.” Jack dragged her out of the door, pinching her arm as he did so.

“Ow!” Goldie shook him off as they descended the stairs. “What’ll happen to Peter?”

“Get switched. Prob’ly have a meal stopped, too. Shouldna ’ave kept money back. Mr Smith likes switchin’ ’e does. Don’t give ’im any chance to switch you. Do as ’e says, right and proper, and you’ll be a’right.” 

Goldie looked around. “What’s this place? Who lives in these rooms?”

Jack shrugged. “Mr Smith lives in one. Annie in another. The rest are Mary and her girls.”

“Mary said she wants me for one of her girls when I’m grown. What do her girls do?”

Jack paused on the stairs. “They’re whores. Know what them is?”

“I think so. A whore lived near us, before mamma died.” She sniffed and ran a hand across her face leaving a dirty smudge. “Lots and lots of men visited her. Mamma said she sold her body to them.” She screwed her face up. “I didn’t understand what she meant.”

They reached the door and Jack led her into the street. Rubbish blew past them, and the wind whipped Goldie’s hair into her eyes. A scrawny cat jumped onto a wall opposite.

Jack turned right along the street. Tall tenement blocks of houses rose on either side, cutting out the sunlight and making a corridor for the wind.

Goldie pulled her threadbare cardigan closely around her as she followed Jack along the familiar streets. As they passed one house, she paused, snuffling back tears. She turned to the boy. “I used to live there.” She pointed at the house. “We lived in a room at the back.”

“Did you have brothers an’ sisters?” Jack took her arm and pulled her away.

Goldie shook her head. “Papa went to heaven when I was very little. Mamma worked in a mill. She said I’d work there soon.” She sniffed. “I don’t want to work in a mill. Some of my friends got hurt real bad. They had to go under the machines to get bits of cotton. They call them sca…scave…scavengers.”

“Did you run away?” Jack asked.

Goldie nodded. “Mamma got poorly. She was being sick all the time and pooing. Our room smelled real bad. Then Mamma went to be with Papa in heaven.” She began to cry.

“Then Annie found me. I was very hungry and cold and she promised me somewhere to sleep and food to eat if I worked for Mr Smith.” Working for Mr Smith would be better than the mill.

Even if Mr Smith were a hard man, and it seemed he was, if she were a good girl and did as she was told, she would not get the cane.

Jack continued to lead her through the streets of the town.

Following, she found herself in a part of the town she did not know. The children sat on the ground opposite a church. 

Bells rang from the steeple calling the people to worship. 

Goldie noticed the gravestones surrounding the building. Her mother would not have the luxury of such. Goldie did not know what happened to her mother’s body. People came and took it away. 

A woman arrived to take her to the orphanage. The little girl had a fear of that place. Her mother had often threatened to send her there when she was angry.

Goldie looked around. This was where the ‘posh’ people lived.

The street was clean. Goldie looked at the houses. Most were tall with three stories above road level, and some had steps leading to a basement. Doors opened and people dressed in their best clothes flocked towards the church.

The men wore black or dark brown suits with white shirts and colourful cravats. High black hats were the height of fashion and every man sported one, removing it before entering the building.They shepherded their wives dressed in more colourful attire, although still fairly sober for church. Most of the dresses had bustles, but a few of the older women still wore the wide, hooped crinolines. Like the men, all wore hats.

They hustled their children into the church, barely looking at the two ragged children sitting opposite.

Goldie’s face fell. “What will happen if we don’t take anything back to Mr Smith? Will he switch us?”

Jack patted her on the back. “Don’t worry, Goldie. When they come out, they’ll feel they should do something for charity and then they’ll give us money. I ain’t never been here on a church day when I got nothing.”

The few passersby sniffed as they walked past, and one or two crossed the road. A couple dropped a few small coins in the children’s hats, but it was a  pitifully small amount. Then the church doors opened. The people spilled onto the road. A carriage drawn by a bay horse drew up and a family climbed inside.  The carriage trotted away.

People chattered outside the church. Goldie noticed the congregation beginning to disperse and was about to give up hope of anyone giving them alms. 

