R.V. Mitchell's Blog

"What do you make of it?" the detective asked.

"Well Sir," the constable replied. "The lady seems to have been knocked out or had a seizure of some sort, then the gentleman smothered her to death by burying her under all those sheets of wallpaper."

The detective shot a glance towards the cowering man, handcuffed in the corner.

"Was he cowering like that when you found him?" the D.I. asked.

"No Sir, he was crawling around the room on all fours, just going in circles and climbing over the body."

A second constable came to the door and caught the D.I.'s attention.  "Sir, there is a doctor downstairs who says she's some kinda expert on cases like this."

"Send her up, because this makes no sense to me," the detective said.

A few moments later a tall, well dressed woman entered the room and offered her hand to the detective. "Doctor Jennie Smith," she said, "University College."

"Are you a medical examiner?" the policeman asked.

"No, a psychologist.  When your superintendent heard about the case, she rang me."

"So what is it?" the detective asked.

"It looks like a case of Creeper's Syndrome," she replied.  "But I will need to talk to the suspect to be sure."

"Creeper's?" the D. I. said puzzled.

"Syndrome," she interjected. " A kind of mental break brought about by prolonged exposure to large irregular or worn patterns in wallpaper.  The original case was in New England in the 1890s, in that case the offending paper was yellow. At first it was considered a female malady, but as you can see here, anyone can be affected.  It is interesting that the paper here was green, though.  It may be a first."

"Murder by wallpaper, now I've seen everything," the detective muttered.

"No Detective, if you had seen everything, it would be you handcuffed and cowering in that corner," Dr Smith retorted.

Inspired by The Yellow Wallpaper and Other Stories

The place was known in the tongue of men as the Whispering Shallows, a mist covered inlet in which it seemed that quiet voices drifted across the waters. Most of the merchant seamen and fishermen of Harbourhead avoided the cove, in fear of the strange phenomenon, or the rumour that the place was inhabited by ghosts or evil spirits.

In the language of the Sea-elves the small bay was called Merhaven, the haven of the Mer-folk. The Elves too seldom visited the place, not because of superstition but because of an ancient treaty which stated that this cove was to be recognised as a holy site of the Mer.

Seventeen-year-old Arun, however, was an inquisitive Elf, and he wanted to have a chance to once again to see and maybe even to talk with a Mer. His Sea Clan had amiable relations with the Mer-folk, but most of their meetings were fleeting. He on one voyage as a child seen three Mermen swim to the side of his father’s vessel and conduct the trade of pearls in exchange for bronze. He was therefore determined to visit Merhaven on a solstice day.

As the dawn broke, Arun scrambled down the dunes to the cove. As he did the mist started to melt away, and singing wafted over the morning tide. Dozens of Mer were raising their voices to meet the sun.

Arun lay still among the grasses of the dunes until the ceremony ended. The whole thing was a wonder to behold. As the Mer dived and swam out to sea, Arun approached to examine the trinkets which were left in the surf – offerings to the gods of land, sun, and sea.


To many the artefacts might have looked just like flotsam and jetsam, but Arun knew better. He had watched the Mer reverently holding each piece up to the sky, then towards the land, and then laying them into the sea.

As he was gazing at the pieces her heard a voice challenging him.

“What are you doing here Elf?”

Arun started, then looked into the surf to see a Mer of a similar age to himself. He has broad shouldered, and handsome and he bore a trident spear.

“I came to watch your ceremony,” he lied. “And to maybe meet one of you,” he added truthfully.

“And the steal our offerings?” the Mer challenged.

“No, to add to them,” he said, and he look off the shell pendant he wore around his neck and dropped it into the water’s edge. “My name is Arun,” he added.

“I am Tuqueel,” the young Merman replied. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Life below the waves, and above,” Arun said.

“Fair enough,” Tuqueel responded.

The two sat in the surf for several hours discussing things. Tuqueel was as curious about the land-dwellers as Arun was about the Mer.

In time there meetings became more regular, and the two came to consider one another as a friend.

On Arun’s eighteenth birthday, Tuqueel even presented the Elf with a Mer-spear. This was reciprocated on Tuqueel’s nineteenth, he being a year older than Arun, with the presentation of a curved bronze dagger fashioned in the style of the Elves.

Yaqub despised being called “The Little Prince.” His older brother was the one still called by the child’s name, Razi. It was Yaqub who was taller. It was Yaqub that was more athletic. Yaqub was cunning, and a leader of men, but Razuli had been the heir.

But for how long? It would take some doing, but it would be done. It had to be done.

The Little Prince was inpatient. But first things first. There needed to be a fall guy. The Chamberlain seemed the obvious candidate. The head of the Guard was too much a sycophant to be accused of assassinating the monarch, but the wily Ali Mamode with his clear political ambitions, he was a believable patsy.

