Midnight Feast by Natasha Duncan-Drake #GhostStory #LuckOfTheDraw

Midnight Feast

Natasha Duncan-Drake

Luck of the Draw #1

A/N: This is the first in my new Luck of the Draw series. It's called that because it is inspired by a set of storytelling dice a friend gave me for Christmas a little while back. Six dice, six different elements to include in a story. Great for moments of writer's block to get the creative juices flowing. Since it's October, a ghost story came to mind for this one. Enjoy!
If you're a writer and need a little nudge to get the creative juices flowing or just fancy having a go, feel free play along with the prompts. Drop me a comment to let me know what you came up with 😊.

Word count: 676

~*~

Prompts: Hat | Clock | Meal | Moon and Stars | Rain cloud | Phone

~*~

Bea glanced at the clock and groaned. It was past midnight. 

Throwing her wet hat onto the table she plodded towards the fridge. She knew she would regret it as soon as she went to bed, but she was starving. She needed food. No doubt she would have the weirdest dreams.

Everything had gone wrong from the moment she'd crawled out of bed that morning. No hot water for her shower thanks to her dick of a soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend Keith. She'd been late for work because of a broken-down bus on the railway crossing. Lunch had turned out to be a five-minute affair where she had almost choked on her sandwich. Then she'd had to stay after hours to be in on a phone call with the US which had turned out to be completely pointless and nothing to do with her. And her train home had been cancelled twice due to staff shortages thanks to all the disruption from the morning.

The universe hadn't been done with her then either. When she'd climbed onto the train there hadn't been a cloud in the sky with twinkling stars and a bright moon. When she'd climbed off it had been throwing it down like Noah's flood.

She was soaked, she was fed up, and she was downright hangry.

No doubt Keith was already tucked up in bed snoring, the arsehole. They were stuck with the lease for another month and, until then, she had to live in the same house as the cheating bastard. She wouldn't have minded if he'd just told her. It had been more than obvious that their relationship was headed in the wrong direction for a couple of months, but no, he had had to go and cheat with her ex-best friend.

Well, she could be petty too and banged her way around the kitchen as she prepared to make a croque monsieur.

She had bread, cheese, ham and a jar of bechamel all ready to go. It was just the comfort food she needed. With the frying pan in one hand she headed for the stove to get everything started, mouth watering at just the thought. There was a noise behind her.

"Don't think I'm making you one, dickhead," she said, turning.

But it wasn't Keith in the doorway, it was a strange woman whose eyes were completely fixed on the frying pan.

"Who the ..?" Bea started to ask, stepping towards the stranger.

The woman let out the most blood curdling scream and the frying pan slipped from Bea's suddenly clumsy fingers. The crash resounded around the kitchen.

"Mel, what is it?" came a man's voice from the other room, equally as unfamiliar as the woman.

Bea had a sudden moment of wondering if she could had walked into the wrong house. But, of course, that was ridiculous, her key had fitted in the lock, everything about the kitchen was familiar. The strange woman was clearly hysterical.

A man appeared behind her in the doorway.

"Mel?" he asked.

The woman gestured around the room, eyes never once looking directly at Bea.

"It happened again," the woman said. "The frying pan … it … it was floating."

"I don't know who the hell you are," Bea said, picking up the knife from the kitchen table, "but you're clearly nuts. Now get out of my house."

The woman screamed again, and the man dragged her out of the room.

"That's it," Bea heard him say, "we're leaving. The agent never said anything about a ghost."

Bea's mind flashed with the memory of trying desperately to get air and there being none. Of people trying to help her, banging her on the back, looping their arms around her middle and pulling, but she shook it away. It was just a silly nightmare. The front door slammed, and she bent down to pick up the frying pan. She'd figure out who the hell the couple had been later, but right then she was hungrier than she'd ever been. It felt like she hadn't eaten in years.

The End

Thank you for reading, I very much hope you enjoyed the story. Comments are love 😊💖

P.S. If you are on Wattpad and would prefer to read there - this is available at this link - as will all further stories in the series.

Flash Fiction: Vampire Valentine by Natasha Duncan-Drake

So I've written a short piece of flash fiction for Valentine's Day and, as you can guess from the title is has vampires in it :). Please be aware the story has mature concepts. It mentions sex, quite a lot, although there is no explicit sexual action, and drops the f-bomb a couple of times.

Vampire Valentine (m/m)

by Natasha Duncan-Drake

"You don't want to do this."

"Oh, but I do."

"I'll taste terrible."

"I beg to differ."

"I'm not a virgin, aren't you supposed to go after virgins?"

"Boring."

"I don't like pain."

"Trust me, it adds a little spice, you'll barely notice it."

Jack's back hit the wall and there was nowhere else to go. He had run out of manoeuvring room and Pietro crowded in before he could escape.

"When did they get you?" Jack asked, looking into the glowing eyes of his onetime best friend.

"Two days ago," Pietro said, mouth opening just wide enough so Jack could see his fangs, "on my way home."

"But you were in the sun today."

"Not all the legends are true, Jack," Pietro said and Jack found himself flattened against the wall as his friend invaded what was left of his personal space. "We had so much of it wrong. Vampires can go out in the sun as long as we've fed, it just zaps our strength. We burn much more quickly than a human too, but factor fifty is our friend."

"You've been lying to me for two days! Why didn't you kill me last night?"

"I was waiting."

"Why?"

"Valentine's day."

"So this is all some big joke, make me a loser at life as well as love?"

His girlfriend had dumped him in a spectacular scene only the previous week. Come to think of it, that was what had caused all this. Pietro had taken him out to blow off some steam and they had seen things.

"No, Jack, you've got me all wrong..."

"You're going to kill me!"

"No, I'm going to turn you. Those are the rules, you know about us so you have to be one of us."

"I don't want to be a murderer."

"We don't kill, Jack, that would be stupid. Imagine how many dead bodies there would be lying around if every vampire fed every night. There are six in the group we discovered and they're only one tiny conclave."

"But we saw..."

"The man was a hunter, he'd murdered two of the conclave. What we saw was an execution."

"They still killed him."

"It was him or them. You'd have done the same to protect your family."

Jack couldn't argue with that.

"But why today?"

"Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, that is the question."

Jack swallowed nervously as Pietro leaned against him.

"I've been in love with you for years, Jacky," Pietro said, leaning close so they were all but nose to nose, "and yesterday evening was very revealing. How long have you wanted me too? How long have we been hiding behind our homophobic brainwashing?"

Jack swallowed again.

"Vampires are very sensitive to sex," Pietro told him, "it makes for a great hunting tool. You throw pheromones everywhere the moment I walk in the room."

It was one of those deep dark secrets Jack had carried around buried inside. They lived in a small town, they were both football stars and football stars in their town weren't gay.

"Years," he admitted.

With death staring him in the face it seemed stupid to deny it anymore.

"It's not so bad," Pietro said, those glowing eyes boring into his own. "The thirst is a bit of a mind fuck to begin with, but you get used to it quickly. I'm gonna miss chilli-dogs because they taste like crap now, but we still get to be us."

