Six Sentence Sunday

 It is a while since I participated in Six Sentence Sunday, but today I'm carrying on from yesterday's post and offering more from my latest release by Astraea Press, Vidal's Honor.

“You—!” Honor remembered to lower her voice and started again. “Are you implying we are going to ride through the water?” Consuela, she noted, didn’t appear any more pleased with this plan than she did. “But it is dark, what if we slip and fall?”

“What if those behind us catch up?” Juan snapped back, his patience dwindling.

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Sweet Staurday Sample

It's the weekend, so it's time for another Sweet Saturday Samples.  The week I'm sharing a snippet from Vidal's Honor, my latest Christmas Regency Romance published by Astraea Press.
Thanks for swinging by, because I always I appreciate it whe you share your thoughts.



http://tinyurl.com/d9572w9

Befuddled from lack of sleep and the struggle to  don her ever-damp garments, Honor let Vidal hoist her onto her mule.

“Why the urgency to move on in the dark? I thought Juan declared this an ideal spot to spend the night.”

“I told him of your belief we are being followed and that afterwards I spent the rest of the journey checking and am almost certain you are correct.”

“If this is the result, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.”

Vidal’s chuckle, low though it was, warmed her heart if nothing else.

“No, you were right to mention it. If we thought it safe enough, one of us would hold back to see if we can identify them, but it’s not, so we move on under the cover of darkness.”

From her perch on the back of the mule, Honor found herself eye-to-eye with Vidal. “Won’t the sound of our movements alert them to our intentions?”

“We have to risk it. Juan is sure if we go now we can gain enough ground to keep them guessing for a day or two.”

“Well, I hope he is right.” She tugged at the shoulder of her jacket in an effort to persuade the sleeve to line up more comfortably, and winced at the sharp stab of pain in her neck. “At least it has stopped raining, which will give our clothes a chance to dry.”

She swung round when Juan coughed on her other side. Even in the night-light Honor saw him shuffle. “We follow the river.”

 “So I gather.”

“You do not understand. We follow the river by using it to cover our tracks from those you say are following us.”
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Tuesday's Tales - Money

In this week's Tuesday's Tales, I'm tweaking my Tale to 'fit' this week's prompt which is money.

The first bit follows in directly from last week, then there is a 'break' which you can read in my Saturday and Sunday posts, then I take up the story again here.

When Vidal tried to press money into the man’s hand he stepped back, his hands behind his back. “Phillipe does not tell us all, but whatever he decides we all support him.”

“Then why talk to me?”

“Because if the French return and find Phillipe gone, they will not rest until he is found. If this girl is your affair you need to find her and let Phillipe come home.”

He offered his hand to his informant and shook it. “Thank you. I will endeavour to see Phillipe returns to you all safely.”

....  in the following scene Vidal is now talking to the guide who brought him safely from Gibraltar into Spain...

"...Surely you don’t think I’d leave you on your own. A lone traveller would draw attention.”

“How so?”

“Most would assume you to be a deserter and attack you for it.”

“What about your family?”

Juan’s eyes hardened, his lips thinned and he thrust his fists into his pockets. “I have no family. They were taken.”

Six sentence Sunday

This 'six' follows on directly from yesterday's post (below) and comes from my current Regency wip, Vidal's Honor.
Thanks to everyone for coming by.

You'll find plenty more wonderful authors at Six Sentence Sunday

“Please thank them for talking with us and that I fully understand and will leave immediately.”

Juan passed on Vidal’s message and returned; a basket in his hand. If we are going, we must do so immediately while we have enough light. They have given us food and water.

“We?”

“I am coming with you.

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Sweet Saturday Sample

For this week's Sweet Saturday Sample I'm continuing from where I left off on Tuesday. 
Lord Alastair Vidal hs arrived in Spain, only to discover Honor has left the village he was told about and no one knows where she is.
Thanks to everyone who visits, and as this is a first draft of my current WIP any comments will be appreciated.

