You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“I wish that there was something more that I could do,” Alison said.

“I’m grateful for the company,” Hilary said. “It seems a little empty here at the moment.” She looked around the kitchen. Bracken was peeling potatoes, sitting at the kitchen table opposite Paul who was busy slicing carrots, ready for a large batch of beef casserole to stash in the freezer. “I’ll be glad when they get safely back. Who knows what they’ll find when they’re looking for the stones.”

Alison gave the plate a last polish and slid it into its place in the cupboard. “The weather is awful. But I suppose I understand that they needed to move quickly.” She shook out the tea towel and picked up a damp cloth. “I should have brought the yarn for my next knitting project. I’ve finished one sweater, but I want to get another one done before Christmas.”

“That’s a bit ambitious, isn’t it?” Hilary asked, glad of a different topic of conversation. She added pepper to the handful of flour in the plastic bag with some dried parsley and thyme. “There’s a lot of knitting in a sweater.” She slid the bag into a bowl, folded back the edges to keep it open, then added a large tray of diced beef. “And Christmas is only a few days away.” She closed the bag and then shook it vigorously, coating the meat with flavoured flour.

“Normally it’s just me at home at night,” Alison said. “Once the boys are asleep and everything’s cleared up, I like to sit for an hour or so, just in the quiet with my knitting. I get loads done.” She wiped carefully around the sink. “And it’s just a straightforward kid’s sweater. There’s not a lot to it.”

Hilary glanced over at the table. The vegetables were almost ready for the casserole. “Could you fill up the kettles and perhaps get some mugs out,” she said. “They can’t be much longer.”

“We could get the soup out right this minute,” Bracken said. “It tastes much realer if it is heated on the stove and not in that microwave.”

Paul looked up. “Too late,” he said. “I think that I can hear them.”

“Thank goodness they’re back.” Hilary rushed to the window. “It’s been hours!”

***

Tom took a large mouthful of soup and sighed in pleasure. “It feels so good to be in the warm,” he said, accepting another roll from Hilary.

Magnus nodded. “It’s bitter out there.” He pushed his empty bowl away. “I’m glad we’re out of it.”

“The weather isn’t entirely normal,” Cabus said dryly. “It’s December, and some cold rain could be expected but there’s a bite in the wind that isn’t natural.”

Samgan nodded, smiling at Bracken as she refilled his bowl. “It felt harder to walk through the weather than one should anticipate,” he said. “It felt malicious.”

Magnus helped himself to another warm roll. “That makes sense,” he said. “I was considering going back when I was in fur. The rain was stinging.”

“How did you do?” Hilary asked anxiously. “Did you find all of the stones?”

Cabus took a tiny sip of his hot tea and sighed in pleasure. “Coming back into this welcoming warmth is extremely pleasant.” He looked over to Tom. “You have the notes.”

Tom checked his phone. “According to what we worked out, we’ve found maybe 80% of the stones that need moving. I suggest that Magnus and I go back in daylight, while we’ve got paws, and have a sniff around.”

“I can manage in daylight, as long as no-one expects too much from me,” Cabus said. “I can take notes.” He looked across the table. “And Samgan would be useful if he could also be there.”

“It will be a pleasure to accompany you if you think that I would be an asset to the work,” Samgan said.

Cabus nodded seriously. “I’m not at my best during sunlit hours, so I won’t be as aware of what’s around us. Tom and Magnus will be concentrating on finding the remaining stones and I’ll be logging the search. That means that we need someone with us who can keep a lookout for problems.”

“That is a sensible proposition,” Samgan said.

“I suggest that we start in the middle of the afternoon,” Cabus said. “It means that I’m slightly more functional, and it allows Tom to set up things at the Village Stores before leaving.”

Tom glanced up at the clock. “It’s barely 10pm, but I’m ready for bed. I think I’ll get an early night.”

“And me,” Alison said.

“Paul, before everyone turns in, please can you take Alison back to her house and pick up her knitting.” Hilary smiled over at Alison. “Sometimes it’s hard to sleep, and having something to do with your hands can keep you sane. You’re in a strange house, with a lot of strange people around, so it’s not like you can stress clean or sort out drawers to keep the worries at bay.”

“This house is extremely clean and well maintained,” Bracken said primly.

“I’ll take her,” Tom said. “It’s only next door and a few hundred yards, but I’ll take the car.” He looked over to Alison. “The weather is filthy, and if we take the car, you can load it up with anything you might need.”

Alison swallowed. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Having my knitting…” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “With the boys away and everything going on…” She waved an expressive hand at the darkness outside. “Well, having a distraction helps.”

“Be careful.” Lord Peregrine hadn’t contributed much to the conversation, but he was on his second bowl of soup and his mouth was pinched with worry. “Things are reaching a peak. I cannot tell how the cards are going to fall.”

***

“It feels strange taking the car,” Alison said. “It’s really only yards.”

Tom pulled easily out of Rowan Cottage’s driveway. “I know, just down one drive, two minutes along the road and then up your drive.” The rain rattled against the windscreen. “But even if there weren’t scary things out there, it makes sense to use the car in this weather.” He indicated and turned into Alison’s drive. “But given how things are, I think I’ll park the car to make it easy to get away, just in case.”