"How can we be us if we're vampires? Vampires don't make touch downs."

"Jack, I told you, the sun zaps our strength. On a sunny day we're almost human. Just remember the sun screen."

That didn't make any sense.

"We still get to go to school?"

"First rule of being a vampire," Pietro told him, "hide in plain sight. We don't just still get to go to school, the boss will insist on it."

"The boss?"

"Every conclave has a master vampire who keeps us young bloods in order. You'll meet her later. Lyonie is a bit intimidating at first, but she's cool."

"What if I say no?"

"No choice, Jack, sorry, those are the rules. We had no business breaking into that house; we brought this on ourselves. Besides the advantages are amazing, man. You would not believe how much faster my mind works now. And, wow, the sex, vampires are so good at sex."

"You had sex with..?" Jack wasn't quite sure what he was asking.

"Hunting tool, remember? I had to eat last night," Pietro said and smiled a very fangy smile. "So much fun too. You've never had sex 'til you've had it as a vampire."

"Who?"

It was as he asked the question Jack realised he was hideously jealous, which was ridiculous in the extreme.

"Just some guy I picked up after I left here," Pietro said. "He was consenting and we both had a good time, he just ended up a half pint low and doesn't remember how he got home."

Jack had absolutely no right to feel possessive of Pietro in the slightest, in fact, given the current situation it was utterly stupid, but he couldn't help it.

"Tomorrow night we can find someone together," Pietro whispered in his ear, "share them."

Jack's groin throbbed at that thought. There was just one problem to overcome first though.

"How..?" he couldn't believe he was asking and the question stuck in his throat.

"How do I make you a vampire?"

He nodded.

"First I bite you," Pietro said, leaning in and breathing on his neck.

He couldn't help shivering.

"That'll make a connection between us, you'll feel an echo of my pleasure. Then, if you let me, I was going to suck you off, see how long your legs can hold out. After that I'll bite you again and feed you some of my blood. We can take it to the bed then, just go with the flow. I'll bite you some more and keep feeding you my blood while we play until, just before dawn, you'll pass out. When you wake up you'll be a vampire like me."

"My parents are upstairs," Jack felt he had to point that out.

They didn't often come down into his basement room, but he was pretty sure if they heard strange noises they would.

"Then you'll just have to be quiet," Pietro said and smiled a very not-innocent smile.

"Who turned you?"

"Lyonie. There was less sex when she did it, but I don't wanna waste a perfectly good opportunity."

Pietro pushed against him and Jack let out a small moan. He was already hard, who was he kidding. Praying that his best friend was telling the truth and he would not wake up in the morning and see his entire family as a smorgasbord, Jack turned his head to one side.

"That's my boy," Pietro said.

Jack gasped as Pietro simultaneously bit him and rubbed a thigh hard between his legs. There was no turning back now.

~*~

If you would like to read some more of my vampire fiction, my new novel is available from Amazon and Smashwords in paperback and eBook.

Dead Before Dawn: The Vampire Curse

by Natasha Duncan-Drake

Max Statton's life will never be the same again.
While in Moscow for the premier of his new movie a terrifying encounter reveals some nightmares actually exist. Attacked by one of the city's resident vampires, Max is bitten and infected. Only a team of local vampire hunters prevent him being dragged into the violent underworld of the undead.

Fighting for his very existence, Max must resist the vampire curse with the help of Yulia, the hunter's doctor. But with his humanity slipping away, Max only has two choices: ask the hunters to end it, or risk becoming a monster.

When Yulia offers him a final, desperate, kill or cure option, Max must decide if he has the courage to take it. He wants his life back, and the idea of telling his friend and co-star, Gian Bossard, he's sort of in love with him, doesn't seem so frightening after vampires. However, Yulia's solution could just as easily send him to a worse hell than the one he's living.

Amazon^{(ebook & paperback)} | Smashwords ^{(ebook only)}

Flashfic: Katherine: Betrayal & Blood (vampire, PG13) + New Chapter of Dead Before Dawn

Hello and welcome to my blog. Today I have some vampire flash fiction for you. It's October, so expect lots of paranormal things :). I very much hope you enjoy it and are enjoying Dead Before Dawn over on Wattpad too.

Katherine: Betrayal & Blood

by Natasha Duncan-Drake

The pain was Katherine's whole world. The wood burned as it was driven into her chest, radiating agony through her whole body. Death could not come too soon. Her enemies had found her; she was betrayed.

~

Somewhere water was dripping. It counted out time with regular drops and took all of Katherine's confused attention. Only slowly did other things begin to come to her: the quiet ticking of a clock; the smell of chemicals; cold.

Her mind was unfocused and cloudy. She did not remember how she came to be wherever she was. It was not her crypt or a lover's bed; that much she knew. Something terrible lurked at the back of her mind, something that caused her thoughts to shy from it. A scream echoed through her consciousness when she strayed too close to it and she had the horrible suspicion it was her own.

Forcing her eyes open was difficult, but it was easier than facing the demons in her head. Half-light greeted her, almost like a candle's glow, but far steadier. The fear of dawn finding her sent shock through her body. She sat up, heedless of what she might interrupt. What she saw caused her to still completely and simply stare.

She has never seen a room like it, all clean lines in ceramic and metal. And the light, it was not dawn coming through a window, but from a thin tube on the wall, that glowed with unnatural consistency. There were no candles or lamps to be seen, just the tube giving out low light to illuminate the far too exact room. It must have been very dark for a human.

Looking down she saw that her clothes were dirty and decayed. Her skin had a waxy colour. Time had to have passed, a lot of time. As she took in her surroundings she caught the smell of death and she looked over to where a body lay under a sheet. That was when she saw it: the wooden stake lying on the trolley beside the bench where she must have been laid out.

She reached for the hole in her dress as the safe back corner of her mind burst forth, showing her, in all too bright detail, her death. The memory of the pain was so real she bent forward as if experiencing it again.

Someone had betrayed her, someone had killed her. Her anger broke through the recollection and she swung her legs off her resting place. The leathery flesh under the hole in her clothes was whole again. Her would-be murderer had been incompetent at least; once the stake had been removed her body had healed itself. The only true way to keep a vampire dead was to remove their head.

Right now she needed blood to restore the rest of her body. As she stood she caught a glimpse of what she looked like in the side of one of the shiny cabinets and she glanced away quickly. It was not a pretty sight.

There was blood here, she could smell it, but it was dead blood; most likely from the poor creature under the sheet. What she needed was warm fresh blood and she headed for the door. It was locked; not unexpected, but inconvenient. When she pulled it did not open, even as she employed what strength she had. In her current state she was not strong enough to force open the large metal lock.

Annoyed, she turned back into the room. There was no choice now and she walked back towards the corpse. Dead blood was unpleasant and did not have the potency of the living, but it smelled fresh enough that it would give her the strength to deal with the door. She drew back the sheet to find a pretty young woman with half her face caved in from some kind of impact.

"Forgive me," she said and picked up the woman's wrist.

