Another Step Forward

 

Photo by Karolina Kołodziejczak on Unsplash

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Tom watched Paul as he rang up a large order of candles, perfume, scarves, and pickled jalapenos.

“My mother invited four more people to Christmas,” Yvette grumbled. “And it’s not just them. I’m going to have to send gifts back for the rest of their families or I’ll be in trouble. Thank goodness for your gift shelves.”

“Lord Peregrine went a little…” Tom couldn’t think of a good way to describe Lord Peregrine’s attitude to stocking the shop. “We’ve got plenty of wrapping paper and sticky tape.”

“That’s a relief,” Yvette said. “You know that we can’t get deliveries here, not like they do in towns.”

We’ve got another delivery coming here this afternoon,” Tom said. “But it’s trade, so it’s a little different. Lord Peregrine…” There was no polite way to describe Lord Peregrine’s purchases. “You may like to pop back tomorrow, when we should have the new stock on the shelves. There’s plenty of stocking stuffers and little bits that might help you out.”

“He went crackers online when you weren’t looking, didn’t he?” Yvette grinned. “What did he get? And where are you going to put it.”

Tom forced his attention away from Paul and looked around the shops. “I think that we’ll manage,” he said. “We’re getting low on the perfume and fancy candles, which I didn’t expect, and we could do with another wholesale order for the groceries.”

“The perfume is gorgeous,” Yvette said. “I’ve already bought a load for myself.” She chuckled. “I know that Lord Peregrine was involved in that somewhere, but it smells absolutely glorious and it's a bargain."

"We won’t be able to get it again,” Tom said. “But I’m sure that his lordship will manage something.”

Yvette shook her head. “I can see me coming down to the Village Stores for bread, milk, and whatever wonder Lord Peregrine has picked up.” She looked around the shop. “What’s Alison doing?”

Tom pressed the total button on the till and glanced over. Alison was methodically moving clean glasses onto the trays for the dishwasher, her eyes blank. He looked back at Paul. He had the same absent expression as he carefully moved the tins of tomato soup from the grocery shelf to a gap between the snow globes and the sparkly Santa ornaments. “It’s been an odd few weeks,” he said with breathtaking understatement.

Yvette followed his eyes to watch Paul as she handed over her card. “Take the payment, then I’ll bag these up. You sort Paul and Alison out.” She looked back at Tom. “It’s going to be sorted out, isn’t it?”

Tom swiped the card. “It’ll be finished by Christmas, one way or another.” He briefly closed his eyes. “But until then, it might be a good idea to keep your kids inside and stay in at night. When is your mother coming to stay?”

“Mum and the tribe that she’s bringing are arriving Christmas Eve.” Yvette said. “Gideon calls it ‘the hordes descending’ and I can’t argue with that description.”

Tom grinned, despite himself. “Your husband always has a good way with words,” he said. He thought for a moment. “I know that you’re running around getting everything ready, but stay inside when it’s dark, keep an eye on that adventurous lad of yours, and don’t answer the door to anyone that you don’t know.” He glanced over to Paul. “Or anyone that you don’t know but who’s acting odd.”

“If you’re including Lord Peregrine, Bracken, or your uncle, I guess that means odd for them,” Yvette said.

“If you have any questions, you know that you can always call me,” Tom said. “But perhaps the best person to call would be Hilary. She’s holding things together at Rowan Cottage, and it would already be a lot worse without her.” He watched Alison pick up a loaded tray. “In fact, I think that I’ll give her a call now.”

“That’s a great idea,” Yvette started filling her bag. “And give me a call if you need a little extra help in the shop. I know that you’re doing your best.” She slid the last perfume into her bag. “And you’re all dear to me. Besides, Gideon is off work and while it may be bedlam here, it’s easier than dealing with a sugar filled toddler this close to Christmas.”

“Thanks,” Tom said gratefully. He watched her leave before pulling out his phone. Things were getting serious.

“There had better be soup!” Lord Peregrine announced as he stumbled into the Village Stores. “I need to be warmed!”

“You are walking on the floor!” Bracken cried, hurrying forward.

“I refuse to walk on the ceiling,” Lord Peregrine said. He looked past the agitated brownie to Hilary. “I need comfort.”

Hilary looked around the crowded shop, then back at Lord Peregrine. He was soaked, muddy and looking pale with cold. Behind him, Samgan, Magnus, Cabus and Tom were equally damp and dirty. “Everyone into the kitchen at the back,” Hilary said. “Bracken, take a few moments to find towels, soup and rolls. I’ll cover in here.”