Alison dug her keys out of her pocket as Tom manoeuvred the car close to the door and facing the drive. “I’ll just dive in and pick up the yarn,” she said. “I’ve got plenty of things at Rowan Cottage. There’s no point in hanging around.” She looked sheepishly up at Tom. “I know you’re the one that’s been traipsing around the stones in this filthy weather, but I’m exhausted and ready for bed. I just want to get this done.”

“I’m coming in with you,” Tom said, checking the handbrake before opening his door. “I don’t think we can trust anything, and no-one should go alone.”

Alison winced as the wind hit her. “Thank you for bringing me here, despite the weather,” she said. “I’m glad that Hilary suggested this, though. “It’s a way to keep me sane.”

Tom nodded. “I’ve got a couple of books waiting for me,” he said. “Just in case I can’t sleep.” He followed Alison into the house and then swore.

“I can’t believe it,” Alison murmured. She turned around to Tom. “Why did this happen?”

“It could be worse,” Tom said grimly. He walked past her into the living room and righted the upturned sofa. “It’s just a little mess.”

Alison shook her head. One of the curtains was hanging off the hooks. Books had been tumbled from shelves, an ornament was smashed on the fireplace, and the box of toys had been upended and the contents strewn across the room. “It’s not just a little mess.” She froze. “It could be worse, couldn’t it?”

Tom nodded. “But we don’t think about that right now,” he said briskly. “We walk quickly through the house, pick up your knitting supplies, and then we get back to Rowan Cottage. There are a lot of protections there.”

A shudder ran through Alison, and she nodded. “Follow me,” she said, marching quickly across the room to a large tapestry holdall and unzipped it. “Oh no!”

Tom looked over her shoulder. From the outside, the holdall was untouched. On the inside, skeins of yarn were tangled and the bundle of knitting needles was scattered, with at least half of the needles bent or broken. “I’m sorry,” Tom said quietly.

Alison zipped up the holdall, then stood straight. “Let’s get out of here,” she said quietly. “There are more important things to do.” She looked at the tumbled cushions and scattered crayons. “We need to deal with the cause, not the symptom. Let’s get back to Rowan Cottage.”

Note to Mum – if you leave an email address in the comments (I won’t publish it – promise!) I’ll get you a review copy. Thank you for thinking of me.

My supply of idiot hasn’t yet run dry. As I was rummaging around to look for interesting stuff for the upcoming Horror Month this October, I found a story that I hadn’t put on any blogs. I’d written it as a submission to a magazine, but it had been rejected and I’d forgotten about it. I think it’s about ten years old or so, and when I re-read it, I very much enjoyed it, because I couldn’t remember what happened and it was a nice surprise.

Then I remembered about the whole ‘even books of one page can be published on Amazon’ thing. I thought for a moment, decided that I would go for it, and now An Inexpensive Ring is on Amazon at 77p, or Kindle Unlimited. It’s a sweet, absolutely non-spooky story with kittens and an imminent mother-in-law, with a cover made on Canva.

As I said last week, I want to keep expectations realistic. Anything non-spooky is being put under the name Mari Medana. I did wonder whether I should choose a name that was perhaps more suited to Romance and Women’s Fiction, like Skye Summerdown (I checked, and at time of typing there is no author of that name, which was a relief). I kept the Medana part and used Mari as the first name, after my grandmother.

Then I got to thinking about author names. I got the author name Lyssa Medana because I wanted a name in a hurry and it’s the name of a character that I played in a long-running roleplaying game. It doesn’t really suit me. I’m an old, rather sheltered, white woman who last left the UK in 1984. My pen name doesn’t reflect that at all and I’ve been approached by all sorts of people and groups who have placed me everywhere but in my home of Yorkshire.

Then I thought of the variety of names of authors that I’ve seen on Amazon. There are some which bring out the snark in me, but, as I said, I’ve no room to talk, and I wonder whether I could have done better than Mari Medana. The name suggested by AI when I had my test request for a book cover was Eliana Vaelor and it sounds far better than Mari Medana. Still, I think I’ll stick to Mari and see how things go.

I’ve found another story that is a teensy bit spooky, but I could absolutely put it in Women’s Fiction with a straight face, so there may be more coming from Mari. I quite enjoyed the change of pace, so who knows how it will play out. I’m not writing full romances, though. That feels like far too much work and after watching the hard work my friend Holly White has put in (on Wattpad, with a Quidditch based romance), I’m happy to stick mainly to werewolves.

And speaking of werewolves and spooky stuff in general, I’ve been thinking about Further Tales from the White Hart. I have spent so much time fighting with this, trying to expand it and getting confused, that I’ve abandoned the struggle. It’s getting published in the same form it had when it was first posted on my blog. As the dratted story is still too darned short for Amazon to convert it to a paperback (long story due to all sorts of issues with previous publications), I’m bundling in all of the Back at the White Hart stories, which I am likewise refusing to convert from 36k words to almost double that to make it work, Dark Pictures, which also could potentially benefit from an expanded re-write, and a handful of stray stories. If it doesn’t convert to a paperback after that, I may cry. If all goes well, and the odds are against it, the whole thing should be ready by the end of October.