She could see where the blood had pooled and, steeling herself, she opened her mouth and bit, ripping at the skin in a most indelicate manner. It was just as disagreeable as she had feared as the cold, congealing liquid hit her tongue. She fought the urge to retch, swallowing instead, already feeling the energy the blood imparted. Even dead blood held the remnants of life that she needed.

It was disgusting, but when she wrenched her mouth away she felt much stronger. With a growl she headed back towards the door. This time when she pulled there was a splintering and groaning sound as metal and wood gave way.

The corridor outside was better lit, but completely barren of anything except a sign on the opposite wall. It simply said "Pathology Department". Tilting her head she listened and immediately caught the low thud of a human heartbeat. She smiled.

The floor was cool under her bare feet; someone had seen fit to take her shoes. At least she was not naked like the poor girl whose blood she had just stolen.

The corridor was long with three doors on the same side as the room she had left. The heartbeat was not coming from behind any of them, but through the double doors at the end. With a confident stride she covered the distance quickly. The double doors swung open as soon as she touched them, revealing yet more monotonous corridor.

"Hey, who's there?" a voice called out and Katherine smiled again.

She smelt male musk under a heavy scent over clean skin; a pleasant surprise. With confidence she walked out from behind the door and pinned the man down with her gaze. He got as far as opening his mouth before her power ensnared him. He was young and handsome in an uninspiring way, dressed in some kind of uniform. He would do.

"Come here," she said.

He resisted for a moment, but his will was not strong and he began to move after only a second or so. His steps were heavy, but he obeyed. His eyes remained glued to her face and she smiled at him. As soon as he was in range she reached out, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him close.

This time when she bit she did not tear and the blood that hit her tongue was sweet and vital and warm. Just a sip gave her more strength than a whole body of dead blood could have. It flowed into her and through her with every mouthful. Every part of her body came alive as the life giving fluid hit her system. She drank deeply, stopping only when she felt restored.

When she was done she dropped the man, leaving him to fall to the floor as she looked at her hands. Before her eyes her skin lost the waxy sheen, returning to its usual pale, milky smoothness. Shaking her head, she felt the tangles and dirt fall from her hair as she returned to perfection. There was nothing she could do about her clothes; they would have to wait.

Only when she was feeling more herself did she look down at the man. He was barely supporting himself on one elbow, breathing in short little gasps. That he was still alive was testament to his strength. In that moment she decided it was a strength she could use.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Nick," he said, unable to resist her power.

"You are mine now, Nicholas," she said, smiling down at him, "do you understand?"

He just stared at her. She crouched down next to him and allowed a few of the traits of the monster under her skin to rise to the surface.

"Do you understand?"

This time he nodded.

"Good, then drink."

She used her thumb nail to piece the flesh of her own wrist and held it out to him. Nicholas stared at the wound, brow furrowing.

"Drink or die."

He drank.

Katherine allowed him only a sip before she took her wrist back. Nicholas stared, blood smeared on his lips. She could feel her power winding its way into his beleaguered system. The wound on his neck was already closing.

"You are my thrall now, Nicholas," she said, standing back up, "do you know what that is?"

He shook his head.

"You will require my blood once a night," she told him. "If you do not get it you will die in excruciating pain. You will obey me in all things and then you will never have to find out what that feels like."

There was a flash of rebellion in his eyes; she liked that. It was never good to have servants who were completely without fire. He put his hand to his neck, feeling the wound and he had to be feeling what her blood was doing to him.

"You will be stronger, faster and more durable than a normal mortal," she explained.

It was at that she saw him accept the inevitable.

"What should I call you?" he asked.

"Katherine," she replied; "I do not enjoy formalities. Now, Nicholas, what year is this?"

"2016," he replied.

She had thought she was prepared, but that shocked even her.

"Over three hundred years," she said in wonderment.

It seemed inconceivable, even to her. Technically she was now over four hundred and fifty years old.

"Then you must be my guide, Nicholas," she said, refusing to give in to the sheer scale of her change in time. "What time is it?"

She should have looked at the clock in the room where she had woken up, but she had been too focused on feeding. Nicholas pulled a slim black case from his pocket and pressed a small button on its side. Katherine was amazed to see the face of the device fill with an image.

"3:47," Nicholas told her.

"What is that?" she asked.

"My phone," he said and held it out to her.

She took it and slowly turned it over in her hands. It weighed barely anything and the picture on the front was more detailed than any painting. She had no idea what a phone was.

"It seems I have much to learn," she said and gave the device, whatever it was, back to Nicholas. "There is no time tonight to begin my life again, so I shall take it as time to learn and reflect. Nicholas, I will need a safe place to sleep for the coming day. There must be no daylight."

"My flat has a storage room in the basement of the building I've never used," he said, "but it's damp."

"I am not unused to hardship," she said, pleased at his concern; already her blood was forging a connection between them; "it will do for one night. How do we get there?"

"Tube," was the short response.

"Will I not bring unwarranted attention?" she asked.

She was all too aware her clothes were entirely different from Nicholas'.

"We'll just say you've been to a costume party," he said. "My girlfriend has clothes at my flat that should fit you."

"Girlfriend?"

"Ex," he said; "she ran out on me two months ago. Never came back for her stuff."

Katherine nodded, that would do.

"Then lead the way," she said, offering him her hand, "I have a new century to learn."

~*~

It's Tuesday and that means it's new chapter time.

Chapter 7 - Salvation?

of

Dead Before Dawn: The Vampire Curse

is NOW available.

Max has survived Yulia's last ditch attempt to save him, but at what cost?

#vampire #gay #adventure #paranormal

Totally FREE read. New chapters every Tuesday and Friday.

Flash Fiction: Mirror Mirror on the Wall - #vampire #horror #WriterlyWednesdays 38

Welcome to my blog. Today I have a little flash fiction for you Writerly Wednesdays 38. I've been playing with points of view and since I have been banging on about vampires recently I decided to combine the two. I do hope you enjoy it, many thanks for visiting. This is a horror tale not suitable for the very young.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

by Natasha Duncan-Drake

It has been a very long day and you've just cleaned your teeth ready to fall into bed. Nothing is going to get between you and the wonderfully comfortable mattress you spent far too much money on. Not even Bethsheba, who was curled up right in the middle of the duvet last time you looked. For once the cat will not get her way ... probably.

All that remains is some night cream and then you are good to go. Opening the bathroom cabinet, you pause. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up. Your hind brain is trying to tell you something, something you missed. A small tendril of ice-cold fear curls around your spine.

Of course you know you're being irrational. It's late, you're tired, that's all it is. You reach into the cupboard and grab the night cream, but you hesitate before you close the mirrored door. Instinct says you don't want to look.

It's an old fear, one you are used to in the middle of the night. Yet, this feels different. When you wake up and pad to the bathroom for water or to use the loo you're half asleep; wild fancies are acceptable. Now you're tired, but you are awake. This doesn't feel imagined.

You tell yourself you are being ridiculous. You're in your own home. There is nothing to be afraid of. Only it takes a lot of will power to push the cupboard door closed.