Taking his time to stroll further round the collection of buildings Vidal made his way back to where Juan watched him. “Did they tell you where Phillipe has gone?”

“You have to understand,” Juan began, “ with the turmoil in our country, and Joseph Bonaparte on our throne, there are those who support him and his brother, while others, like us—“ he indicated the men he’d spoken with who were still watching them, “—who fight to restore our own monarch, communication is difficult. Trust is broken. Links are gone. We trust our own and pray we do not fall into the enemy’s trap when we connected with others who claim to support our fight. Phillipe told them little and they are offended with his lack of trust, even though they understand he acted for their protection. Few of them believed Phillipe’s assertion the newcomer was even his cousin so although they don’t know they think he has gone to warn them how close the enemy is getting.”

“If he can’t trust your own team of agents, do you suppose Phillipe will try to take the woman across Spain himself?”

Juan shook his head. “To do so would risk his own neck, not that that would stop him, but if he was uncovered it would bring retribution to his family and the rest of this community. They are afraid.”

Six Sentence Sunday

Today's six sentences follows on from yesterday's sample from my current WIP, which now has a name!  Vidal's Honor.

Thanks for your visits and support, they're all appreciated :-)

“Those men ambushed your husband in the open. To do that they had to assume they were invincible. That means they not only knew he was more than a scout for Lord Wellington, but they knew his orders for that day, which means Napoleon had an agent in the camp, someone close to your commander in chief.

“When Wellington routed Marmont at Arapiles those men probably slipped away without detection during the various conflicts or even when Wellington chased Marmont’s retreating troops hoping their disappearance will become just another statistic of any battle casualties.”

Spies? And counter spies and agents?

And her wonderful Dev, the man who loved her so tenderly, protected her so strongly, and danced with her in the moonlight only hours after their wedding had been a spy?

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Sweet Saturday Samples

Last week I shared a sample from my untitled WIP.  During the week I 'got' the title and so, this week I'm sharing a little bit more from what is now called Vidal's Honor.  In this week's sample, I have moved on several weeks in the story.

Thanks to everyone who visits, and I'd love to hear from you as this is a WIP with little editing so far.

“It is as I believed; there was French agent in your Admiralty, for only a traitor could pass on your husband’s identity. Now I am told the French are searching for you.”

“I thought we knew that?”

“It was a believable assumption given the circumstances,” Phillipe struggled to find the right words in English. “We assumed, but we did not ‘know’. Now we know.”

“How?”

“It is of no importance to you. All you need to know is that because your husband’s identity is known to the French you must leave.”

“Dev’s identity? Why would giving his name to the enemy make a difference?”

“Not his given name, Mrs. Beaumont,” Phillipe said. “Your husband provided your Admiralty and War department with vital information about movements and activities of the French armies. Information they could pass on to other divisions. He set up a network of underground units, men, rebels who objected to Napoleon installing his brother Joseph on the Spanish throne. No man survives long that kind of work using his own name.”

She wanted to dismiss Phillipe’s revelations as nonsense. Unbelievable nonsense, but if it had been, her husband would still be alive. “Are you trying to tell me Dev was some sort of spy? An agent?”

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7-7-7

Today I am heading for the 7th line of the 7th page of my current manuscript and offering you the next 7 lines.

They come from my current WIP/Regency Romance called Vidal's Honor.

“My dear,” he’d said the previous night as they lay together. “This one is the last and then we’ll be on our way home. Do you look forward to seeing your friends again?”

In truth, Honor didn’t know. So much had happened since she’d arrived in Spain as Dev’s bride. Sights no gently bred woman should see, experiences even the hardened ‘baggages,’ as the troops called the women who followed the drum, declared, and difficult for any of them to come to terms with.
 
 
 

Tuesday's Tales - City

Another Tuesday, which means it's time for Tuesday Tales again.  This week's prompt is 'City'. We can name a city or simply set our snippet in a city So, tongue in cheek, and offering a piece from my current untitled Regency WIP I am using a battle scene from Salamanca July23rd 1812 as my 'city'.