But, at the end of this, apart from a couple of stories that are being saved for Horror Month, one or two stories that have been kept back for a potential full novel with Darren King as the main character and another couple that are held for a planned Steve Adderson story, that has allllll the stories set at the White Hart together in the three volumes of Tales from the White Hart, More Tales from the White Hart, and Further Tales and Collection Stories from the White Hart and the odds of a collected volume at the end of it are high.

And that’s one less thing that I need to worry about before I get to writing about werewolves.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“This isn’t your hall, you know!” Hilary spread her hands wide and glared at Lord Peregrine.

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “It’s more comfortable here, the problem is here, and the best food is here,” he said with irrefutable logic. “What better place to hold a council of war?”

Hilary narrowed her eyes. “I’m not hosting you when the problem isn’t here,” she said. “You’re pushing your luck about the Winter Feast.”

Lord Peregrine smiled blandly and took his seat. “The food is excellent,” he sighed.

Bracken nodded as she brought in the last platter. “You is late, Lord Peregrine, and that lacks politeness.”

“My apologies,” Lord Peregrine briefly rose again and bowed. “I beg forgiveness from Mistress Hilary and the competent and capable Bracken.”

Bracken sniffed. “Thank you, Lord Peregrine, but you will still be late next time.”

Hilary smiled. “But he is still welcome, as are everyone here. You may eat without fear or favour.”

“And that reminds me,” Lord Peregrine said, shaking out his starched napkin. “I shall have to increase your allowance for food, as you seem to be feeding so many of my court.”

“You wouldn’t have to pay me if you made your own court a little more comfortable,” Hilary pointed out, but her heart wasn’t in it. Bracken had taken so much pleasure setting up the dining room that Hilary didn’t have the heart to protest too much. The old table was covered with an immaculate damask tablecloth and the glasses and silverware gleamed in the soft lighting. There were even bread rolls under snowy napkins because Bracken had found an illustration in an old cookbook and liked the idea. The final touch was a bud vase holding a spray of Michaelmas daisies that Samgan had found in a sheltered corner.

Despite Bracken’s best efforts, it was still a council of war. Paul had his blank notebook and pen next to him, while Cabus had sheaves of paper covered in notes next to his plate, the notebooks retrieved by Samgan carefully placed on the bookcase behind him to avoid mishaps. And despite the heavy atmosphere, Hilary could find a faint spark of amusement as she noticed that Tom had a protective arm over the back of Alison’s chair, and that Alison was leaning a little closer to Tom. “The food is nothing fancy,” Hilary said. “Although Bracken has done us proud. But eat up, as I think we’ll need our strength.”

For a few moments there was nothing but the soft scrape of serving spoons. Magnus and Tom heaped generous portions onto their plates, as did Samgan, but Lord Peregrine and Alison were more moderate and, unsurprisingly, Cabus had a token amount on his plate. Finally Cabus broke the silence.

“Whoever added the stones was insane,” he said. “They were a genius, but insane. It amplified the local current, but it also added what I suppose you could call feedback, the spikes and distortions in the energy.” He pushed a morsel of buttered carrot around his sparse plate. “These stones are now bedded into the magical flow, and taking them out is likely to cause problems with the magical flow.” He looked around the table. “Those problems could be explosive.”

“How bad could it get?” Tom asked.

Hilary passed him the bottle of wine. “It could turn out to be nothing, or give anyone with any magical sense a headache.” She took a sip of wine from her own glass. “But it could cause damage. That is, it could cause serious damage.”

“You mean, like buildings falling down?” Tom asked, pouring a glass for Alison before topping up his own glass. “Or could it mean people dropping dead?” Hilary shrugged.

“We can’t just react to what’s happening,” Lord Peregrine said. “This room is strongly warded, and Alison and Paul are both wearing protective talismans, but we are under attack. If we sit around too long, we are at a disadvantage. We have no choice but to take action. We have to remove those stones, no matter what the consequences.” He looked thoughtfully at his glass of wine, the deep red of the vintage glowing in the lamplight. “The consequences of doing nothing are far worse than anything that could happen when we move the stones. We have a demon among us, after all.”

“The werewolves are strong enough to move stones,” Magnus said. He took a forkful of his beef and ale casserole and savoured it for a moment. “Between Tom’s tools and our equipment, not to mention our own paws, we can deal with them. We’re ready when you call.”

“We have two areas of concern,” Cabus said. “We have the stones, and we have Rowan Cottage. This home is threatened, and it is also the centre of the problem.”

“Perhaps we could all stay at my home, at least for a while,” Alison said. “My kids are with their grandparents at the moment so they wouldn’t be in the way, and it could buy time to deal with this… awful situation.”