Now that that was settled, how to carry out the deed and yet be far enough away to avoid being suspected himself? A fall? No that wouldn’t do. It was too similar to how he had assassinated his father. Poison? Yes, that seemed a good approach. It would need to be a rare one, however, hard to trace and harder to cure. Something natural. Yes, that was it. Snake venom? No, how would a snake be found in the new Sultan’s chambers? What would be believable? A spider? Yes, perfect.

Now how to get a spider into his rooms. One a dinner tray? No, the servant might spot it. Among his laundry? No, there is no way to assure the creature would bite Razi and not someone else – or even bite at all.

No, a jab would do. Place it on his fork, or maybe . . .? That won’t do. The food tasters might succumb first.

His pens! His imbecile of a brother always licked his pen nibs. All Yaqub needed to do was place the poison on the nibs when his brother was preoccupied, and then leave. Then hide the poison in the Chamberlain’s chambers, and be sure to be seen at some official event outside the palace when the Sultan fell ill.

Oh, the simple plans were always the best. He smiled and stretched before ringing the little bell beside his cushioned chair. A servant quickly responded.

“Wine,” The Little Prince commanded. “One from the Sultan’s cellars!”

The Locket and The Rosemen Tales are coming along, and I am now smoothing some continuity points. In addition, The Cousins Tales has been making demands on me to pen segments even though it was envisioned to be the fourth book of the series. It may well end up racing ahead of the Dunes Wars prequel. While Wai Yen was originally intended to be the central character, the Elf twins, Arun and Uran are demanding sizable portions of the storyline, and Omar, a reluctant participant in the tale, is starting to tie sections of the plot together.

My novella, Zoe Means Life will be available as a free eBook download from Amazon for one day only on Friday 5 July. Please have a look. Zoe Means Life

Jack Hardwick was the youngest of four children.  His childhood in Acle, Norfolk was less than ideal.  His father had run off shortly before his third birthday, and his mother relied on a series of part time jobs in order to make ends meet. 


The family had moved in with his grandmother who became the principal adult in the children's lives.  Susan, Jack's eldest sister was constantly at odds with their “Nan,” as she could not make any sense of her “outdated” rules.  It was 1971 after all.



One rule in particular irked her.  No girl in the family was allowed to go out after dark on a new moon evening unless accompanied by a male of the family.  This seemed totally arbitrary. 



“Nan, we can go out any other evening, so why not tonight?” she challenged on the night of a dance at the school.  “I am fifteen, not a baby.”



“It is the way we do things in this family,” her grandmother said bluntly.  “Your mother didn’t go out on ‘dark night,’ nor did Great Nan, or I.”



“It’s just stupid,” Susan screamed and went to her room and slammed the door.



Most of this didn’t went over Jack’s head. 



A month later he was surprised when Susan came into his room a little before the then four-year-old’s bedtime.



“Jackie, put your shoes on she said.”



“Why?” he asked with a puzzled expression.



“Because you are going to go with me into town,” she said.



Jack put on his shoes, and was led out the back door by his sister.  She held his hand, they went to the corner in the centre of the small town where Susan met three other teenaged girls.

“Why did you bring the baby?” Jenny said lighting a cigarette, and handing it to Susan.



“I’m not a baby, I am nearly five,” Jack objected.



“It’s a stupid family rule,” she replied.  “Girls can’t be out without a “man” with them on moonless nights.”  She took a long drag on the cigarette, then said, “No one ever said how old the man has to be.”



“Genius,” Cristina and Jenny said together.



The girls hung out on the corner for another half an hour or so when Jack became impatient.



“Can we go home now?” he kept saying to his sister.



“Five more minutes,” she said.



It was just about then that Steve Miller passed by.  All four girls smiled as he altered his course to come stand with them.



He reached out and put his arm around Susan’s shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek.



“I thought we were leaving,” Jack said and gave Susan a shove.



“Damn it, Jack,” she said stamping out her third cigarette. 



“Sorry everybody,” she said. “I have to take the baby home.”



***

“Where in the hell have you been?” their grandmother bellowed as they came back in the kitchen door. 



“In town,” Susan said in an assured tone.



“You know the rules,” her Nan scolded.



“Yes, and I followed them.  I had a male with me!” she said smugly.



“Don’t you know that new moons are dangerous?” Nan stressed.  “You have no idea what could happen!”



Though Jack didn’t fully understand what the fuss was about, he knew that it was wrong for Susan it be out in the dark without a “grown up man.” 



Susan never tried the stunt again, but as soon as she turned sixteen she announced that she was leaving Norfolk for London.



Jack never saw his sister again.  He wasn’t sure if she just didn't want to talk to any of them again, or if something bad had happened to her.  Maybe something bad happened on a moonless night.  Whatever the case, he set his mind on becoming a policeman.  He was going to keep people safe.

To mark the release of Zoe Means Life, its prequel Visitor in the Night" will be available as a free eBook download from Amazon on Wednesday 12 June.