That's when you see her: black hair; blood red mouth; bottomless, dark eyes.

Adrenaline lets you turn, heart jumping into your throat.

But there's nothing there.

Your rational brain says you are making things up. The rest of you can feel the chill in the air.

Slowly, so slowly you barely breathe, you turn back to the mirror. It is as if you have no choice. The sensible thing would be to run for the bedroom or even downstairs. The sensible thing would be to leave, but you can't make yourself do it. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears. Your stomach is twisted in a knot. It's hard to catch your breath.

You don't want to lift up your eyes. You fix them on the plug hole, desperately trying not to look. Inside you know if you look it's over. If you look something terrible will happen. You need to keep your eyes down.

But you just can't stop.

Millimetre by millimetre your gaze rises: first the edge of the sink, then the tap, then the tiles with their pretty black and white pattern. Your will is crumbling. All it took was one glance and you were caught. You fight, but it is hopeless.

For a few seconds you manage to stare blankly at the edge of the cupboard. It takes every ounce of control in your body and it does not last long. Like a prisoner being led to execution you bring up your eyes.

She's still there, between you and the shower. She hasn't moved.

She is staring at you with those dark eyes. Now you are looking you can see they are dark red, not black and you know they are your undoing. There is no humanity in them, no mercy, only want.

Her skin is pale, with a sickly yellowish tint and her hair is wild. She is gaunt, her flesh pulled taught over skull like someone starved. You can sense her hunger.

Now she has you, she smiles. Long, sharp, yellow teeth fill her mouth as it opens wider than a human's should. It splits her face and renews the cold terror sparking through your body.

She lifts one hand, as if holding it up for you to see. Long nails tip too long fingers. There is dirt under those vicious talons and you can't help but imagine them digging through newly packed earth.

You whimper as she reaches out to you, stepping closer. She carries with her a chill that seems to sink into your bones.

Those long fingers settle on your shoulder. You are allowed one small moment of freedom as you eyes dart sideways, but there is nothing there. Only when you look back in the mirror can you see the deadly nails so close to your vulnerable neck.

At least she has stopped smiling.

Her touch makes your skin crawl. It is as if your very cells understand the corruption they are being exposed to. You cannot suppress the shudder that makes your legs feel weak. You grip the side of the sink. Your mind is screaming at you to run, but your body will not respond.

A tear leaks out of your eye, travelling down your ashen cheek. You would beg if you could, but your voice is as lost as your will.

Her touch is like breaking a barrier between you and with it comes a smell. It is vaguely fruity, but like fruit that has gone over. It is sickly and causes bile to rise in the back of your throat. You've smelt it before at your grandmother's funeral, covered by chemicals, but there nevertheless; it is the scent of death.

You open your mouth to scream, but there is no sound as she lifts one finger and pushes your head to the side. For just a moment rebellion fills you and you try to resist, but that skeletal digit digs into your neck and you acquiesce with a gasp.

She is close now, all but leaning against you. Her presence leaches all the heat from you. You would shiver if you were capable of that anymore.

This time when she opens her mouth there seem to be even more teeth. Her breath is fetid. It smells of rotten flesh and death. Your stomach churns.

Every move she makes is slow and deliberate, building the terror. It is calculated; you can feel it.

As you become weaker, she becomes stronger and you know what has to come next.

You are made to watch as those needle sharp, filthy fangs lower towards your vulnerable flesh. Another whimper is all you are allowed.

Part of you is screaming that this is impossible, but the primal part, the bit that evolution just can't get rid of, that knows evil. That understands.

The pain is excruciating as teeth slide into your neck. For a moment you can't breathe as white hot agony lances down your nerves. Your heart beats wildly, desperately trying to keep you alive as her mouth clamps on to the wound she has made. The only sound she makes is an obscene sucking noise as she steals away your life.

The pain fades, but so does your strength. Soon she is holding you up and yet still you stare in the mirror. You are dying and, yet, you still have to look.

When she wrenches back, her face seems nearly all mouth, a long, forked tongue flicking over her blood-soaked lips and teeth. Only slowly does that huge maw close, shrinking back to normal size.

It's a shock when she drops you.

There is no strength left in you and you hit the bathroom floor with no way of stopping yourself. All you can do is lie there, empty and close to death. You blink, about the only movement left to you, and between one and the next you see dirty feet walking away. There are muddy footprints on the tiles, one right next to your head. You blink again and they are gone. Yet again and they are back.

Soon they are more there than not. It occurs to you that as you near death you are allowed to see your killer.

Eventually you realise she has stopped in the doorway. With the last of your strength you turn your gaze up, just a little, and you can see her watching you. Breathing is hard, and even when you manage it there does not seem to be enough oxygen. There under her gaze you gasp your last gulp of air.

"Sister," is the last whisper you hear.

Your mind screams in denial, even as everything goes dark.

Flash Fiction: Mightier by Natasha Duncan-Drake #WriterlyWednesdays 31

Welcome to my blog for Writerly Wednesdays 31. This week I have a piece of flash fiction for you, which I hope you will enjoy. It's on the dark fantasy side. Many thanks for visiting.

Mightier

by Natasha Duncan-Drake

They say the pen is mightier than the sword. In my case I am absolutely sure of it.

I inherited this particular pen from my grandmother.

To look at it's nothing special. It is made of black ebonite with gold metal work, some of which is showing its age. This is a pen which has been used, not kept in a drawer and occasionally taken out and admired.

Not surprising really, when you understand what it can do.

This pen does not write in ink. It writes in blood, the owner's blood to be precise.

I am aware that blood should not be a medium much suited to the workings of a fountain pen, but then this is no ordinary example of its kind. Each time it is used it must be refilled, and each time it will keep writing until its purpose is finished, but no more. It never needs cleaning and it is one hundred percent reliable.

I know you are wondering what could entice anyone to fill a pen with their own blood, and I will tell you, but I think a little background is in order first.

My family is an ancient one. We can trace our ancestry back to well before the Roman period. This is mostly because we have kept it ourselves. There exist tomes full of our family tree, now housed in a very secure bank vault. We almost lost it all during the Second World War, it was a very close thing, so extra precautions have been taken since then.

The pen has been in my family since the first record was made.

You are going to say, but there was no such thing as a fountain pen back then. You would be right of course. It has only been a pen since approximately 1850, before that it was the most beautiful quill and inkwell. Well, at least that is what one of my ancestors who chose to paint it would have us believe. I have seen the painting once; it is most captivating.

It may even have been something else before it was a quill, but that information is lost.

I remember when my grandmother handed me the pen as she lay dying. She smiled in a way I had never seen her smile before. Her whole body relaxed and she closed her eyes, still smiling. For a moment I thought she might float away, or simply disappear; it was that striking a change. Of course she simply slipped away, her last breathe leaving her body as a small sigh.

The burden did not feel particularly heavy then. I knew it was an important one, but I did not understand the true weight of it at that moment. It has been ten years and now I comprehend the smile very clearly.