Cabus shook his head. “You have a generous heart,” he said. “But we can’t leave this place unattended. We cannot let it be taken over by darkness and used as a sort of headquarters. Besides, this is perhaps the most heavily protected place in the area, including Lord Peregrine’s halls. There are ancient protections here that are holding against the dark energy. I can feel them.” He smiled sadly at Alison. “And I think that we’ve already shown that your home is not protected.” Alison nodded and hunched a little lower next to Tom.

“We can’t be in two places at once,” Lord Peregrine said.

“That’s exactly what I suggest that we do,” Cabus said. “We will have one group that removes the stones, and one group that stays here, reinforces the wards, and perhaps acts as a safe haven for those of a magical disposition.”

“Have you found all the stones yet?” Paul looked up from his note-taking. “We know where the old stones are, from before, but we don’t know the locations of all the new ones.”

Cabus shook his head. “The notebooks that I’ve been reading aren’t clear about the exact placement in the woods,” he said. “But most of them are near the cottage. We’ll have to map them out.”

“I may be of some assistance in that endeavour,” Samgan said quietly. “I was drenched in the dark energy while I was confined. Tracing the echo of that energy should not be problematic for me.”

“If I have any say in the matter,” Hilary interjected, “Samgan can identify the stones, but he should stay at the cottage with us when we start fighting back.”

“Can we call it a hall instead of a cottage?” Lord Peregrine interrupted. He looked around the wide dining room with a table that could seat twenty. “There are dozens of rooms that have been added on over the years, plus the attics, and we can’t forget that the cellars are bigger than some houses.”

“It’s a witch’s cottage, it’s called Rowan Cottage, and it’s staying a cottage,” Hilary said firmly. “And Samgan should stay in it while all this fuss is going on. It’s not just that he’s still recovering from a dreadful ordeal.” She paused and smiled across at Samgam. “But he’s also strong, capable and can read the magical energy. Alison should be here, as she can be a target, as should Paul.” She instinctively glanced over her shoulder. “They are both vulnerable and we don’t want the thing in the cellar seeing what stones we’ve found if it’s looking through their eyes again.”

“So those in the house should be your good self, Mistress Hilary, Bracken, the Lesken sisters, Paul and Alison,” Lord Peregrine said. “I will go with Cabus and the werewolves to find and destroy the stones. I’ll warn the rest of my court to keep a distance.”

“I’ll send the wife and kids to my cousin in Harrogate,” Magnus said. “That’s out of the way and it will stop me from worrying.” He looked around the table. “We can’t afford to be distracted.”

“And, as someone who knows what it’s like from experience, if you find that you’re missing memories or feel that you’ve lost a chunk of time, then you need to speak up.” Paul was grim as he tapped his pen on the notepad. “It may even give us clues to what the demon wants. After all, he spoke through me to get Alison here. I guess he thought that he could use Alison to do things in the cottage as well as whatever he had her do while she was sleepwalking.”

“I suspect that the demon had her cover up the stones,” Cabus said. “The traces of mud and exhaustion after the sleepwalking would make it a plausible action, and we’re nearer the stones here than at Alison’s home. After all, the harder it is for us to find the stones, the harder it will be to remove them.” He reached over and patted Alison gently on the hand. “You were very brave to talk about it. And there’s no shame. We’ll look after you now.”

Lord Peregrine took a thoughtful sip of his wine. “Before we can take action, we need to identify the stones.” He looked around the table. “Cabus, I would ask that you stay here until this is over. Not only is it protected, but it gives you access to the notebooks and the stones nearby.”

“I had anticipated that,” Cabus said with a faint smile. “My bag is in my car, and I will not need nourishment for a few days.”

“Arrangements can be made if that’s a problem,” Lord Peregrine said.

Cabus smiled faintly. “I’m sure that there will be no need,” he said. “But thank you.” He turned to Samgan who was eating heartily. “If it suits Samgan, we can go out tonight after this pleasant dinner and start mapping the stones.”

“But it’s dark!” Alison said. “And the weather’s awful.” There was a patter of rain on the dining room window.

“It will not be pleasant conditions,” Samgan said quietly. “But we can prepare dry clothes and set out warm drinks before we leave.”

“And if you think that I’ let you go out in this without me staying up and watching for you, with soup and hot tea ready and the fire nice and warm, then you don’t know me at all,” Hilary said firmly.

“We shall be on watch,” Bracken said. “You will take care?” she asked Samgan anxiously.

“I will take care, little Bracken,” Samgan said with a soft smile. “And knowing that you will wait for me will keep me warm.”

Lord Peregrine raised an eyebrow, but he carried on with the plans. “I shall come with you,” he said. “It will not be perfect conditions, but we can all see in the dark, and the sooner it is dealt with, then the sooner we can remove them.”

“The sooner we can identify them, the sooner I can work out the best order to remove them,” Cabus said. “That will be the harder challenge.”

“Then eat up,” Magnus said pragmatically. “Of course I’m coming with you, and the sooner we start, the sooner we can get back into the warm.”