It was then that Jack stood. “Please spare a coin. Me and me sister is ’ungry. We ain’t ’ad nuffin to eat since yesterday morning.” He reached out a hand as a couple passed.

The woman searched in her bag and tossed a penny to the pair.

A little girl looked at Goldie. “Mamma, we can’t let such a pretty little girl starve. Give her something.”

The mother puckered her brow. “How do we know they will spend it on food? You know what these beggars are like.”

The girl looked shocked. “Mamma! You heard what the vicar said. ‘Jesus said when you feed one of these poor people, you are feeding me.’ And he said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.’ Jesus would not have left them begging without giving them something.”

The girl’s father came up to them. “She’s right, you know.” He felt in his pocket and dropped a coin into the hat. Then he shepherded them away.

Jack looked into the hat on the floor. His eyes opened wide. “A shilling! He gave us a whole shilling!”

During the next few hours several more people gave them money, and when the daylight began to fade, they made their way back to the house where Mr Smith lived.

When he saw how much they had gathered, his face almost split with his grin. “I knew you would be good as a beggar, Goldie. Now go and get something to eat.”

I hope you are enjoying this serialisation of my story inspired by Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

I love hearing from you. Please leave your comments in the comments box.

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Goldilocks Reimagined: A Darker Story Unfolds

I have been writing a few stories based on fairy tales. I’ve completed two. They aren’t exactly retellings, but stories inspired by them.

I thought you might like to read one of them. It’s too long for a single post, so I’m serialising it. I hope you enjoy it.

This story is inspired by the Tale of Goldilocks and the three bears.

But first, a brief reminder of the story.

You will remember that Goldilocks was walking in the forest and entered a cottage.

It belonged to three bears, mother, father and baby. She tried all their chairs, and only baby bear’s fit. She ate their porridge, but one was too hot, one too sweet and the last just right. She went upstairs and tried their beds. One too hard, one too soft and baby’s just right. Here she fell asleep.

When the bears came home, they found someone had been sitting in their chairs and eating their porridge. When they went upstairs, they found Goldilocks asleep in baby bear’s bed.

In the story, Goldilocks jumped out of the window, landed on a passing hay cart and was taken home.

Image created with Bing Image Creator

I’ve set the story inspired by this fairy tale in Victorian England.

Now read on.

The little girl woke as a loud voice called, “Come on, you lazy bunch of layabouts. Time to be working.”

She struggled to a sitting position stiff from sleeping on a thin mattress on the floor.

A lad of about twelve thrust a piece of stale bread into her hand. “Get your water from yon bucket.” He passed on to the next child.

Yesterday, a woman who called herself Annie, brought her here, but where ‘here’ was, she had no idea. Annie found her crying and shivering in the street. She had been nice to her, told her she would take her somewhere where she would have a roof over her head and something to eat.

There were five other mattresses on the floor, and children were slowly getting up from them. The boy with the bread was handing a slice to each child.

She took a bite from her slice. It was hard and tasted slightly mouldy, but she was hungry, so she swallowed it. She rose and wandered to the bucket. There were some chipped cups next to it and she dipped one to fill it, gulping the drink down.

She gazed around the room. The ceiling sloped and had wooden beams. The floor was bare wood and apart from the mattresses, there was nothing else.

The man who had shouted at the children stood next to a door. He pointed at the little girl. “You. Come here. What’s your name?”

She looked around to make sure it was her the man was talking to, then tiptoed towards him.” M-m-my n-n-na…” She burst into tears.

“Stop that.” The man scowled. “I’m Mr Smith. You will call me ‘Sir’. Got that? If you can’t tell me your name, I’ll call you Goldie. Now Goldie, how old are you? Do you know? You look about five.”

Goldie nodded.

Mr Smith looked down his long nose. “When Annie found you on the street yesterday, you were alone. Do you have any family?”

Goldie shook her head, still snuffling.

Mr Smith nodded and smiled. He looked at Goldie out of the corner of his eye. ” I’m going to help you, Goldie, and you’ll help me. You’ll get shelter and food from me, and in return you’ll work for me.”

