Stranded At Santum Close (5)

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(Photo credit: Marabelo)

Even such is time, which takes in trust

Our youth, our joy, and all we have,

And pays us but with age and dust;

Who in the dark and silent grave,

When we have wandered all our ways,

Shuts up the story of our days:

Apart from which earth, and grave, and dust,

The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.

Linda repeated Sir Walter Ralegh‘s poem ‘Epitaph’ over and over again as she watched the body of her assailant self-combust. It all started with a strange shadow falling in front of her snarling attacker, who fell down immediately and began to shake uncontrollably, foaming in the mouth. She struggled to release herself but it was futile, she persisted and only succeeded in falling back, hitting her head on the tiled floor. She gritted her teeth in frustration, staring hard at the ceiling and wondered what she would do next and that was when she began to choke.

Linda dragged herself away slowly, so she could see what was happening and her heart stopped in her mouth, her attacker had been reduced to ashes, save for his lower limbs and shoes, he was burnt out. She whimpered as she struggled feverishly, rolling to her side, she managed to stand to her feet but with her hands still tied back, it was very painful. Sweating profusely, Linda refused to look at the ashes on the floor, the only thing on her mind was freedom.

Outside, a  little girl skipped along the slippery sidewalk, her long blonde hair dancing with the wind, her short, pleated skirt swirled around her knees. The smell of rain and rotting leaves hung heavily in the air. She stopped suddenly and a chuckle escaped her pink lips when she saw a black BMW parking beside her.

She stared at the shrivelled old man on the back seat.

Bernstein Joel Bonnke tried to smile but it ended in a grimace and he put his bony hands on his parched lips, he knew that he looked awful.

The driver of the BMW got out, a tall, lean, bony man with bushy eyebrows. The man opened the door for Bernstein, who stepped out like royalty, his eyes still firmly trained on the girl, who curiously, was still staring at him. The leafy street was deserted at that time of the day, it was mid afternoon, and Bernstein was glad for the privacy.

He approached the inquisitive little girl, a fixed smile on his gaunt face.

‘How are you my lady?’

‘I am fine, you don’t look well, are you ill?’ she asked, her blue eyes searching Bernstein’s face. And he felt uncomfortable under her piecing gaze, his visit to London was meant to be a quick one, he doesn’t want to leave any trace or clues if he could help it.

‘Yes my dear, old age is my disease,’ he answered smoothly and reached for her head, she allowed him ruffled her hair for a few seconds, then without warning,  a chill went through his body, it was akin to an electric current. He removed his hand quickly and scampered away, his body guards glared at the girl but she was unperturbed. She watched as they all entered the last house on the street, she could not move and her eyes never left the end of terrace house.

‘Amber!’

Someone called her, and she turned her attention to the petite woman standing on the front porch of the house across the street, it was her mother. She skipped towards her, there was a wild look on her face.

‘Mama, are you okay?’ Amber asked anxiously.

There was no sound and her mother later screamed in reply. Amber turned to look at what had upset her so. What she saw turned her blood to ice.

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Gordon held his sons close, the tears refused to fall. He was still in shock. He had just come in from the police station. The police had interviewed him all night, and they had interrogated each of his sons as well, though they stated blandly that they were merely following procedures but Gordon knew better. The bullet that killed his twenty-three year old son was the exact replica of the bullets he used for his semi automatic assault rifle. He was mourning for his son, praying that his wife would return home safely and trying to prove his innocence and that of his sons.

It was a horrible way to live.

Luke, Gabriel, and Peter moved away from their father’s embrace, the tragedy of Eliza’s death was still fresh and with the police breathing down their necks, they were practically living in hell. The police seemed to be hounding them than pitying them.

Luke stood up and went to his room, he’d hardly spoken a word since he heard the news. Gabriel stood up and sauntered to the window, then turned back abruptly and said with clenched teeth,

‘You caused these entire problems dad! If mom hadn’t disappeared, Eliza would still be alive now!’

Gordon thought about Gabriel’s accusations and replied calmly,

‘Eliza’s death had nothing to do with your mother’s disappearance. I believe he was killed because of the contents of your mother’s diary.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Gabriel shrewdly, his dowdy appearance further heightened by the stubble on his jaw. At twenty, his life peaked too soon. He bagged a first class honours degree in Engineering from the University of York but sadly, was not keen to do anything else but smoke cannabis all day, a habit that had put him at loggerheads with his mother. Gordon also suspected that Gabriel was jealous of Eliza’s success.

Eliza was running his property business, and doing a good job of it. After college, he had refused to go to the University; rather, he had leached on to him, following him to auctions. Within months, Eliza had bought three properties, renovated the houses, and made a profit of more than three hundred thousand pounds.

Gordon was a proud father.