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Hilary hurried into the Village Stores. “Is Lord Peregrine here?” she asked. “I’m trying to get final numbers for the Solstice Feast and I need to get hold of Cabus. And I was hoping that I can borrow some of the big trays and pans from the kitchen here.” She trailed off. “Alison, are you alright?”

Alison forced a wan smile as she cleared a café table. “My kids are off with my ex-husband’s parents for a few days,” she said. “It’s part of the deal to keep them away from my ex. They’ll be back on the 27^th.”

Hilary took the tray from her hands. “I know that you’ll miss them,” she said. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

Alison burst into tears.

Hilary guided her gently into the kitchen, away from the interested stares of the customers, and sat her down on a chair. “I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,” Hilary said. “And you can tell me all about it.”

Paul stuck his head into the kitchen. “Is everything alright?”

Alison shook her head. “I’m glad that the boys are off with their grandparents,” she said. “I’ve been so worried.” She looked up at Hilary. “They may have to stay with them.”

“What are you talking about?” Hilary asked. “You dote on those kids.”

Alison shook her head. “I think that I’ve been sleepwalking,” she whispered. “I go to bed and everything’s normal, but when I wake up, I’m still exhausted and there are muddy clothes everywhere.”

“You mean the kids’ clothes?” Hilary shook her head. “Kids are always getting muddy and somehow their clothes multiply.”

“No, it’s not their clothes, but mine,” Alison said. “I wake up and the clothes that were clean and in my wardrobe are now covered in dirt and on the floor.” She clutched Hilary’s hand. “I must have been outside in them – and my boys were alone in the house. What if there was a fire? What if something happened to me while I was wandering around out there and they were left alone?” She swallowed convulsively. “I even checked the garden and there’s no sign that I’ve been digging around there, so that means that I went further, right? What about my kids?”

“Oh Alison!” Hilary patted her hand. “Try not to worry. I’ll help you sort it out. I know that you’d never willingly risk your children.”

A flicker ran over Paul’s face. “You should come and stay with us,” he said. “There’s plenty of room, and we can keep an eye on the doors to the outside.” He patted her shoulder. “I’m sure that it’s nothing, but staying with Hilary can reassure you.”

“I couldn’t,” Alison said.

Hilary squeezed her hands. “I think that it’s a great idea,” she said. “It’s going to be a little crazy for the next few days, but then you can relax in the quiet without worrying.” She looked back at Paul. “That’s an excellent idea. Alison could do with a little care, not to mention some decent food.”

“I’m fine,” Alison said. “Well, apart from sleepwalking and exhaustion.” Her strained smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m eating properly.”

“No you’re not,” Hilary contradicted. “All your energy is going on those sons of yours and you make do with a sandwich when you have a moment. A few square meals will do you the world of good.”

“We’d be happy to have you,” Paul added. “And you’ll know whether or not something is going on. You’ll be in a place to make connections.”

Hilary nodded. “Alison, get your coat and go and pack up some things. I know that you’ll only be next door, but I want you to be able to save your energy so pack up plenty of clothes.” She patted her shoulder. “Then go straight to Rowan Cottage. I’ll make sure that Tom and Lord Peregrine don’t argue, and I’ll be ready at the cottage with a nice cup of tea and we can get you settled.” She looked hard into Alison’s eyes. “If you’re not thinking of yourself, think of your boys. You need to be in a state to look after them when they get home.”

Alison’s shoulders sagged. “They’ll be off kilter with the disruption,” she said. “I mean, his parents are okay, but…”

“Then you’ll need to be rested and ready for them,” Hilary said. “Go!”

The cottage was warm and welcoming when Tom and Paul finally got back to the cottage and the kitchen felt overflowing. Alison already had a little more colour in her cheeks and was sat at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes. Hilary was fussing around Cabus who was sipping black tea and reading through one of the notebooks, taking copious notes. Samgan was sitting quietly in a corner watching Bracken as she fussed over a tray of shortbread fresh from the oven.

“I see that they’ve put you to work, Alison,” Paul joked. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Hilary looked at him, baffled. “Of course she is. She’s staying here for at least a week. I’m not going to chase her out at mealtimes.”

“When was that decided?” Paul asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you, but I thought that you’d be looking after your lads. Are they going to be here too?”

Hilary stood, focused and still. “Paul, it was your suggestion. Don’t you remember that?”

Paul was taking off his jacket, but he paused. “I don’t remember,” he said softly. “And it’s worrying. There have been a few gaps in my memory over the last few days, and that seems to be one of them.” He swallowed. “I think that I may have been sleepwalking, but perhaps less obviously, as I was waking up still tired.” He looked at Alison. “I felt drained and exhausted, even though I’d apparently had a full night’s sleep.”

Alison nodded. “That’s how I feel,” she said.

“My exhaustion disappeared when I added extra wards to my room,” Paul said. “But I was still getting gaps in my memory, especially while I was at work.”

A chill ran through the room. “I’ve not been affected,” Hilary said. “But I automatically warded my room when I moved in here, and I’ve done all of my work rooms. I just think it’s good practice for a witch.” She looked at Tom. “Before I knew you, I was a little nervous, so your room got extra wards as well. I needed to know that you’d be safe in all sorts of ways.”