The door opened at that moment and a woman entered. “Oh, I see you have a new child.”

She strolled up to Goldie and lifted a lock of her hair. “What a lovely colour. Like spun gold. She’ll make a good candidate as one of my girls.”

“Not until she’s much older, Mary.” Mr Smith laughed. “Undesirable as many of your clients are, I don’t think babies are on their list.”

Mary shook her head, smiling. “You’d be surprised what some of my clients want. I can supply most things, but even I draw the line at very young children.”

“Most noble of you. But you aren’t getting Goldie. She’s much too valuable to me.”

“Begging? Yes, I can see such a pretty child would make the punters feel guilty and then they’ll give more.” She gave a short laugh. “But bear me in mind when she gets old enough to join my establishment.”

“What do you want? You wouldn’t come up here for nothing.”

“Oh, I heard about your new acquisition and wanted to see if she is as pretty as rumour has it.”

Mr Smith shook his head. “Annie only found her yesterday, and already everyone knows about her.”

“Well, you know what it’s like round here. I’m off now I’ve seen her. Remember me when she’s grown up enough.” She flitted through the door, leaving Mr Smith scowling.

He turned to Goldie. “You’re to go with Jack. He’ll teach you what to do. Now get out of my sight.”

A boy of about ten with scruffy dark hair stood and came across to her. “I’m Jack.” He pulled Goldie towards the door as Mr Smith reached for a cane standing next to the bucket of water.

“Come over here, Peter,” she heard him say. He swished the cane, and it made a buzzing sound as it passed through the air. “I’ll teach you to keep money back. You need to hand over all you get.”

A snuffling boy of about eight years old dragged his feet as he walked across the room.

To be continued.

Did you enjoy this? Comments in the comments box, please.

Would you like to read more of my writing? You can buy any of my books by clicking on the cover in the side bar. It will take you to a page where you can buy from your favourite online store.

A chance for a free book to read during the holidays.

A Young Adult book from Kent Wayne. Well worth a read whatever your age.

You can read my 5*review of this book here.

Behind the Scenes of Horselords: Final Edits and Cover Design

I received the edited copy of Horselords on Sunday. I’ve now sent the final copy back to my publisher. The next step is the formatting and cover.

This is the fourth of the prequels to my Wolves of Vimar series. This novella follows the story of Davrael and Kimi, telling how they met and the problems their love put them through.

So far, I’ve told of how Carthinal’s parents met (Jovinda and Noli), how Carthinal came to become a mage (The Making of a Mage), and the early life of Asphodel (Dreams of an Elf Maid).

Hopefully it won’t be too long now before I can share the cover with you.

What we can learn from Goldilocks?

I just read this post. I’d never considered this as the theme of the story.

Review of The Day of the Vikings by J.F.Penn. A Novella

Overview.

An exciting read. I read it in one session.

Story.

Morgan works for ARCANE, an organisation that is more than it seems. She is sent to the British Museum to investigate the staff of Skara Brae. It is a small staff believed to be able to summon Ragnarok, the Viking Apocalypse.

While in the museum, a group of neo-Vikings arrives with a group being shown the Viking collection. When the staff is not there, their leader, an ancient woman, apparently summons the bones of the dead to rise up. The group then takes the visitors as hostages before escaping via a helicopter.

This leads Morgan, following the neo-Vikings, to the Isle of Iona where she finally finds the answers she seeks.

I don’t want to go into further details as I don’t want to spoil the story for you.

Blurb

She has been called many things: murderer, madwoman, monster. She will become only one thing: a god.

The Crone. A woman of legend, a creature of blood. A Valkyrie. She has tortured, murdered, maimed — performing all the rituals needed to call forth the power of Odin himself and summon Ragnarok. She just needs one more thing: the staff of Skara Brae, and her plans will be fulfilled.

But the staff is already in the hands of Morgan Sierra. An agent of ARKANE, the British agency tasked with protecting the world from supernatural crises, Morgan knows that giving up the staff could spell the end of all things.