My family are guardians of the future. We make sure humankind continues. You would not believe how many times we, as a species, have come close to extinction. Modern humans are conceited in their belief that only current science has the power to wipe out humanity. There have been many near misses before.

The pen can change reality.

It cannot change the past, but it can order the future.

It can kill.

It can heal.

It can make a person say or do something they never would have done on their own.

It can topple governments.

It can raise up a messiah.

It can do just about anything.

All I have to do is fill the reservoir and write the new truth. It can be a few words, or pages of a story that the universe will then play out.

Now you want to know why then have my family allowed so much suffering, why do we allow injustice in the world?

It is simple and there are two reasons: we are not omnipotent, merely observant; with each action there is a price.

When the universe changes, people often die. It does not matter what it done, if something is different at a key moment, it has consequences. You know the saying about a butterfly flapping its wings over the Himalayas causing a hurricane thousands of miles away; my family understood this long before Edward Lorenz ever made it famous.

We have great power and a great burden. Every time I have picked up the pen, every time one of my ancestors picked up the pen, it has been very carefully thought out.

To make sure we take our responsibility seriously there are ghosts.

That is why my grandmother looked so at peace: she was finally free; she no longer had to look at what she had done.

I see them all. Every life I have caused to cease to be. They visit me.

The worst are the deliberate ones; the evil that was just too dangerous to allow to continue. They seem to know it was me that ended them, at least at first. They always try to take revenge. It is impossible for them to hurt me, but that does not stop them trying.

Eventually, when they run out of rage, they become grey reminders, like the others, but they can be troublesome for a while.

My world is full of translucent people wandering aimlessly. Most of them don't even see me, totally unaware of why they are drawn to where I am, totally unaware of anything but themselves.

Sometimes I wish I was totally unaware. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to take up the pen and write of my own death.

My successor is only three, so death is merely a pipe dream. So young and yet already chosen, already marked, just as I was.

Why do we continue to shoulder this burden, you want to know.

Once, long ago, my family was granted a vision of the destructive nature of human kind. It is a vision passed down along with the pen. We know what will happen if we abandon our role, we have seen it. We have also seen the wonder that humanity will become if just given the chance.

For this we will stand as gate keepers. For this hope we will go on. For this we will pick up the pen.

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I am still seeking writers and book people of all kinds to feature on Writerly Wednesdays. If you are a blogger, comic creator, cover artist, author or anything else to do with writerly things I would love to host you.

See this blog post for details.

Share a Scare - Spooky tales - Halloween Blog Hop 2015 + Trick-or-Treat Blog Hop

Welcome to Share a Scare - the Halloween Blog Hop 2015. Today I am here to share with you a scary story.

So to my scary story. This is a fictionalised account of something that happened to my husband, Rob, while on a business trip. His family have a habit of coming across the supernatural. I have changed the names of people and places 'to protect the innocent' :).

Late Rooms

by Natasha Duncan-Drake

Rich rubbed the spot between his eyes after he slowed and turned into the driveway, pushing his glasses back up his nose and looking up at the huge stately home. It was impressive even in his ready to fall asleep state. This place had been a real find when hurrying to book a last minute place to stay. It looked like it should be on a biscuit tin, not offering £40 a night rooms to travellers who had waited until the last moment to book.

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Or maybe that should have been on the cover of an M.R. James novel as he drove round a curve in the sweeping drive to catch a glimpse of a side of the building that was not lit up with flood lights. It had 'atmospheric' down to a tee.

It was a beautiful building, but Rich was far too tired to worry about aesthetics. The drive up had been long and the traffic a nightmare and all he wanted to do was fall into bed and get some well needed sleep. He did, however, manage to raise a smile as he found a parking space right next to the entrance to the big old building. Occasionally it actually paid to be arriving after everything that could possibly be happening at a hotel was over for the night.

Turning off the engine, Rich yawned, rubbed his face and then dragged his aching body out of the car. It felt like he had been sat for a week, not five hours. Next time he was going to stop halfway for dinner, he promised himself.

It was only an overnight stay so he grabbed his laptop bag from the boot. It had everything he needed for the night stuffed into it, as well as the only valuable thing in the car. The hotel didn't look like the kind of place people habitually tried to break into cars at night, but you never could tell. Throwing the bag over his right shoulder he trudged towards the main door, gravel crunching under his feet with every step.

The air was misting in front of his face as he breathed out; there was going to be frost overnight he was sure. Down south it was still in the in between stage that didn't really know if it was Autumn or Winter, but this much further north it had already decided and there was a chill in the air. He regretted not putting his coat on before getting out of the car. With the cold waking him up a little, he put on a burst of speed to make it inside.

Thankfully, as he walked through the large oak doors with their glass panels and big brass handles a lovely wave of heat hit him. There was a large radiator just inside the entrance and an over door heater pushing down a warm curtain of air.

For a moment he stood there, just getting his bearings. It was good to see that the hotel looked as nice on the inside as it did on the outside. Everything had a very Gothic feel to it, but it was clear the whole place had been renovated in the not too distant past. Not that he really cared about the décor as long as the bed was comfortable.

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There was no one at reception when Rich walked up to it, but then he hadn't really expected there to be. Instead there was a nicely carved sign in front of a well disguised electronic bell that said: "Please ring for the night porter."

Rich did as asked and waited.

A few moments later a smartly dressed young woman appeared from one of the back rooms.

"Good evening," she said, "how may I help you?"

"I have a room booked," Rich said, "under the name Duggan."

The young woman tapped on a touch screen that Rich couldn't see properly and smiled again.

"Yes, of course, Mr Duggan," she said, "everything is ready for you. I hope your journey up was pleasant."

"It was awful," he replied, smiling to take the bite out of his words, "but I am very glad to be here."

"If you would just sign here," she offered him a piece of paper, which he duly scribbled his name on.

Rich just wanted to get to his room as quickly as possible. The young woman, put the paper away, typed something in the computer and then picked up a key-card that must have been pre-programmed, before coming out from behind the desk.

"If you'll follow me I'll show you to your room," she said. "The corridors are a little maze like if you haven't been here before and I'm afraid we have a little walk. Do you have any more luggage?"

"Nope, this is it, thanks," he replied and they set off.

It was indeed something of a maze as they went up some stairs, round several corners, then up a major staircase, along another corridor, through some hallway fire doors, down two more short flights of stairs in quick succession and finally made it to his room.

"This is it," she said, slipping the card into the lock and pushing the door open for him. "Breakfast is served from seven thirty in the Lancing Suite, which is back the way we came to the main staircase, then on along that corridor; you can't miss it."

"Thank you," he replied as she handed him the key-card.

"Sleep well," she said and walked back the way she had come, her step a lot faster than the way they had arrived.

It almost looked like she was hurrying, but Rich shook his head and decided he really needed some sleep.

His eye caught sight of a panel on the door as he started to walk in, it said "Alice's Room". He turned to ask the young woman who Alice was, but when he looked she was already disappearing through the next set of fire doors.