‘There were some things in your mother’s diary that Eliza saw, I was certain he was shocked when he did. He gave the diary to me and shortly after that, he was killed.’

‘Where’s the diary?’ Gabriel asked quietly.

‘I have given it to the police,’ Gordon said carefully, looking at his son, ‘they believe the contents of the diary was behind the death of Eliza and could be behind your mother’s disappearance, hopefully, the diary would clear our names.’

Gabriel locked eyes with his father, and Gordon shuddered with fear. It was the cold, ruthless eyes of a killer.

Who in heaven’s name is Gabriel Leonhard! Gordon thought with a deep sigh, he wondered when the nightmare would end.

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My publisher, Arrow Gate, has indicated their interest in this story, so I am afraid, this would be the last post on this story! But if anyone is interested to know more about the mystery and intrigue surrounding the Leonhard’s family and the grotesque Bernstein Joel Bonnke, you can subscribe to my newsletter and when the novel is released next summer, you’ll be the first to get a copy.

NP: July has been a special month for me, I signed up for WordPress on 17th of July, 2012 and my first post was on the 31st of July 2012. So it’s exactly a year ago that I started this blog, although I didn’t start serious blogging until mid October, it’s been a great journey so far. I have made great friends and didn’t regret starting this blog.

I also celebrated 13 years of wedded bliss to my sweet husband Kay! It’s been a great month!! (He refused to have his picture taken, he’s so shy! 🙂 ) I hope you all had something to celebrate… the gift of life!!!

I love and respect you all, you’re all awesome!

Much love, always!

🙂

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Secrets And Skeletons

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 (Photo credit: Ugadew)

 Secrets and skeletons skipping in my room.

I dodged their fiery gaze and pretended not to see.

‘Can’t be kept in forever!’ They hollered.

Still, I pretended not to hear.

‘When the time is right, I’ll let you out!’

I surmised.

This is a funny poetic thought for me, sometimes we deliberately keep secrets, sometimes we don’t, but just find out that some things are best kept in the dark for a while. Do you have secrets? (in retrospect I don’t think I do) And what is your worse kept secret? If you have one do let me know. Enjoy today, and the rest of your week!

Much love, always.

🙂

 

Stranded At Santum Close (4)

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(Photo credit: jtkunley)

The man fell down with a  heavy swoop, hitting the ground like a bomb, his eyes turned red and Linda screamed, staring at her assailant in shock.

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A day after Linda’s disappearance, Gordon was desperate to find answers and he decided to check his wife’s things. He rummaged through the contents of the drawers in their room as sweat poured from his agitated body in torrents. He threw his wife’s clothes on the floor, looking around with a deranged glint in his eyes and swore softly under his breath. His gaze swept the room clean and he shook his head in despair, he was sure he had checked everywhere.

Eliza appeared at the doorway with arms akimbo and his demeanour spelt trouble but Gordon was not in the mood for his arguments.

‘Dad, what do you think you’re doing?’

Gordon sighed in defeat and answered, ‘I am looking for clues son, anything that could show me what to do!’ Eliza considered that, came inside the room, then sat down on the bed.

‘I found mom’s diary on the table when she left for work yesterday, she must have forgotten it, you might find some answers there.’ ‘Eliza said quietly, his eyes sad. Gordon took the blue diary from him and held it to his heart.

‘Thanks son, I’ll see if I can find anything in it.’

Eliza nodded and left the room and the next thing Gordon heard was a deafening sound as gunshots erupted outside his bedroom, he heard stomping footsteps and his heart broke into a million fragments.  Disregarding his own safety, Gordon bolted out of the room after his son, but it was too late. Eliza was lying on the corridor with blood pouring out of his chest wound.

‘No!!!’ Gordon yelled and held his son close to his chest, weeping uncontrollably. He gently laid him back, ran into his room, yanked open the door of his walk in wardrobe, picked up one of his semi automatic rifles, and strode out of his room, darting downstairs but there was no one around. Minutes later, sounds of siren tore down his street and Gordon finally realized, that  his life was rapidly going downhill.

Three police officers alighted from their cars, their gloomy eyes suggested they hated the sight of the grief ridden man whose house had become accursed.

************

I appreciate everyone who has followed this story thus far, the culminating part would be posted next week. Do continue to enjoy the rest of your week!

Much love, always. 🙂

Stranded At Santum Close (2)

Statue of Archangel Michael by August Vogel ab...

 Hamburg, Germany

The lone figure toddled along the street; the warm night air was like poison to his troubled soul. He dragged his left leg along and grunted with each painful step. His hunched shoulders were home to a coat, which hung on his gaunt frame like shredded shrouds. His small, beady eyes were still sharp and bright. He moved slowly but surely towards St Michael’s Church. When he neared the church, he glanced wearily at the bronze figure of Archangel Michael, which stood at the portal of the church conquering the devil but the image merely intensified his uneasiness.