Now the Crone has taken dozens of staff members, visitors — even children — hostage at the British Museum, demanding that Morgan turn over the staff. Willing to kill, possessor of powers beyond anything ARKANE has yet encountered, the Crone seems unstoppable.

Morgan’s only advantages are her wit, her skill… and Blake Daniel (of the best-selling Brooke and Daniel crime thriller series). Cursed with clairvoyance, Blake’s powers may be just enough to help Morgan turn back the Crone and stop the end of the world.

But the Crone has her own secrets. Able to weave illusions, to wield fear, even to call forth the dead Vikings of old. She is the most powerful adversary Morgan has ever faced. But will she be the last?

The Crone beckons. Ragnarok looms. And it is up to Morgan and Blake to deny them both.

Day of the Vikings is the fifth thrilling story in the bestselling ARKANE series by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author J.F. Penn, with an epic crossover to the Brooke and Daniel stories. Tap the link, get your copy, and discover why so many readers love the ARKANE.

Characters.

The main character, Morgan, is fully relatable. She is enthusiastic about her work.

I liked the character of Blake, who is clairvoyant, and can ‘read’ objects. He is a great help to Morgan in finding more about the staff. I discovered he appears in another series by Ms Penn, and so I am going to read those books, too.

Writing.

An excellently written book. Although short, I don’t think that was a problem. In fact, it might even be an advantage as you don’t need to put it down, but can finish it on one session.

The story grips you throughout and thanks to the excellent scene setting, you can see the surroundings and action.

There were no typos or other errors that I noticed.

I give this novella 5*.

Have you read this book, or any of J.F Penn’s other work? While I have read much writing help by Ms Penn, this is the first book of her’s I’ve read, but I will certainly be giving others priority to read. Let us know in the comments.

If you would like to receive an exclusive, free short story by me, called The Haunted Table, simply click the link. This will take you to the page where you can download it.

Maria and Tom have bought an antique table for the old cottage they have bought. When they hear strange noises in the night that sound like crying, they worry their house is haunted, but the sounds seem to come from the table.

They set about trying to find what is causing the disturbances. The answer is stranger than either of them had thought.

(Clicking the link will add your email address to my email list, but don’t worry, you can unsubscribe immediately if you wish. Nor will you get any spam. I only send out an email each quarter, or if I have any exciting news–like a new release.)

The importance of Love.

Life, Death and Other Characters. Geoff Le Pard

I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Blurb

What would you do if you were to host a dinner party and the sky wasn’t what you’d ordered? Could you find someone to shake out the creases from the clouds and tone down the wind to an acceptable zephyr? And what are the challenges facing a Portal Management Volunteer as they steer the recently departed to their chosen Hereafter? Or how would you organise your life if you were called to do God service just when you’d planned on making marmalade that weekend? Life, DEATH and Other Characters will inform and, where necessary, guide you through these and other complications amongst a lot of other short fiction that will educate inform and entertain. Well, maybe one out of three.

Review

As this is a book of short stories, my usual review is not applicable.

Geoff Le Pard has written a book of short stories that are not to be missed. Whoever you are, there is something for you here. I am not usually one for short stories, but I loved this.
There is such a variety of stories here. Some are irreverent, with tales of problems that God has; some are lough out loud funny; some are short; some are longer; some have deeper meanings for those who wish to search for them.
I love the tales where Death (or De’Ath as he has decided to call himself) is a character, but I can’t say I have a favourite story. They are all my favourites.
It is an easy read for when you have only a few minutes and don’t want to plough through a chapter of a full-scale novel. There will be a story that can fit into your time-scale. Or do what I did and start at the beginning and continue to the end.
Some of the stories are commentaries (disguised, of course) on modern life, and politics.
Whoever you are, I recommend this book to you.

I gave it 5*

If you enjoy short stories and would like to receive an exclusive, free short story by me, called The Haunted Table, simply click the link. This will take you to the page where you can download it.

Maria and Tom have bought an antique table for the old cottage they have bought. When they hear strange noises in the night that sound like crying, they worry their house is haunted, but the sounds seem to come from the table.

They set about trying to find what is causing the disturbances. The answer is stranger than either of them had thought.

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