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Wondering if they had an Alice in Wonderland theme or something to help remember room numbers he pushed his way into the room and, when he set eyes on it, all he really cared about was the large bed right in the centre of the room. It was tempting just to dump everything, strip his clothes off and sleep, but he knew he'd regret it in the morning. He went with the dumping most things, including his jacket and most of his clothes, then grabbed his toothbrush and used the facilities as quickly as he possibly could.

The bed felt amazing as he climbed in and used his feet to kick up the duvet at the end. He never understood why hotels insisted on tucking in duvets under the mattress; it made no sense. There was a reason they weren't sheets.

The air in the room was not modern hotel room warm, it had dark oak beams and plaster walls which did not a cosy room make, but he always overheated in those type of places anyway. The duvet was thick and he snuggled under it quickly. It was just how he liked it. At which point he promptly fell asleep.

It felt like no time at all when something woke him.

He climbed from a weird dream about cats to reality over the course of a few seconds until his brain realised he was awake. However, he did not open his eyes.

At first he wasn't sure why, but a feeling of unease stopped him looking around.

He was still mostly under the covers, with the duvet up over his nose, but his forehead felt really cold, as if the heating had failed completely. Normally he would have turned over, buried himself further under the covers and been done with it, but he stayed very still. It was totally irrational, but he felt as if he was being watched.

The idea that if he moved something would reach out and grab him, or worse yet, make him open his eyes, settled in his brain for no reason he could fathom. It was ridiculous, but it kept him motionless. Keeping his eyes firmly shut, he strained his ears, listening for any possible sound in the room. There was the gurgle of a pipe, the low buzz of a light bulb in the corridor that needed changing, the gentle breath of the heater under the window, that didn't seem to be touching the cold around his head. Nothing unusual about the sounds and yet they only went to increase his anxiety.

For a few moments he considered reaching over and turning on the light. Light always made things better. Unfortunately that would mean sticking his arm out of the safe cocoon of the duvet into the cold unknown. What if he touched something? Even worse, what if he turned on the light and actually saw something?

He knew very well that most people would have laughed at him, but he was almost positive there was something there. He couldn't say he had ever seen a ghost himself, but he'd felt them and heard them and his family had a nasty habit of finding them in places where they lived. The fear was irrational since he'd also never heard of anyone he knew being hurt by a phantom, but he couldn't help it. He definitely did not want to meet a former occupant of the room.

When a breath of icy air brushed over his forehead he had had enough. It seemed even at thirty seven he could hide under the duvet like he was nine.

The moment he stopped moving he strained to hear anything. Given how hard he was breathing, even though he had done very little to cause it, he really couldn't hear anything except that. It was isolating and made him want to curl up in a little ball. He did manage to stop himself doing that, however.

For long minutes he just lay there, listening, feeling ridiculous, but totally unable to stop himself. There was no way he could go back to sleep and all he could do was stare into the safe darkness under the duvet.

It seemed to take forever, but gradually the feeling of fear began to ebb. His heart rate evened out, his breathing slowed and, bit by bit he calmed until he was lying there feeling like a right prat.

Very carefully he put his fingers up over the edge of the covers. The air was back to its usual temperature. Even so, he pulled the duvet down millimetre by millimetre until he could peer into the room. It was dark, but there was a little light through the curtains and under the main door and all he could see was a perfectly ordinary hotel room.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned over and tried to go back to sleep. He wasn't stupid though, he tucked the duvet right up over his nose again, just in case his visitor decided to come back.

It was definitely not the most restful night's sleep Rich had ever had. In fact by five he was wide awake and up and dressed and using his phone. He looked up the history of the hotel and the first thing he found was the hotel on a Haunted Hotels website. Apparently Alice's Room was the place to stay if you wanted a close encounter.

According to the site, Alice had been a daughter of the family who had built the house originally. She had killed herself by jumping from an attic window after being spurned by her lover for another woman. The description said she liked to visit male quests and stare at them, and sometimes she would treat female guests to hair pulling or cover stealing. Rich was very glad he was a man.

If he ever came this way again, he was not stopping in Alice's Room for love or money.

~*~

Today my sister and I are also participating in this hop over at Wittegen Press, where there is a free spooky book for all our visitors to download. From tomorrow (1st Nov) it will be for sale, but if you want it FREE - go GET IT NOW :). Wittegen Press - Share a Scare - Free Fiction - Halloween Blog Hop 2015

Share a Scare participants:

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Today we are also part of The Trick-or-Treat Blog Hop - where the idea is to give away books instead of candy to those who comment.
  The Trick-or-Treat Blog Hop

These are the book I have on offer - I can send either a Smashwords code (means you will be able to redownload the file if you ever lose it - ePub, Kindle, pdf, rtf, lrf, pdb, txt) or the book file directly (Kindle, ePub, PDF). Please let me know what you would like when you comment as well as the book title you are requesting (click the book image to visit the full book listing). I will also need an email address for sending books files directly. (If you don't want to leave your email addie in the comments you can always use the contact form in the left side menu col).

Face of the Dead

The Beginning

Book of Darkness

Cursed

In the Event
of Death

When Darkness
Beckons

Trick-or-Treat participants:

Thank You - and Some FREE Superhero Fiction - #ThinkyThursdays 5

So today I was thinking about all the people who make this whole being a writer thing worth while and how grateful to you all I am.

Thank you to everyone who has ever:

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• bought one of my books
• read any of my fiction
• visited one of my blogs
• commented
• retweeted or tweeted for me
• reviewed one of my books
• had a kind word to say
• reshared my posts
• followed/friended me
• offered advice
• written one of those really helpful blog posts telling me how to do something

and so much more...

I've written a short, humorous flash fiction which I hope will  make you all smile and brighten your day. You really all do give me reasons to keep doing what I love. Thank you so much.

D.o.K.E.I.B.

by Natasha Duncan-Drake

Being a superhero was not all it was cracked up to be. At least that's what Kate was thinking as she peeled herself out of yet another ruined outfit. One of these days, she was sure, a reporter was going to track down her secret identity just by finding out how much flame retardant, stretch, breathable material she bought every week.

It was lucky she was loaded. Which, when it came to superheroes was probably a bit cliché, but you had to cope with what you were dealt. It wasn't as if she was a run of the mill superhero, oh no. She hadn't been powered up in a lab accident or been dropped off as a baby from another planet. She had been created in a lab specifically to be who she was, thank you very much.

She had only met her "mother" once, but she'd been sent to all the best schools and had all the best friends until her "mother" had summoned her and told her that she had a destiny. She still had all the best friends, but it wasn't always easy keeping up with her social calendar with all the superhero business as well.

"I need a new suit," she said, looking up at the camera in the corner of her costume room.

"Of course, Sweetie," came back almost instantly, "I'll be on it straight away. You still have the spare if there's anything before it's done though."

"Thanks, Eliza, I don't know what I'd do without you," she replied, "kisses."

"You go and have a nice long bath, Sweetie," Eliza told her. "You've earned it. I'll sort everything out."

"You're an angel," she said and headed into her mansion.

