How Scary is This?

Did you know that Halloween is the second-largest commercial holiday in the U.S., following Christmas? And that one in five people will buy a costume for their pet (Really?)

Seems like we’ve been carving pumpkins, planning silly outfits, and buying lots of scary Halloweeny things for ages.

But Halloween has scary origins that stem from the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, when people believed the souls of the dead would come back to haunt them.

Here’s a bit about how it’s been interpretated in the pages of my Jack Drummond Thriller, Witchling…

Prologue

The big Irish wolfhound quivered, his back rigid, hackles rising as he sensed the danger.

‘Easy boy,’ the man soothed, laying a reassuring hand on the dog’s tangled, grey coat. But the wolfhound cowered, lowering his head as he let out a low, warning growl.

‘Shush, Mookie!’ the man ordered. ‘You’ll give us away!’

The dog slid deep sombre eyes up to his master. He was still unsettled.

‘And you can stop with the accusing. It won’t be long now.’ The man narrowed his gaze, focusing on the security booth. The old boy inside was pouring himself another dram of whisky from his half bottle. Any minute now, it would take effect. He was already appearing drowsy, but he still lifted the glass and drained it. His head was beginning to droop. His shoulders sagged, and Pagan watched as the man slumped over the table.

‘At last,’ he muttered, moving quickly with his dog across the forecourt of the office building. He reached the man and put two fingers to his neck. Satisfied that there was still a pulse, he quickly pocketed the whisky bottle and glass, taking a second to check the four CCTV screens were frozen. Knowing the building as well as he did, it had been easy to disable the cameras and knock out the alarm. There were rich pickings inside and he wanted all of them. A slow smile began to quirk his mouth.

‘Come on, Mookie,’ he whispered. ‘There’s work to be done.’

Pagan Finlay was not aware of the eyes that watched him sprint across the forecourt. But the dog knew. He was growling again.

‘Stop it, Mookie. There’s no one out there.’

They were at the glass doors now. The elderly security guy had left them unlocked. Pagan grinned as he went into the building. The dog followed. There were computers and printers in every office. All good stuff, but it was the smaller items, Pagan was after, equipment he could carry away - and he knew exactly where to find it.

The office was one of the biggest in the building. He let himself in and looked around the darkened room. That was when he heard the click of a door opening and the soft whooshing sound as it closed. His heart gave a lurch. Was it the security guy? No, it couldn’t be. Pagan had mixed enough of the crushed pills with the whisky he’d given him to keep the man out for hours. But somebody was in the building. The dog’s instincts had been right.

Pagan squared his shoulders, listening. Was that a footfall? Someone was playing tricks, trying to spook him? He swallowed hard. ‘Come out!’ he called. ‘Show yourself!’ He wanted to sound assertive, but inside he was trembling.

The door behind him creaked open. Pagan froze, his eyes searching the dark. His stalker was close. He could feel their presence. Oh my God! His heart was thudding.

He could hear them breathing! An icy fear shot through him. ‘Who’s there?’ he called. His voice sounded odd. Where was Mookie? Why was he not growling now? He drew in another breath, not daring to move. ‘Who’s there?’ He spat out the words. ‘Show yourself.’

The sharp jab of pain in the back of his neck had his eyes flashing wide with shock. He clutched at his neck feeling the warm gush of blood trickle through his fingers. His knees buckled. A face swam before him as he slumped to the floor.

Pagan let out a tormented gasp. The face was still there – and it was smiling at him.

‘Why?’ he mouthed, his eyes pleading. But it was already too late.

Darkness swirled all around, engulfing his mind as he drew one last shuddering breath before he sank into oblivion.

*Download your cut-price copy of Witchling here for £1.99, or here for $2.99.

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Mousehole Christmas Harbour Lights sprung from a simple village idea to string fairy lights around its harbour. Year on year the display grew until the whole harbour area and beyond glittered with a floating spectacle of twinkling lights that soon became so popular they are now a major annual tourist attraction.

My writer’s imagination was already working. Amid the hurly burly of these celebrations, as thousands of visitors packed into the tiny village to see the lights, and cars and coaches jostled for space in the parking areas …a child vanishes.

It was the start of A Christmas Without Merrie, a short story that was to become part of my Christmas collection, A Candle on the Christmas Hearth.

My incredible ARC team members are reading the book right now and I’m already grateful to them for those literals, spelling and other problems I suspect they will find.

The final edits are still to be done, but I’ve learned from experience that my ARC readers will make my story so much better.

It can be pre-ordered for £1.99 HERE and $2.99 HERE.

*Note - The first story, a Cornish Christmas Obsession is a retelling of a previously published Loveday Mystery.

To find out more about my books, visit my new website. They’re all here. I love the accompanying mood music, but let me know how you feel.

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A final thought. Want to secure good luck for the coming year? Just catch a falling leaf by October 31.

It’s easy. Look up, select your leaf, and go for it.

Actually it’s not that easy, but it’s loads of fun.

Happy reading.