He stiffened at the horrible thought that crossed his mind, ‘is any of the Leonhards still alive? If so, my soul be damned.’ At the ripe old age of 81, Bernstein Joel Bonnke believed his bones would not rest in his grave until he has seen an end to the last descendant of the cancer of Germany. His shaky head glared at the picture in his right hand, it was the picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman,  her features were lovely, but as far as he was concerned, she carried in her genes, an evil so potent, it must not be allowed to sprout. Bernstein gritted his teeth in quiet anticipation, if things worked according to plan, then his meeting at Santum Close would be successful.

 

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Gordon’s car glided smoothly into the driveway, he killed the engine and opened the door of his Aston Martin. He closed it loudly for emphasis and muttered under his breath,

‘I’m still angry!’

He strode towards the door and stopped short, a creepy feeling slowly made its way down his spine. A worried frown crossed his taut face. He couldn’t place it but suddenly, he wanted to hold Linda in his arms, his earlier anger evaporated instantly.

He opened the front door and met a full house.

His mother and sons sat with glum faces while three police officers stood sentry close to the kitchen, whispering to themselves. Gordon’s heart sank; he knew something bad must have happened to Linda.

‘Hey mom,’ he croaked out, there was a stubborn lump on his throat.

His mother, Bertie stood up. She was a plain Jane, round, matronly but with the sweetest smile ever. She sauntered to where her son stood sheepishly, looking like a cat caught stealing a neighbour’s milk and held him close.

‘Linda didn’t make it to the office.’ Bertie whispered sadly, her eyes brimming with tears.

Gordon moved away from his mother’s embrace and faced his sons, they didn’t utter a word, but their accusing eyes spoke volume.

The police officers approached cautiously, their faces, deadpan and serious.

Eliza stood up and went to his room; Gordon stared at his retreating back and knew he has lost his son. He watched the police officers as they approached him and the knot in his stomach tightened as they inched closer.

They told him the news he had dreaded since stepping into the house.

 

***********************************

One thing I’ve realised about relationships is this, we tend to jump to conclusions quickly. Suspicion and mistrust kills love faster than unfaithfulness and you know what I’m going to say next – Live well and love well.

The next part of this story would be next Wednesday, I appreciate your comments! 🙂

I write like Jeffrey Archer, I don’t plan my stories, I just write as the pen leads! I love you guys, and do enjoy the rest of this great week.

NP: There’s one thing though – I’m having problems commenting on all the blogs I visited yesterday, it’s like been banned from speaking to your friends! 😦  I do hope WordPress would fix this!!

Much love, always!

🙂

 

 

Stranded At Santum Close

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Linda moved away from husband, tears in her eyes. She hated his anger and bickering, it was like a stab wound to her delicate heart.

‘Answer me!’ Gordon screamed spurning her around, she slipped and landed on the floor, grimacing in pain. But Gordon was past caring, he bent over her, his dark hair dishevelled. His six-foot frame shaking with uncontrollable rage. There was a deranged glint in his eyes.

‘Who the hell is big Joe? I sure don’t know him among your cousins,’ he snarled and raised his massive hands as if to strike her, she averted his gaze and hid her face under the crop of her arms. Gordon continued his tirade of abuse nonetheless,

‘You have his number on your phone, you have him on LinkedIn, Facebook and Twitter and yet, I don’t know him, answer me!’

Then he bent down and carried her effortlessly from the marble floor of their five bedroom end of terrace property and threw her on the bed. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs and knew their sons must have heard the noise.

‘Keep your voice down,’ she begged but he continued, ignoring her pleading.

‘You are now a celebrity eh? Having men eat from your palms but listen to me and listen good,’ he narrowed his eyes to drive his points home, ‘you ARE still my wife, and must tell me everything!’

And with that, he stomped out of the room, almost colliding with Eliza, their eldest son. She heard him taking the car keys from the fire-place, moments later, the sound of raving engines soon became a distant echo.

Eliza lingered at the doorway, his face puffed up from sleep. He stared at his mom and the sadness in his eyes wrenched her heart out. Without a single word, he closed the door and walked away.

Linda decided not to cry, her tears would achieve nothing, the only thing that could ease her pain was work. She leapt up from the bed and went straight to the bathroom. As she scrubbed her body, she wondered why Gordon, her husband did not trust her anymore.

They’ve been married for twenty-five years, they met at college and have been together ever since. Linda’s faithfulness to her husband and kids has never been in doubt, until now. Gordon was the only one who doubted her – all her friends and extended family knew she would lick the ground he walked on and she knew he loved her too, but why the sudden mistrust and jealousy?