“And then I shall attend to the floor,” Bracken grumbled.

Hilary watched her usher the men into the kitchen, then turned back to her customer. “Is that everything, Christine?”

“You don’t have a very good selection of gifts for youngsters, do you?” Christine sneered.

“No, we don’t,” Hilary said. She started scanning Christine’s items.

Christine waited for a moment, anticipating the excuses, her lips tightening as the silence stretched on. “Aren’t you going to say anything about it?” she snapped.

“No,” Hilary said. “Would you like a bag? Our sustainable, locally made bags are £1.”

“Don’t you think that there should be a better choice for kids?” Christine demanded.

“No,” Hilary said. “That’s £47.22 without a bag. Are you paying with cash or card?”

“I could get you fired,” Christine said, flushing as she pulled out a shopping bag.

“Don’t be silly,” Hilary said. “Is that all you want, Marlene?”

“This perfume is gorgeous!” Marlene said. “Of course, you have to check the label, but it’s worth it.”

“It’s false advertising,” Christine said, glaring at Hilary. “I should report you.”

Hilary gave her a bland smile. “You should absolutely report us if you think that there’s anything wrong,” she said.

Marlene narrowed her eyes. “Give it up, Christine,” she snarled. “There’s plenty of signs saying that the label and the fragrance may not match, and everyone knows that they’re seconds. Just because you can’t find anything for your precious son, you have to be spiteful.”

Christine opened and shut her mouth, then spun around and stormed out of the shop.

“Thanks,” Hilary said, applying the staff discount to Marlean’s order. “I swear that she’s getting worse.”

“She thinks that her husband has another woman,” Marlene said. She smiled sadly. “But he’s just hanging around the allotment and gym, because he’s avoiding her.” She nodded to the back room. “Go and sort them out.” She glanced around the shop. “I reckon you’ve got five minutes, and I’ll give you a shout if anything happens.”

Hilary hurried into the kitchen. “Is everyone alright?” she asked.

Cabus looked up from his cup of tea. “We are cold, wet and covered in mud, but we mapped all the stones,” he said. “Some had definitely been hidden, but we tracked them all.”

Samgan passed a bowl of soup over to Lord Peregrine. “We may be chilled and begrimed, but it was worth it. All of the stones are identified.”

Cabus took another sip of his tea. “Some will be easily moved, but others are embedded. We’ll have to plan carefully.” He nodded over to Magnus who was devouring a bowl of soup. “Magnus took plenty of photographs and measurements, along with ample notes. We can make informed plans.”

“That’s good news,” Hilary said. She checked the time. “We’ll be closing in fifteen minutes. Get that soup eaten, and I’ll give you all a lift up to Rowan Cottage.” She grinned. “I may have to do it in a couple of journeys, but it will be better than walking in the cold and wet.”

“I don’t mind waiting!” Magnus said, putting his spoon aside and drinking enthusiastically from the bowl. “I’m just starting to warm up.”

“How are Paul and Alison?” Tom asked.

“They were fine once they were settled in the cottage,” Hilary said. “They’re staying in the kitchen, where the wards are strongest. And that’s where we can plan our next step forward.”

It's Autumn At Last

 

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

I love autumn. It’s the best time of year for me. I love the scents of the fallen leaves and the crisp mornings. It’s great to light candles again and snuggle under blankets after the warmth of summer. And, of course, there’s Halloween.

I’ve heard Halloween called the day of the dead when the year, too, dies and it always gives me a delightful shiver. I’m not sure how much I want to buy into the mystical side of things, but I love an excuse to get spooky.

Last October I did an entire month of stories featuring Kane, the hapless young man that communicates with ghosts whether he likes it or not. That collection will shortly be coming out as an anthology on Amazon as An Apprenticeship of Ghosts. I’ve got different plans for this October.

I’ve never met a plan that I couldn’t complicate, confuse, lose, and then fail at, but hopefully this will work out. While transferring all the stories from one blog site to another, I found plenty of old, slightly spooky, maybe a little bit uncanny or paranormal, stories that were just hanging around. It seemed a shame to leave them just loitering, so that collective hodgepodge of miscellaneous stories will be re-posted, one for every day of October. I’ll be adding in some new stuff as well, to be fair, so that there’s plenty to enjoy.

Once everyone who’s interested has had a chance to dip in, the stories will disappear on 30^th November, like a ghost at daybreak. They will then return, as an anthology on Amazon, hopefully some time before Christmas, depending on Amazon.