Salamanca – July 22nd  1812

...Why hadn’t he insisted Honor join the other women when Wellington sent them and the baggage far to the rear of the lines? Marmont was already moving his men in an attempt to outflank them. It wouldn’t work of course, couldn’t work; simply because in doing so he’d overextend his men, leaving them open to attack from Wellington’s different divisions. No way would their commander sit back and watch that happen without going into action. And Honor would be right there in the middle of it all without his presence or protection.

Knowing his wife would be on the watch for him, Dev slipped through the back of the tent and sought out his friend, Phillipe. They’d been together through many conflicts, long before he’d married Honor, and now he needed Phillipe’s word to see his wife safely away from Salamanca today.

Now.

For Dev had a premonition. One he hadn’t shared with his wife during the previous night.

Instead, he’d diverted her with, among other things, plans for their imminent return to England. This morning he’d written to his truest friend, Lord Vidal, asking him to watch out for and protect Honor when she reached home shores.

In the mean time he needed to know Honor would not become one of today’s battle victims, for to do his job properly he was charged with the task of discovering the intended movements of the enemy positions. They already knew numbers in the French divisions equalled, if not surpassed those of their own combined divisions. It was Marmont’s intentions that Wellington wanted clarification on.

Phillipe, in his position as Dev’s batman, and a local man, often passed information Dev gave him back to his team of guerrillas. Now, regardless of the outcome of his mission today, Dev needed the man to use his connections to keep Honor safe and spirit her away. He had to somehow arrange to send her on her way back home to London. Not an easy journey under any circumstances and with the combination of Napoleon and Joseph Boneparts’ armies plus rogue or deserting soldiers filling the roads or trying to escape across hill tracks it would be fraught with even more danger.

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Six Sentence Sunday

My six this week come from my Regency WIP. 

Mist, rising from the Thames swirled round their feet, while a brisk, dank wind blew any remaining alcoholic from their brains. The call of a distant night watchman informed anyone who cared to listen, that the early morning had advanced two hours beyond midnight. Vidal drew out his watch and confirmed the time as they walked in silence for several minutes.



“What ails you?” Vidal didn’t waste time in skirting round the situation. Dundas would not have invited his company at this time of night for simple pleasure.

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Tuesday's Tales 22nd May = Prompt ~ Pie

Welcome to another Tuesday's Tales.  Where does the time go between each one?  Today's prompt is 'Pie'.
My snippet today is a stand alone piece and as yet I have no idea whether it will fit into one of my WsIP or turn into a short story of its own.  Woe the trials and tribulations of the'pantser'!
Thank you to every one who visits and any comments are allways appreciated.

“Well will you look at that?” Maisie set her champagne flute on the table and stared towards the entrance.

“What? Where?” Florence, her grey coffered hair bobbing as she spun round in her chair, then bounced once more when her hand covered her wildly beating heart. Could it be? How could it be?

She’d moved away a few months after the memorial service for her only son. Moved right across the country, well more like from south to ‘up North’ to get away from the memories, and here he was—standing tall, and proud like his father before him.

“Look’s like he’s been in the wars.” Maisie’s voice cut through Florence’s shock. Her friend was right. A livid white scar from his chin to his brow crawled up his face like a millipede. Ten years had stripped away any naiveté from his features. Ragged, sharp boned and deeply sun-tanned. Apart from the scar Florence could be looking at Raoul’s father thirty years ago. The day she’d told him about her pregnancy.

The day he’d walked away from her and never returned. The day he’d sent divorce papers by special delivery less than an hour after his departure.

And now…

Now she sat in her seat, too stunned to move, and watched her son scan the room, became aware of the hushed voices whispering around their table, clearly audible now the band had ceased playing. Two men moved into the room and stood, one each side of her son, while he continued to scan the room.