“I has had no ill effects, and no gaps,” Bracken said. “But it may be that brownies are not charmed.”

“Our nature is not susceptible to charms or any types of possession,” Samgan said. “I wish that I could use possession as an excuse for my former egregious behaviour, but it was the imprisonment and twisted magical flow that affected me. I cannot exculpate myself further.”

“I don’t want to be alarmist,” Cabus said. “If things were different then I’d suggest getting a carbon monoxide alarm or perhaps a visit to a doctor. However, we have a malevolent spirit in the cellar.”

“We have carbon monoxide detectors all over the cottage,” Hilary said. “I did a full fire risk assessment as part of the regulations for opening this as a B&B. The carbon monoxide detectors were part of that.” She pulled a face. “Though they obviously missed the cellar in their assessment. And you all seem in good health to me, although some need to be taking more rest.” She looked pointedly at Samgan and Alison. “I don’t know about the spirit.” She shuddered. “It felt so… evil but there were protective symbols on the floor. Even though it stirred when I first went down there, whatever it is should have been trapped there.”

Samgan looked down at the floor. “I may have inadvertently contributed to this problem,” he said softly. “I found myself affected in the room.” His head hung lower. “I stumbled around as I fled from the bookshelves. I may have affected any wards by walking where I shouldn’t or knocking things over. All I could hold in my mind at the time was escape. Looking back…” He swallowed and hunched his shoulders. “I seem to remember knocking into shelves.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” Hilary said firmly. “You are a hero for bringing those notebooks up, especially as you were weakened.”

“And there can’t be too much damage to the wards down there or there would be more than just a few missing moments,” Cabus said. “However, I have to agree with Hilary. It’s not impossible that there are mundane explanations, but we must take precautions. I’ll contact Lord Peregrine. Action must be taken, and it should start tonight.”

I’ve been locked out of Facebook.

I know why – I was trying to mind my manners. Yesterday, 22nd September 2025, was my internet birthday and, for one reason or another, I got over 150 messages wishing me Happy Birthday! Today I’ve just spent over half an hour going along the list pressing the ‘Like’ button and trying to type in ‘Thank you!’ all that many times, and I think Facebook thought that I was spamming. I guess I was spamming, typing in ‘thank you’ over 150 times, but I was just trying to be polite!

I had to take a moving pic of my face, which I wasn’t particularly happy about. I don’t see any need for my face to be anywhere. I look like a bag of spanners at the best of times, and the last thing I want is for it to be out there in Internetland. They are considering whether my page follows community standards. As it’s mainly full of shared memes, I have concerns that I won’t make the cut.

So if you’re looking for me on Facebook, and you can’t find me, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my fault! And I suppose that now I need to go and learn instagram, if that’s still available!

I went into hospital to confirm that I didn’t have a blood clot and caught an infection. Now I can’t stop coughing and everything aches.

I’m giving up and coming back in the new year.

Hugs to everyone!

I am useless at planning, which annoys me. Many, many years ago I worked in jobs that demanded accurate and speedy work with seriously hard deadlines, but those skills are long gone. For ages I’ve tried to stick to a timetable of a little fiction on most Mondays, a little chat on some Wednesdays and an occasional book review on Fridays. Recently that has gone so far out of the window that it can’t be seen with a telescope.

This doesn’t just apply to my writing, by the way. I have a mound of knitting projects that have been started and forgotten that is large enough to hide a lost city. I am on Christmas card terms with all the delivery people around here as I have so many internet impulse buys. And my poor husband has learned to live with my erratic attitude to grocery shopping.

To be fair to myself, I’ve recently been busy with a lot of projects. This is partly because in nearly sixty years of life I have not learned how to set realistic goals. The quirkiest project that I’ve been involved with is #HazardousToYourSanity where a number of different bloggers write about projects that interest them. I’ve contributed a couple of posts about British Superstitions, here, here and here and there have been all sorts of topics from other authors, such as soup recipes, music playlists and some very spicy ideas. I’m committed to regular spots in the roster and I’m a couple of pieces ahead now, which is a relief. I was also incredibly honoured to be asked to write the Afterword for the next Kindle edition of A Place Called Paradise by Essie Summers. I’ll share when that comes out, but my part in that is now pretty much done so that’s off the list.

Of course, October is rapidly approaching and as so much of my writing revolves around the supernatural, I feel that I have to go for it. October Frights is back between October 10th and October 15th again, organised by the amazing AF Stewart. I have already got some stuff sorted out for that, and I’m planning a few good things for the rest of October, so watch this space!

Of course, Invitation Accepted is continuing and I have a lot of plans for that.

I am always reluctant to post that I am going to do something, as chaos always follows. If I say I’m going to turn right then, no matter what I do, I turn left every time. However I’ve finished the next instalment of Invitation Accepted and cued it up to be published on Monday, I’ve picked a book to review in eight days time, so the next realistic Friday, and I’m making notes about what I can chat about next Wednesday. I’m hoping that I can get back on track in time for October.