If Eliza, her trusty sidekick, hadn't been such a dab hand with a sewing machine she had no idea what she would do. It wasn't like you could send out to a service for a superhero costume. That would just be silly.

Eliza sat back in her chair as Kate wandered towards the bathroom. Flicking a switch on her desk a little panel turned over and she typed in her access code. Immediately the picture on the wall went transparent to reveal the flat-screen panel behind it, which popped into life.

"Call costume department," she said.

"Hello DoKEIB Costumes, how may we help?" a very efficient looking man said as he appeared on her screen.

"I need a new one for Kate Fortune aka The Butterfly," she said. "Same as last time, we're not going for any fashion statements this iteration."

The man on the other end smiled just a little.

"Of course," he said, "we can have it ready for you by tomorrow."

"Can we make it next Wednesday?" she asked, checking her planner. "Mine believes I make them myself."

"Ah yes," the man said, "I see the note on your file. We will have it delivered discretely first thing Wednesday morning."

"Many thanks," Eliza said. "You have the account information for billing?"

"Yes, and you're most welcome," the man replied, "anything we can do to help those on the front line."

Eliza smiled, everyone in DoKEIB were a dedicated lot.

"Couldn't do it without you," she said.

A little box popped up in the corner of her screen with the message 'incoming call - Sally Klondike'.

"Sorry, I have to go," she said, "mission debriefing. Thanks again."

"Anytime," was the polite reply, before her contact disappeared.

He was replaced by another window that was black for only a moment before a familiar blonde woman with a pencil holding back her hair appeared.

"Eliza, oh, what a perfect mission," the woman said.

"Hello, Sally, it was rather good, wasn't it," she replied with a big smile. "Best one yet, I'd say."

"Maybe we'll make mission of the month this time?" Sally said, taking a big swig from a giant mug of coffee.

Eliza made a mental note to have a gentle word with the younger woman about her coffee addiction next time their section of DoKEIB met up in person. It wasn't the type of thing to get into over the comms.

"The freeze ray was a work of genius," Eliza said with a nod, "how did you get yours to make it?"

"Oh, you know," Sally said, "I just mentioned global warming and how an evil genius might confuse an enemy by claiming a freeze ray was designed to counter it. My boy is only a genius at building things, so giving him ideas is really easy. If he knew anything about the real world it might be harder."

"Which reminds me, thank you," Eliza said, "I need to schedule in a gala or something to keep Kate occupied until we're ready for the next operation. Can't let them get bored can we?"

Sally laughed.

"That is the job description," Sally said. "She was very good out there today, totally on point. The new training routines seem to be working."

"Definitely," Eliza agreed, "I will have to thank Bill for the mysterious mentor idea, it totally got her out of her funk. She could do with another visit actually, I'll have to give Bill a call and plan one in."

Sally nodded while drinking more of her coffee. She looked a little wired. Being the sidekick of an evil genius, it could just be her cover, but Eliza wasn't so sure.

"I think I might need something for mine," Sally said. "Karl looked a bit down today. He never usually looks down when he's been allowed to blow things up and he usually gets a real kick out of exchanging one-liners with Kate. He practices them in front of the mirror all the time."

"In front of the mirror?" Eliza asked.

"Pose and everything," Sally assured her.

An idea began to form in Eliza's mind.

"Oh, oh," she said as she thought about it, "that could be good. It might keep them both out of trouble for a while too."

"I can see your brain working from here," Sally said, "what is it?"

"How do you think your boy would take to a redemption arc with a side of romance?" Eliza asked.

Sally lifted her eyebrows, but paused, looking away from the screen for a moment.

"You think he's becoming disenchanted with the supervillain life?" Sally asked.

"Well, from what you said, it sounds like the early stages," Eliza said, "and the whole mirror part; I think he's falling for his arch nemesis."

As Eliza spoke Sally began nodding along.

"You could be right," Sally said, "but will your girl be receptive?"

"Karl is gorgeous and Kate would get to declare to the world that The Butterfly redeemed a supervillain through love," Eliza said with a laugh, "she'd jump at it in a heartbeat."

"It'll take careful planning," Sally said.

"Of course."

Sally had that little frown between her eyes that said her mind was already off and working.

"We should meet up and discus it," Sally said. "How is next Tuesday for you?"

"I'm free all day until seven," Eliza replied. "We can meet at Norman's; I'll bring the pizza, you bring the wine."

"Done," Sally said, her face lighting up with a new smile. "Oh this is going to be fun."

"Absolutely," Eliza replied. "Once we have a plan we can call headquarters for clearance."

Sally's smile dropped a little at that, as if she had forgotten about that part.

"Do you think they'll go for it?"

"Something to keep two enhanced individuals busy for possibly years?" Eliza replied. "They'll be begging us to implement it."

"To redemption then," Sally said and saluted Eliza with her coffee mug.

"To redemption," she replied, "see you next week."

"Looking forward to it," Sally replied and broke the connection.

Sitting back in her chair, Eliza mentally patted herself on the back for another job well done. She shuddered to think what the world had been like before the Department of Keeping Enhanced Individuals Busy had been formed. It must have been anarchy.

---

Still pimping out the Share a Scare Halloween Blog Hop. It will run on the 31st October as you would expect, but now is the time to sign up.

Have something a little bit scary to share? All bloggers, authors and artists welcome. Just click the link to see all the details:

Share a Scare - A Halloween Blog Hop

AtoZChallenge2015 - C is for Cthulhu

Hello and welcome to day 2 of the AtoZChallenge 2015.

It is impossible to do Fictional Deities and Demons without talking about Cthulhu. For those who have not heard of him, or have maybe only seen the image to the right, Cthulhu is in fact one of the Great Old Ones created by H.P.Lovecraft. He is a terrible demonic, ancient god who is part octopus, part man and part dragon. His head is like a giant octopus, with uncounted amounts of tentacles around his mouth and is slimy and gelatinous.

While plush Cthulhu is cute, I suspect he isn't quite what Lovecraft was going for. Cthulhu is completely evil, worshipped by a cult of followers who go in for human sacrifice and other very nasty practices. He is supposed to be imprisoned and slumbering, but during 'The Call of Cthulhu', Lovecraft's first short story about him, a group of sailors manage to free him. He also pops up all over the place in further works and has become a mainstay of popular culture.

If you had a band loom and like to make band loom figures, I designed one for Cthulhu :).

You can check it out at it's own post: Cthulhu - Band Loom Pattern

What Apollo Saw
(a short, humorous tale) 

by Natasha Duncan-Drake

Apollo was just wandering through the gates of The Almighty Home for Mostly Retired Ancient Gods when he saw something he had never, in all his days, come across before. Frankly he hoped he never came across it ever again. It was disturbing.

There on the edge of a cloud was the Dread Cthulhu sitting and staring down morosely, and yes, there really was a giant tear rolling from one of his eyes. All his tentacles were drooping, his skin was even more sickly looking than usual and Apollo had to conclude that something had the old guy really down.