Raoul cocked his head to one side, listening to the man on his right. Florence noticed the speaker’s hand emulate a circle, saw Raoul’s eyes narrow, harden and resume their search. Could she, when everyone else’s attention was riveted on the doorway, look away? If she didn’t she feared her heart, scarcely mended after ten years of grieving, would shatter all over again. And if she moved a single muscle, she knew with soul-deep recognition, her son would hone on the movement and come to her.

She’d dreamed of his return almost nightly for the last month. So much so, she’d stopped going upstairs to bed and slept in her armchair in front of the TV for the last week. But in the end it wasn’t her movement that foccussed her son’s gaze in her direction, it was Maisie’s.

“I swear, Flo—“ She dug Florence in the ribs, “—if I didn’t know better I’d say that was Raoul standing there.”

“It is.” Florence watched him move in their direction and tried to red his expression. ‘Flint-eyed’ didn’t begin to describe it. His mouth a thin white line, almost as pallid as his scar confirmed this would be no happy reunion, but why had he decided to return from the dead so publically?

Overhead lights glinted in the flash of silver in his hair above his right eye, above the scar. And for a moment fear, unexpected and unexplained threatened to rob her of her senses. She fought the curling blackness eager to steel her into oblivion and straightened her spine.

She knew, without seeing, that every eye in the room followed her son’s deliberate approach. Time stretched and compressed simultaneously.

The police, so impersonal, and yet, one, just one seemed genuinely caring when they’d turned up and told her Raoul had died in a car accident all those years ago.

The image of those men, three of them, standing at her front door and asking to come in superimposed itself on her present surroundings.

“He’s beyond recognition.” One told her as he passed her a cup of tea. “Fire…” another said. “No survivors.”

And yet they’d ‘handed’ over the body for burial.

Fury, fire-bright, as hot as Hades, shook her out of her memories. Regardless of who this man claimed to be, he wasn’t her son. He may look like him, but it was a fantasy, a ‘pie-in the-sky’ fantasy. No amount of wishful thinking would bring her son back, and if this man intended to try and dupe her into believing otherwise—

“Mother?”

His voice, softer than expected, and in total contradiction to the hardness of his features, rolled over her, curled around her heart and dug deep.

She couldn’t speak. Her words refused to push past the constriction in her throat. Her gaze never left his face. Whoever this man was, he even sounded like Raoul.

She shrugged off the hand on her arm.

“Flo!”

Maisie’s voice finally penetrated her shock, intruded her pain. As though in a dream, she refocused on her friend’s worried face. And this time she didn’t shake Maisie’s hand away when she caught hold of her arm.

“Let’s get out of here.” Maisie bent down to retrieve their bags, nodded to their table companions, after all, Flo thought, what did one say in circumstance like this?

“Yeah,” she said, fear, fury and grief boiling within. “Sounds like a plan.”

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SIx Sentence Sunday

It's good to be back for SSS and this week I am sharing 6 sentences from my recently accepted Regency romance No Job For a Woman.

Julian Fanshaw ignored the other letters in front of him when he recognized one from his long-time friend Freddie Dalrymple, now Lord Worth. He broke the seal and scanned the single sheet with growing concern.



‘Julian, my friend, I am writing to implore you to put aside whatever plans you have in hand and to set out immediately to stay with us for an indeterminate period of time.’


Thoroughly alarmed, Julian flipped the page in his hand to discover it had been dispatched more than a week ago.


‘If I bring to mind a certain student up at Oxford with us, and reveal he, and his wife, are and have been my sister’s neighbors for several years, it will give you but an inkling of the root of my concern.


‘It has come to my attention, due to the arrival of his brother upon the scene, and recent events concerning my sister, Deborah, I am persuaded you need not only to know what is happening here, but be on hand to assist in circumventing any consequences of actions taken against her.

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Sweet Saturday Samples

Sorry I have been mia so often recently and I hope to be more cnstant in the future. Today I am offering a sample from my current release, His Chosen Bride.  (Bk 2 in The Gasquet Princes series.)

“Miss Mon’ca!”