Photo by Vino Li on Unsplash

This is part of my plan to try and avoid losing my stories, especially in transit from websites. It fits in with the re-issue of the stories from the White Hart, and I’ll be turning Under Dark Hills, Invitation Accepted, and The Guest into books on Amazon as well. However, once that has been done, I’ll be concentrating on bringing out some new stuff. I have a list of things I want to write, so watch this space. 

Getting Darker

 

Photo by Majid Abparvar on Unsplash

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.”

Adding an Another Author Name

 und 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.

Currently not available but watch this space

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.

Council of War

 

Photo by Mantas Sinkevičius on Unsplash

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.”

Working Through the Blogs

 

Just a quick update after last week’s post about my plans here. I was diving in over my head with a crazy plan to transfer over just shy of 600 posts from Wordpress to Blogger. What was worse, I wasn’t planning on automating it. Instead I thought that I could have a little look through, perhaps correct some links, and generally tidy up.

Of course, I couldn’t stop there, not when I hadn’t fully used up this month’s idiot supply. I’d unposted all the non-spooky stuff that I’d previously had on Wordpress, because my brand, such as it is, has an oversupply of the supernatural. I have Kane’s ghost stories, the frankly over-supernatural stuff at the White Hart and all the good stuff in stories like Invitation Accepted. The few bits of ‘normal’ world writing seemed adrift and out of place, so I took them off the blog. But then I read through the drafts of some of them as I was preparing to transfer them over, and I kind of liked them.

Rather than lose the stories, running to just shy of 22k words spaced over 39 stories, I created another Blogger account, Mari’s Fireside. I’ve hopefully got all of the stories over to that blog, and while some are distinctly average, and some I decided should never see the light of day again, there are a few that give me a sense of pride. I hope that you feel able to dip into them. If I ever expand any of them to a better length and tidy them up enough, they could end up on Amazon under the name Mari Medana. I’ll be clear that it’s the same person, but one is spooky and one is non-spooky and that way everyone knows what to expect.

I have given myself eye strain, but now all the little stories are over either on Always Another Chapter Blogger version or on Mari’s Fireside. I now need to go through and check that everything is either saved to the laptop, PC, or cloud, and that it’s either waiting to have things done to it, on Blogger Always Another Chapter, or on Mari’s Fireside. I’ve already secured all of Kane’s stuff, though of course I’ll be double checking, all of The Guest and today I got Invitation Accepted copied onto the PC.

And while I’ve been typing this, I can’t help but wonder whether the Research and the Author posts that I’ve copied over perhaps should have their own blog, as they seem to be multiplying nicely and I’ve got plans to write a non-fiction book containing them at some point. It will only happen if I think that it will be a useful contribution but if that book happens then it could do with a blog to support it. Dammit. Anyway, here is the page giving links to all the Research and the Author articles that have made it over to the Blogger Always Another Chapter, only fourteen at the moment but watch this space.

The next stage, apart from a possible fourth Blogger blog, is to go though each post on Wordpress and check that it has a home elsewhere. I managed to automate that, fight my way through an Excel sheet (I loathe Excel with the fire of a thousand suns), onto a Word table, and I have now got 33 pages of entries to go through individually, double check, then allocate to somewhere, whether it’s the PC, the laptop, one of the Blogger blogs, or even the discard pile as some things really aren’t worth keeping. I’ll post on here when I’ve finally finished, whenever that is!

If you have any questions, would like to tactfully comment on my lack of sanity, or have any views, please let me know. I always love to hear from people.

And please wish me luck!

Research and the Author - What's in a Name

 Let’s talk about researching names for characters in contemporary fiction. I’m never going to be brilliant at naming characters. I have no problem imagining the way that that a character moves, the way that they tilt their head when talking, and even their food and drink preferences, but if I’m not careful, they’d all end up called John or Jane Smith. Or I’d subconsciously name them after a player on a soccer team, or a character in a soap that I don’t watch but that I’ve heard about, and then I’d feel ridiculous. What is more, if I unintentionally pick a name of someone in the public eye and make them a devious and unpleasant villain, it could be seen as hurtful or even directed, and who wants to accidentally get involved with that?

I created this image using Canva without the help of AI and I'm a little surprised that it turned out this well.

I am a research junkie, and until they come up with a 12-step programme to get me away from it, I’ll always turn to research when I’m faced with a conundrum like names. And, for me, a carefully chosen name can have a significant impact on the initial description of a character. In fact, if it’s just a side character that will appear briefly, the name can do most of the work. After all, stereotypes are useful if you’re careful and deliberate with your writing. If you name a character Antonio Rossi, the reader immediately gets a certain amount of background, just as they would for a character called Hamish McDonald or Bjorn Gundersen. Any name has put a stamp on the character, and the reader will have certain expectations. You may as well make use of them.