Now, while one pantheon didn't tend to interfere in the business of another pantheon, Apollo just couldn't bring himself to walk away. Possibly it was morbid fascination. He hadn't even been aware Great Old Ones could cry. Then again they had all changed as humanity started to forget about them. These days Apollo mostly liked to surf.

Making himself larger, so he was only slightly smaller than Cthulhu (there was nothing more difficult than talking to someone the size of your hand), Apollo walked over.

"Hey, Big Guy," he said, "what's the problem?"

He was careful to stay out of reach of a tentacle that twitched in his direction.

"Nothing," Cthulhu said and Apollo winced at the cacophonic noise.

All gods could understand each other, but that didn't mean they all spoke the same language and Cthulhu's sounded much better underwater.

"You sure, because you look down to me, dude?"

As the word slipped out of his mouth he was slightly horrified and made a mental note to maybe get back into medicine, because he was beginning to sound like a beach bum.

They all had their down days; it happened when most of your worshipers had forgotten about you.

"It's the humans," Cthulhu finally replied.

"Yeah, they're a contrary lot," Apollo agreed, "but you shouldn't let them get to you."

For a moment there was silence and then suddenly Apollo found that he wasn't quick enough to avoid getting armfuls of slimy octopus-cum-dragon. At first he thought Cthulhu might be trying to eat him, but then discovered the Great Old One was in fact blubbering on his shoulder.

"They can't even spell my name right," Cthulhu wailed, which really kind of hurt Apollo's ears, but what could he do.

"Oh man, yeah, that would be kind of upsetting," he said, cautiously patting Cthulhu on the back, "but, hey, what do they know?"

Cthulhu continued sniffling and Apollo began to get desperate; Great Old One goo was really hard to get out of material.

"How about you and I go to the rec room," he suggested, "and we can set up some civilisations like they were in the day and you and me can rain down plague and destruction on them? That could be fun, right?"

It took another minute or so, but that seemed to have interested Cthulhu, because the mind shattering wailing had stopped. Finally Cthulhu sat back.

"Could we stomp a few cities?" he asked.

"Sure, dude," Apollo said and mentally winced again; possibly some smiting would be good for him too. "We can even flood a few. How does that sound?"

Cthulhu's tentacles moved in a very unsettling way and it took him a moment, but Apollo realised the old guy was smiling. It was, quite honestly, worse than the crying.

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My Other Blogs in the AtoZ: Wittegen Press | FB3X (AC)

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Click here to see all other participants in the AtoZChallenge.

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I publish my books through my own company, Wittegen Press, which I run with my sister Sophie Duncan. For information about our books, sign up for The Wittegen Press Newsletter:

We'll send you details of book releases, competitions and other news from our authors, BUT we WON'T spam you, or pass your details on to anyone else.

We will also give you 2 FREE ebooks just for signing up.

Assassin's Blood
Natasha Duncan-Drake

Curse of a Banshee
Sophie Duncan

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AtoZChallenge2015 - A is for Aslan, Ar

Greetings and welcome to day 1 of the AtoZChallenge 2015.

So during the AtoZ this year I am talking about fictional deities and demons, or rather deities that appear in fiction because some of them have a historical basis, but I am interested in how they have been used in a fictional setting.

Aslan

Aslan is a creation of C.S.Lewis in the Chronicles of Narnia. He is a giant lion and the creator true king of Narnia. Aslan is the epitome of all things good and right.

In 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe' he allows himself to be sacrificed in the place of Edmund and then, because he was an innocent victim, he was resurrected to help in the fight against the White Witch. Only to crown Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy as the next rulers of Narnia and disappear, to return only when he was needed.

There are many parallels between Aslan and Christ and I remember seeing the animated adaptation of the book at a very young age and thinking to myself, 'Oh, he's Jesus'. He can, however, be read as a completely original character.

I remember liking Aslan as a child, but being of the distinct impression that he had to always do things the hard way. The one thing I really didn't like was in 'The Last Battle' when he judges all the animals and allows some into paradise and banishes others - I always thought it would have been much better if they could have seen the light and been welcomed too - but I've always been a forgiving sort :).

Trivia - "aslan" and "arslan" are Turkish for "lion" (via Narnia Wiki - who have lots more trivia as well)

Ar

Now, while I suspect most people will have heard of Aslan, I suspect not as many will know about Ar.

The Great God Ar is a deity from the 80s fantasy film "The Beastmaster", staring Marc Singer, Tanya Roberts, Rip Torn and John Amos.

Ar is the god of the mad high priest Maax (Rip Torn) who you can see in the photo about to throw a child in the fire pit to sacrifice her. He controls the population of Aruk with fear, demanding their children and their obedience or he will bring down the might of the Jun hoard.

Ar seems to be a cruel god, demanding sacrifice and worse, but you do have to wonder if Maax twisted the religion to suit his despotic purposes.

I have loved 'The Beastmaster' since I first saw the film way back in the 80s (and no, not just because it has Marc Singer in a loincloth ;)). This is epic fantasy done right, but let's not mention the sequels.
It's available on Amazon in the UK and US (oh and if you search on youtube you might not be disappointed ;)).

Ar's Lament

Fanfic for The Beastmaster.
by Natasha Duncan-Drake

Ar stared into the great pool and watched as Maax lifted yet another child. He closed his eyes in sorrow at the child's screams, a tear rolling down his cheek. The madness had to stop.

Standing, he walked to the stone arch at the edge of the courtyard, wiping at his eyes. Barely had he finished when a naked, perfect child appeared under the huge stones and promptly burst into tears.

"There, there, little one," he said, creating a soft blanket out of the air and wrapping it around the crying little girl, "no one will hurt you here."

Sweeping her into his arms, he stood tall and began to carry her towards the gardens.

"I am sorry you have been so hurt, but here you may play and laugh and wait for the time your family are ready to join you," he told her, gently sweeping his large thumb over the girl's cheek. "What is your name?"

"Mara," she said, sniffing.

"Hello, Mara," he replied, "I am Ar, but I am not what Maax has been telling everyone. Once, they used to bring the sick and dying children to my temple. My high priest would use the gifts I gave him to heal those he could and help the others to their rest. Their twisted and damaged bodies were given to the fire so they could come here, perfect and whole, without pain, to live with me until their parents also passed over."

As he spoke he stepped into the garden and the little girl's brown eyes opened with wonder. It was always green here and the birds sang sweetly, and animals, some never seen in the mortal realm, walked among the trees. Children, too many children, ran and played on the grass.

"I am sorry I could not stop Maax from hurting you, Mara, I am bound by ancient laws, but, do not you worry, I have done what I can and, even now, a youth is becoming a man. He was marked at birth and he will be my instrument. He speaks to the animals like you will be able to do here. Would you like to talk to a unicorn?"

Mara's little mouth dropped open in awe and she nodded.

Ar smiled for the first time. Even if he could not save them yet, he would keep the children safe when they were sent to him.

So I know I'd prefer Aslan to Ar, but I have to admit to preferring The Beastmaster as a movie, even though I love The Chronicles of Narnia. Which would you pick to watch?

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