The sound of the child’s cry lent wings to Monica’s feet. She shot through the kitchen door, down the steps, and round the corner to the nearest paddock. She expected to see Rosie leading the child’s pony round the arena. Instead, the sight of the child clinging to the pony’s neck, his face hidden in the animal’s wind-blown mane, sent chills of fear down her spine.

Charlie-Boy, her neighbour’s three-­year-­old son, screamed again. “I wan’ Mon’ca!”

“What’s the matter, baby?” Keeping the fear from her voice, she reached up and let the child tumble down from the saddle into her arms.

“Tubby’s sick.”

“He is?”

Charlie nodded, his red-­rimmed eyes large and fearful. “He nearly falled and I thought I was going to get squashed.”

“And what did Rosie do?”

“She’s not here anymore.” Charlie-­Boy sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his chubby little hand.

“Did she say where she was going?” Monica assumed the child had misunderstood and her volunteer had gone to the stables for something.

“Her ‘bell’ wang and she cried and ran to her car. I got fwightened. And Tubby tripped and I thought he was going to fall.”

The ‘bell’ Monica knew was Charlie-­Boy’s name for a phone.

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Tuesday Tales 8th May - Finger

Sorry I've been MIA recently, but today my Tuesday Tale is an excerpt from my WIP on the third story in my Gasquet Princes series. Working title Sacha's Story.
Today's prompt word is 'Finger'
My thanks for your visit and comments.

Something was off.

Sacha couldn’t put his finger on it, but his personal alert system had gone haywire. No one could explain the loud bang he’d heard twenty minutes ago. Nor could they explain why nothing was disturbed when he’d done a personal check on all the outdoor buildings.

So what on earth was going on? Thankfully Simeon had phoned to say he’d be at the farm in another twenty minutes. But—

Sacha stalked to the sitting room window; then glanced at his watch. Forty minutes had passed since Simeon’s call, so where was he?

He watched the crimson coloured Porsche zip up the drive and come to a shuddering halt. Simeon’s car. But the man who slipped from behind the wheel and looked towards the front door was not his brother.

He looked liked Simeon, in fact if his gut didn’t tell him differently Sacha would consider his apprehension unfounded.

But a twin knew.

A twin recognised his sibling at a deep and instinctive soul level, and this imposter didn’t touch his soul. He glanced behind him when Liam laid a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be pleased to see Simeon, even if it is only for a few hours, before we are all engulfed in the next tier of Jubilee celebrations.”

“If the man approaching your front door was Simeon, I’d be delighted, but the man you’re watching is not Simeon, I’d swear my life on it.”

Liam swung him round and Sacha noted the pallor on his brother’s face.

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know why, or how, but my instinct tells me we are about to invite a cuckoo into your nest.” His dry tone was not lost on Liam, Sacha noted with satisfaction.

Strangers watching Liam go about his business could be forgiven for thinking he’d put the past behind him. But they’d be wrong.

Since the attempt on his younger brother’s life Liam, if Melanie didn’t restrain him, tended to go overboard about personal security these days, and Sacha appreciated the turmoil his bald statement would have on his younger brother.

Physically knocked back by Sacha’s claim, Liam stepped forward again and watched the man haul a briefcase from the passenger seat of the car and head for the front door. “Who would organise something like this?”

“The ‘who’ escapes me,” Sacha replied, “but the why is obvious.”

He swung round with the intention of heading for the hall to watch the man pretending to be his twin, enter the house, but found his path blocked.

“They why is not obvious to me, so before we greet this imposter, if imposter he is, you better share your conclusions,” Liam demanded.

His head snapped up, his attention on the closed sitting room door. “Whoever is behind this subterfuge is counting on their man getting past us. After all, if he can fool his brothers, then whoever has organised this exchange can be more confident their man will fool the public.

“And there’s his first error.” Sacha breathed in a sigh of relief when the doorbell peeled. Instinct could be twisted, but the stranger’s first mistake validated his instinctive belief in the switch. Now they had to find out the true identity of the new arrival and who was pulling these new and alarming strings.