Linda shook her head in confusion and finished bathing. She left the bathroom and sauntered to the room. Within minutes, she finished dressing and was ready to go. She lingered briefly at the full length mirror in the bedroom. She was forty-five years old but looked thirty. Her luscious dark hair flowed easily to her back, her full painted lips parted in an empty smile and her eyes looked sad.

Linda was aware of her extraordinary beauty but it didn’t get to her. Her well proportioned body seemed to have fared well regardless of the four children which came out of her.

She rubbed her slim manicured hands on her face and sighed.

‘I love you Gordon.’ she said aloud but her feeling of sadness persisted.

She left the room and saw Eliza and his brothers outside the door.

‘Mom, dad is getting worse,’ Eliza said in a matter of fact tone, he looked worried.

‘It’s just a phase,’ Linda replied in an unconvincing tone, ‘it would pass.’

She hugged her sons and slowly made her way down the stairs.

‘What about the family picnic? Today is bank holiday mom, I don’t want you to go to work.’ said Luke, her last son.

‘I have to,’ she said, ruffling his blonde hair, his pale skin grew paler at her touch.  When she got to the living room, she took the second car keys but on second thoughts, left it on the centre table.

‘I won’t be long, just a few files to work on and I’ll be home in time for lunch.’

Eliza nodded absent-mindedly.

Unbeknown to him, that would be the last time he would set his eyes on his mother.

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I’ve not written short stories in a while, I wrote this weeks ago and just stumbled on it while I was musing about some real life events. Through out this month, I’ll write this story, it’s loosely based around true events that I’d seen happened to some very close friends. But I’m going to fabricate some facts as well. I’ll post this story once a week and when it’s done, provided I get great response from you my friends, I’ll think of what to do with it.

The next instalment would be Wednesday, but I’ll still be posting ‘breaking news’ (life experiences) as they come.

A word of advise, live well – there are no perfect relationships but you can be the best, wherever you find yourself!

Have a wonderful week!

Much love, always.

🙂

A New Life

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(Photo credit: Arifhasan)

I watched in awe as splendour drips from your throne.

I asked you this questions,

How do you heal broken bones?

How do heal crushed spirits?

How do you heal broken homes?

How do you save man from himself?

How do you save the depressed?

The hungry?

The weak?

And the forgotten?

And you answered me, your eyes filled with kindness,

‘I infuse life

Look at my incredible creations,

the rolling hills, the birds, the flowers

my mountains in the clouds,

I give new life, even when the old wears away…’

Then I woke up.

This my poetic thought for this week, sometimes when we feel weak and tired of life, ( and it can happen to the most positive person on earth) just remember that you’re not alone. You’re not an accident in the equation of life, your life matters, you don’t have to believe in a God to know that life didn’t begin with ‘the big bang theory’ there is a reason for YOU. Let that be at the back of your mind through out this month. This is the first day of a beautiful month, a month that I hope would be free from heart aches and troubles for mankind, life is incredibly short but it can also be awesome and beautiful. I wish you sound health, peace and love where ever you are in the world! 🙂

I have missed many posts, friends, do bear with me, I promise to read all your awesome posts as soon as I can. I wish you all a prosperous and peaceful month, above all, please… Live well…

Much love, always.

🙂 🙂

The Plagiarism Curse!

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Just imagine this scenario…

You’ve worked your brains off, burnt the midnight oil, toiled endlessly to bring out your dream book. Then just imagine your horror, when you see your book ( yes the same one but with some changes here and there) on Amazon and maybe by a mainstream publisher! You can imagine your horror and dismay.

It’s akin to someone violating you, taking away what belongs to you. I have read at least two posts on the subject and I just want to add my bit to it.

If you are a self published author or traditionally published or whatever, just ensure that you get a copy right for your works. It’s so important, it’s SO vital. Don’t make the mistake of thinking, ‘yeah, my work is out, nobody can plagiarise or steal it!’ But people do STEAL novels, works of art etc.

As much as I love people and all that, I’m not a novice… There are BAD people out there, worse than the devil (if you believe he exist!) So a word is enough for the wise.

If you want to register your work in the UK, go to the this link, I registered mine there. http://www.copyrightservice.co.uk/  If you live in other parts of the world,  I believe you can still register your works with them. But you can still do a bit of research, Google it, find out from other sources and try to REGISTER your work now! It’s just a few pounds or dollars as the case may be.

And this is a disclaimer; I’m not being paid by anyone to do this but I believe I owe it as a duty to my fellow authors, we need to stick together against rogues and thieves!

The plagiarism curse will not happen to us, and if you’re not a writer but need patent for your business, please, don’t delay! Register your work to save you heartaches in the future!!

Now enough of my moaning, how are you guys doing today? I hope you’re all good wherever you are. Enjoy the rest of your day and live well.

Much love, always!  🙂  🙂