Now all I have to do is try and rein in my imagination and be realistic about what I can do in October – but I think it will still be worth it to watch this space!

The reason for doing research is so that you don’t look like an idiot.

The reason that you stop doing research is to avoid boring your reader and losing your sanity.

You should only research when it makes life easier for you.

In my opinion, when you are starting a piece of fiction, when should be a question that is asked early in the process. If you nail down that time then you make life a lot easier for yourself.

Let’s consider a sweet and gentle heroine, Gwendolyn, and a strong jawed hero, Kurt. They first meet during a magical moment at sunset. In the soft glow of the fading light, they smile and perhaps their hands touch as they part and go their separate ways towards… towards what?

I live in Leeds, UK. If they met today, 21^st June, at the end of my street (possibly the least romantic place in the world), sunset would be 9.40pm. She could be wearing a floating dress and cute sandals while he would be wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt that of course showed off his manly muscles. They would part and go towards their separate beds. However if they met, say, on March 21^st, then sunset would be 6.20pm and they would be going back to their evening pursuits, perhaps in snug sweaters and waterproof jackets. Gwendolyn will be embroidering a picture for a friend and Kurt will be rebuilding a motorbike. And if that first, tingling meeting was on 21^st December then sunset would be at 3.46pm and they would be rushing home for their evening meal. They are wearing warm boots and scarves and Gwendolyn’s meal probably involves a cupcake while Kurt is definitely having steak.

Most readers will probably not go around marking in pencil the different times of day and keeping track. On the other hand, those who notice that Gwendolyn and Kurt are suffering from irregular sunsets will find it incredibly annoying. Having a sunset at 5pm one day and 8pm the next isn’t great continuity and could jar if it’s noticed. It may not only stop them reading the book, it could stop them recommending the book and, worse, stop them buying more of your work.

It doesn’t matter if you are on the exact second. To a normal mortal like me, I couldn’t tell you the exact minute that the sun sets as I’m going about my daily life. I just know that the sun sets later on some days than on others and hang out my washing accordingly. When I’m writing, however, I know that I can use a rough rule of thumb to know whether the exciting chase through the woods is in dappled sunshine (which makes it harder to spot the dropped clue in the light and shade) or in darkness (which makes it easier for the dastardly ambusher to creep up on them).

Setting the time based on the present is one thing, but how about having Gwendoline and Kurt battling Victorian Vampires. They are creeping around 19^th century London, valiantly stalking the bloodsuckers. If the vampires struggle with daylight, knowing when the sun is likely to set is really important and, fortunately, sunrise and sunset times stay roughly the same for millennia. You can look up the times for this year and apply them whenever. In this scenario, the year is the important detail.

Queen Victoria came to the throne in 1837. She died in 1901. That’s roughly 64 years, or the difference between 2023 and 1959. A lot of stuff happened in science, industry and politics and many people know enough about that time to quibble. If the characters are huddled together under a streetlight, is it powered by gas (from the 1820s) or electric (in general use from around 1878)? And as Lord Kurt has one manly arm around the fainting Miss Gwendolyne, does his other hand hold a Colt Walker (introduced 1847), a Colt Peacemaker (1873) or a Colt New Service (1898). While someone in 1898 could absolutely be using a well-maintained Colt Walker or even a blunderbuss, it’s slightly harder to have a Colt New Service in 1847, but that depends on the plot.

In general, on the whole and by and large, it doesn’t matter too much. If you are getting complaints, you can look the critic firmly in the eye and tell them, ‘It’s like that in my world.’ After all, vampires aren’t real, so what does it matter if a young Charles Dickens is using a commercial typewriter? If you want to give your story authentic bones (with room to fudge a year or two if the plot needs it – plot comes first) then if you pick a date at the start then you can always look up information as you feel you need it. Perhaps Bram Stoker writes Dracula after learning about vampires in a chance encounter with Gwendolyn and Kurt. Dracula was published in 1897, so let’s have the story set in 1875. That means that Kurt can have a shiny new Colt Peacemaker and Gwedonlyn will be wearing rigorous corsets and a bustle. And as you rattle through their amazing adventures, if you are in doubt, you can just have a quick look to see what was around in 1875, fiddle with stuff to make the plot work and carry on.

Fantasy writing is not too different when it comes to time. You may be creating a new world that is stuffed with elves and goblins and magic, but if you do a little bit of research at the start, you can make life a lot easier for yourself.

Kurt the Barbarian may be meeting the sweet Gwendolyn the Healer in the fabled city of Tarsh, but unless you feel like worrying about planetary physics, you can use the same rules for their daylight hours. Are they meeting as the sun sets and the gates of the city are closing? You can absolutely use the prosaic timings of Leeds. Perhaps it’s winter, and the sun dips below the Virnoth Mountains early and Kurt the Barbarian, resplendent in his furs, wraps a warm woollen cloak around Gwendolyn the Healer before leading her to a sustaining meal in a local inn. Or is it later in the year and the hot summer winds are swirling up from the plains of Redumar as the incense rises from the temples on the soft evening air.