He'd suspect Charles deBonet if he hadn’t died when Liam and Paxman rescued Melanie…

Then who?

And where was Simeon?

For lots more fabulous Tuesday Tales click HERE

A-Z Challenge - Day 22 - V & W

V & W

are for variation...

It doesn't matter what the subject is, no one will look as the same thing in the same way.

Few people will do things the same way although they reach the same end result.

Take writing.

Beneath every genre of wiriting there are sub divisions. Some, no, almosy all crossover from genre to genre, but within the main genre these crossovers will be approached differently.
They have to be.  You can't approach mystery iin a romance, the same way you will in a horror story.  While the mystery is the common denominator, they setting and characters within the horror story will act and react completely differently to those characters dealing sith a mystery within a romance.
That is just one example of varitation, but all you have to do is look around you.  Colour and the various shades of each. Flowers, animlas, buildings... nedd I go on?
Varioation in life is eessential, it is both our security and our challenge.

...and wonder

comes in a baby's first smile, the sound of your favourite song, your lover's touch. 

If you are open to them Wonder is all around us, whether it is in the seeking or  enjoying, it is a gift we can embrace or discard.  The power is in what you do with it.

There are around 1700 participants this year and you'll find a list HERE

Sweet Saturday Samples

After a few weeks away, today I'm back and sharing a short sample from my most recently accpeted novel No Job For A Woman - projected release date August 2012 with Secret Cravings Publishing.

My thanks, as ever, to everyone who visits and to say how much I appreciate your comments, because in the past they have been responsible for me making some major, and needed, changes to some WIPs.

“Again? What does he mean by ‘again?’” The fire died from her eyes and she stepped away from him. “What’s changed that Brandon broke his silence?”

Julian handed over the crumpled note.

“If you want to see your daughter again, hand over the papers by Thursday.”

“Thursday.” Deborah tapped one slim finger against the paper.

“Friday.” Her fist scrunched the note into a ball. “Brandon is to produce those papers before Thursday and I am to agree to wed him the following day. Where is the connection?” She spoke almost to herself and Julian leaned forward to hear her.

Ignoring him, she began pacing from one end of the room to the other. Julian caught Henrietta’s anxious look and shook his head. Freddie maintained his sister had a logical mind, and it interested him to see her ditch her indignation and address the latest calamity with a cool approach.

There are many other fabulous Samples HERE

A-Z Challenge Day 19 - S

S is for Selenite

While strickly speaking selenite is not a crystal, looing in any book about crystals and you will find it included.

It's not a hard crystal therefore relatively easy to work.  Working with selenite is one of my hobbies, and I love every minute of it.

http://wand-a-lustre.yolasite.com/

What is Selenite?
Selenite is a crystallized form of gypsum. The name Selenite comes from the Greek word for moon and means “moon glow." The grain of the Selenite gives a lustrous shine that goes down the length of the wand to create a beautiful visual effect.

Selenite clears negativity from all other crystals, and is a powerful tool for learing negativity and mis-balance from people and pets. It is also happy when working in with their partners to help restore balance to the natural environment.

Selenite Wands glow with a shimmery, pearl-like luster, and when partnered with aditional crystals, the selenite amplifies their properties.

I am also an author of contempory romance with a smigeon of mystery, and you may often hear authors talk about how their characters 'talk' to them.  So it is when I work with selenite.  It seems to have a mind of its own, and rarely does it end up they way I anticipated.

There are around 1700 participants this year and you'll find a list HERE

A-Z Challenge Day 17 - Q

Q is fo Quotes

Today is another and obvious day for some more quotes, so without further ado, here we go...