If you’re writing a short story, doing research for names can be something of an overkill, but, as I mentioned, a name is part of defining a character. You perhaps just need the first name, so you don’t need to worry too much about getting confused with a character in a film or a person in the public eye. You don’t have to look up James to know that it’s a fairly popular and timeless name, and can be tailored to your character as James, Jimmy, Jim, Jimbo, Jamie, etc. The same goes for names like John, Mary, Jane, Elizabeth, or Peter. Those names settle nicely in most English speaking countries without much trouble. They are a little bland, though, so you may want to change it up.

Other names are very much of their time. In my part of the world, the names Sharon, Kevin, Tracy, or even Darren are mainly common in those born in the 1960s. If you want to show age, a name is one way of doing it if you choose carefully. You can have a quick internet search for something like ‘popular baby names of 1990’ and take your pick of something that sounds good and that would potentially fit the character.

A very famous Jane
Photo by Paolo Chiabrando on Unsplash

Another way of finding a first name is to look at sources for the meaning of popular names. It can help support your vision of your character if you choose a name that fits in with their personality. For example, Richard means Brave Ruler, Arthur is linked to Bear, and Ciaran means Little Dark One. I haven’t checked those meanings, by the way. I found them on a site called Honey Name which I bookmarked and intend to use shamelessly.

I find surnames far harder to choose. First names are undefined and could be anyone, but full names are different. There are so many names out there on the internet that it’s unnervingly possible to pick a name of someone that’s at least well-known by some readers. I’m clueless when it comes to reality shows, and I don’t watch many soaps or films, so a name that sounds perfect could actually belong to someone real. If you think of a name and it sounds perfect, for heaven’s sake do an internet search on the full name plus possible nicknames. The point of research is to stop the author looking like an idiot.

It could be a name that is genuinely unknown to the author, but crazily famous elsewhere. For example, I’m British and I’ve not had much access to American football. I’ve heard of the Superbowl, and I’ve heard of quarterbacks, but I had to check the internet for who was the quarterback in the 2026 Superbowl winning team to know that it was Sam Darnold. It would be unnervingly easy for me to call a character Sam Arnold, or Sammy Darnold, or similar without realising, and for those who read my work and also watch the Superbowl, it could cause confusion. In fact, depending on how many readers I got and how awful the character was, I could get some uncomfortable comments on the internet.

Finding a surname is tricky. I know that when the first writers of the long-running British soap Coronation Street were starting to put the idea together, they went to a local cemetery and looked at names on gravestones. That could be a fun day out in the right circumstances, but if you’re deep into a writing marathon, then you’ll want to forge ahead. As my stories are primarily set in England, I’m happy to use English place names as a last name. I can look on an internet map for obscure districts and then add a first name. A quick internet check will tell me if the name belongs to someone famous, or at least potentially known, and I have a name. The hero in my book Out of the London Mist, John Farnley, got his last name from a district in my home city of Leeds.

'Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland'
https://maps.nls.uk/
which shows a map including Farnley from the nineteenth century

You can pick up surnames from obscure sports teams, trade directories, newspaper stories – all sorts of places. The important thing is to not use the name as a whole.You don’t want to try and take the identity of a name in the paper. The idea of research is to make your life easier, not to get into trouble. Let’s look at a sports team as a source. Yorkshire County Cricket Club had a player called John Thewlis who scored the first century, or one hundred runs, in County Cricket for Yorkshire in 1869. Thewlis sounds like a good surname, and according to Honey Name, Brenna means Little Raven which I thought sounded intriguing, so I now have a potential character called Brenna Thewlis. It’s not a bad sounding name and I didn’t find anything for that when I did an internet search. There are a few traces of Brenda Thewlis and Brendan Thewlis but I should be safe with Brenna, and I think that she sounds cute.

If you are writing a novel, particularly if it’s part of a series, getting the right name is important enough to take a little time. I absolutely think that it’s worth spending time on research. If you’re in the middle of a sprint or marathon, or if you’re on a deadline, and you don’t have time, being able to pick names from lists is easier if you have a couple of sites bookmarked from your research into names. Research is supposed to make life easier for the author so don’t overthink things, get a name that supports your character, then send the hapless hero or heroine out into your amazing story, and have fun doing it!

There is a page with links to all the Research and the Author posts here and I hope that you feel happy to dip in.