By the way, did you know that sunrise and sunset are different depending on where in the world you are? Let’s take a sunset on 10^th November. In Leeds, where the modern day romance between Kurt and Gwendolyn is progressing nicely, the sun sets at 4.16pm. If you are being extremely detailed, the Victorian Vampire Hunters in London have sunset at 4.18pm on November 10^th  (and the chance of those two minutes being significant is extremely small). But perhaps Lord Kurt and Miss Gwendolyn have followed the vampires across Europe to the capital of Romania. Sunset at Bucharest on November 10^th is at 4.54pm. But wait, the fanged fiend has fled to an unexpected lair in Hong Kong. As they scull across the bustling harbour on that fateful 10^th November, the sun sets at 5.41pm. Alas, they miss their chance, and the bloodthirsty Count is now in Santiago, Chile. November 10^th is late spring or early summer in the Southern Hemisphere and as Lord Kurt escorts Miss Gwendolyn into the International Exposition in the Quinta Normal grounds, they fear that the sunset at 8.18pm will awaken their nemesis.

This may all seem like a lot of research, but it’s just a few clicks on the internet and then you have some bones to hang your story on. If you choose 10^th November in Leeds for the modern romance between Kurt and Gwendolyn then you can use the run up to Christmas with the city Christmas lights, the displays in Roundhay Park and all the Christmas shopping events as easy ways to frame their encounters as the story progresses. And if Lord Kurt and Miss Gwendolyn are searching Victorian London, it’s so much easier to know if a London Underground station would be open in a particular area if you can just check the history pages of a website for 1875 rather than worrying about making something up and then contradicting that two chapters later. And surely it’s easier to remember if Kurt the Barbarian and Gwendolyn the Healer are battling ice or heat waves if you have nailed down an equivalent real world date. After all, you don’t want the heat of the summer sun shining on the gilded domes of Tarsh if you’ve described the snow storm two paragraphs and three hours earlier.

My opinion is that a reader wants to know about the characters and the plot. The most important thing is absolutely the story. I believe that it’s easier for a reader to savour your wonderful writing if those minor, background details work together, support the story and help things flow. And if research gets in the way of the story – junk the research!

Happy Writing!

You can find the rest of the posts on this here – Research and the Author, Collected Posts

Sites that I have used when writing this article

Time and Date – for all those sunset times, and it’s also great for scheduling across time zones.

Military Factory – because while I remembered about the Peacemaker, I knew that there was a lot that I didn’t know

Fashion History Timeline – And if I had chosen 1876 instead, Miss Gwendolyn could have been wearing a sleek princess line dress instead of being encumbered by that bustle.

Just so you know, Whisper in the Shadows is free in eBook until 29th April 2023 11.59pm PST.

It’s No1 in the ‘Horror Short Story Collections Free on Amazon UK’ Bestseller list as I type, so I guess that I am officially a best seller of sorts.

As I have mentioned, Whisper in the Shadows is a collection of short stories with a slightly darker cast to them or perhaps a supernatural leaning. Eight of them were previously on my blog, though now have been moved to the eBook, and there are four new stories. It seems only fair that I give at least some value for money.

I thought that it would be a chance to talk about the inspiration of a couple of the new stories. Or, perhaps, make shameful admissions. I read posts about writers struggling to find inspiration, to find ideas and characters and places. I’m not one of those. I get mugged by inspiration. I have a list somewhere of dozens of plots, characters and settings. The actual writing is the thing that slows me down.

The short story First House on the Left was inspired by four houses in a row at a junction. I’m often stuck in traffic there, and I started to wonder about them. I couldn’t see any easy parking nearby, and I’m usually too rushed to park and walk for much distance, so I took a screen shot from Google Maps.

I checked for copyright, and as far as I can tell, as long as I don’t go overboard with the screenshots and credit Google Street View, this is okay. I’m definitely not trying to pass this off as my own work. It’s not only blatantly from Google Streetview but I can’t take pictures as good as this. Anyway, I’d be stuck in traffic here several times a week and wondering about these houses. Why were three boarded up and not the fourth? Who would own these houses and let them go to ruin? What would it be like to live in that last house when the others were boarded up? Would there be ghosts? I have no idea who lived there or anything about this terrace, but my imagination took over and the next thing I knew there were just over six thousand words of a supernatural story.

That was inspiration that grew over months. On the other hand, I was happily shopping at the supermarket with most of my mind drifting away as I tried to remember whether we needed breakfast cereal and I noticed a woman forget the coin in her supermarket trolley. As someone chased after her, I wondered if that was a failed attempt to get rid of an unlucky coin and the result of that train of though was that I forgot breakfast cereal but wrote The Coin. I had to go back to the shop, but I don’t regret it as I had a blast writing the story.

This is the final reminder that Dark Picture, Under Dark Hills and the stories associated with At the Fireside will be removed from the blog on 30th April. Dark Picture and Under Dark Hills are likely to be converted to novels after a serious tidy up, so watch this space.

I’d love to hear what you think, so feel free to drop a comment, thought or question.

Hugs and good vibes to all.