If you think you are too small to be effective, you have never been in bed with a mosquito.  Betty Reese

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.  Aristotle

Everybody is somebody, but nobody wants to be themselves. Gnarls Barkley

There ain’t no rules around here. We’re trying to accomplish something.  Thomas Edison

It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.  Henry David Thoreau

Bureaucracy is the art of making the possible impossible.  Javier Pascual

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.  Reinhold Niebuhr

We can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.  Albert Einstein

Too often we enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.  JFK

Always forgive your enemies - Nothing annoys them so much.  Oscar Wilde

To an adolescent, there is nothing in the world more embarrassing than a parent.  Dave Barry

Before I got married I had six theories about bringing up children; now I have six children and no theories. John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester

Raising kids is part joy and part guerilla warfare. Ed Asner

All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better.  Ralph Waldo Emerson

Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.  Buddha

There are around 1700 participants this year and you'll find a list HERE 

A-Z Challenge Day 16 P

P is for Paranormal

At the end of last year I joned a lovely group of writers who post a story each week to a given word prompt. In January this year the prompt word was LIES, and this story - a paranormal horror (and horror is SO NOT my thing) evolved.
So today my P is for my Paranormal horror story.  LIES.


Jenny skipped along the street, her pigtails flying, her eyes shining, and a permanent smile on her face. She carried her present for Shirley in the plastic carrier bag hanging from her arm, her Cinderella costume blowing in the breeze. Today her bestest friend was celebrating her ninth birthday with a fancy-dress party, and next week it would be her turn. Somehow, the figure nine seemed more grown-up than eight. Nearer double figures.

“You going to Shirley’s party?”

She’d seen the boy in the school playground. Always on the edge of a group, always watching, and, she shivered now, something about his eyes made her uneasy. Today was no different, and his costume didn’t help. His smile was inviting, warm and almost gleeful; yet, secretive, Shirley decided.

“What are you dressed up as?” She studied his cape and the scythe he carried, its blade gleaming in the sun.

“The Grim Reaper,” he said. “And my friend Herakles will be joining me in a moment.”

Damien, that was it! She’d never liked the name because it always made her think of demons; and demons, she knew, were scary. Lately they filled her dreams, turning them to nightmares.

She never quite saw their faces in her dreams, only heard their laughter, when it turned dark and evil and woke her up.

For the last couple of nights, she’d tried in vain to wake from the nightmares. The demon stood there watching her. Whatever she did, wherever she went in her dreams, the demon stood there watching in silent celebration.

Jenny looked at the boy walking beside her. Strange, she’d never noticed before, but if her demon had a face it would be like Damian’s.

“How old are you?” she asked in an effort to shake off her qualms. “Aren’t you too old to come to Shirley’s party?”

“Age, is in the head.” Damien smiled. “After all, you think nine as far more grown-up than eight, don’t you? When in reality it’s just the beginning of another day, another number you’ll hang on to for a year.

“If you’re lucky, that is.”

His eyes, dark as obsidian, gleamed in the sunshine, his hair reminded her of the huge raven that stole food off the bird table this morning, and cawed at her mother when she chased it away.

Sometimes, in a certain light, Damien reminded her of the old man who lived in the end house on the street. Rumour and gossip abounded about him, and the school children ran past his home; half hoping he’d come outside, and terrified he might!

“Never see a light on in that house, me dear,” old Mr. Hawkins, from two doors down, told her one day. “Best to stay clear of the place. That’s what I say.” And cackling he’d wandered off into the nearest shop.

Jenny stopped at the pedestrian road crossing and waited for the lights to change from red to green.

“It’s safe to cross now.” Damien told her.

She stepped into the road, thankful Damien hadn’t followed. Reflected in the shop window ahead of her she saw him standing on the pavement, watching her, his smile one of satisfaction this time.

She didn’t hear the car that ‘came from nowhere,’ didn’t hear the screams of horror that filled the air when the car never stopped, never saw Damien vanish into thin air, to reappear beside the driver of the car.

“Promise me she didn’t suffer,” he demanded of Herakles. “I didn’t like lying to her, she was a sweet kid.”

“She didn’t suffer,” his companion assured him.

There are around 1700 participants this year and you'll find a list HERE