Visitor in the Night: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RF4BWXG

Zoe Means Life:https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07SM9RKBY

Visitor In The Night
Zoe Means Life

The sequel to Visitor in the Night, Zoe Means Life is now available for pre-order on  Amazon.  It is scheduled to be released June 9th.

"Norfolk shop assistant, Zoe Mayhill will never be the same.  Her encounter with Patrick Malone in the Norfolk Broads has been transformational.  As she comes to grips with her new life, it seems that only London can meet her dark needs."

William Browne was a Northamptonshire, the son of a prominent grocer. His father arranged a good education for him at the Oundle School where he excelled in mathematics and languages. His father had William’s whole life planned out for him, and he was slated to enter a career in banking at the end of his education. Maybe even ‘the City,” awaited him.

Though good with numbers, William despised them however. He longed for a life of adventure. Westward Ho! and Moby Dick intrigued him, he knew in his heart that his life should be one linked to the sea. As a Midlands boy, however, he knew nothing more of it than what he had read in books.

One evening when he was sixteen, and on the eve of his beginning his apprenticeship at the banking house, he quietly packed a few belongs and headed for King’s Lynn. He travelled the dark road to Peterborough and arranged a room with some of his meagre funds in order the sleep till late afternoon. He again travelled through the night, and repeated the practice again in Wisbech. On the third morning he arrived on the outskirts of Lynn and made his way to the docks.

He was tired and footsore but approached the first ship he say at the docks.

“Do you have need of a hand?” he inquired.

The master looked him up and down, taking in his relatively expensive attire. “Have you ever been to sea?” the man asked.

“No, but I am eager,” William replied.

“I have no place for a landsman on the Raven,” the master said. “Try the Sea Horse.”

William made his way down the docks to the small two-masted vessel.

“Do you need any hands?” he called up to the men on deck.

A leather-faced man came down the gangway to join him.

“Have you any experience?” the captain asked.

“No, but I learn fast, and I’m strong.”

“What’s your name, Lad?” the mariner asked.

“Will Br – Black,” the young would be banker replied.

The captain nodded knowingly and then said, “Welcome to the Sea Horse.”

The vessel set sail that same afternoon for Memel on the Baltic Coast with a cargo of wool.

Landsman Black did indeed learn quickly, though his duties were largely swabbing decks, and fetching sails, ropes, and other items for others.

The passage was swift, as the sea conditions were adventitious that June in 1871.

On their arrival in Memel the load of wool was quickly put ashore, and replaced with several chests of amber, as well as a half hold’s worth of Baltic timber.

It was the last day of the month when the Sea Horse left her moorings homeward bound.

The sea was a little choppy, but didn’t seem to give the experienced sailors the slightest worry. Will however did not like the sensation or the feeling of sick it was giving him.

“Don’t worry, Lad,” the captain said to him as he passed him. “We are making a straight course to Malmö to complete our load. You will be at anchor soon enough.”

The course did indeed take them directly towards Bornholm, and avoided the longer route along the coast. But the weather continued to become less favourable through the day. Many of the crew looked confused at the sky from time to time, as the weather seemed to come from nowhere. The contrary winds also slowed the vessel’s progress.

Just before dusk, the sky and sea let loose their full fury. The ship almost seemed to being pushed backwards towards the port from which it had sailed. Waves broke over the bow, and just after dark the foremast snapped taking two seamen to their deaths.

Another man clung to the railings, and will ran to try to pull him back on board. Just as he grabbed the man’s wrists, another piece of the shattered mast gave way and struck Will on the back of the head.

He was knocked unconscious and entered into a kind of a dream-world. The dream was vivid, and despite the storm raging around his stricken body, he was at total piece.

In his dream, he was in a sort of a ballroom. The walls were a shimmering shades of blues and greens. Waltz music seemed to flow over him, though he could not see any musicians, nor were there any dancers on the floor. Then a beautiful woman approached him. Her complexion was the shade of workman’s tea, and her long hair sable and in tightly coiled curls. She was dressed in a fabulous dress of red silk adorned with pearls. Her thick, full lips gave him a welcoming smile as she gave him a curtsy. What stuck him most about his exotic beauty, however, was here aqua-marine eyes.

He bowed in response to her curtsy. She again smiled and reached out to take his hand. He placed his other hand onto the small of her back and the two began to dance. The danced for what seemed to be hours, all the while he stayed transfixed on those exquisite eyes. The music continued, without break, and the shimmering walls made him feel energised as if by magic.

Suddenly he began to feel fatigued, however. The raven haired woman gave him another curtsy, and Will suddenly felt the entire world go dark.

Will awoke lying in the sand, with a gentle surf breaking upon the beach. Near him was a wheeled changing salon bearing the word – ‘Umkleide.’ His head ached and he had no idea where he was. Trying to orient himself he glanced out to sea. There for just an instant he thought he caught a glimpse of the aqua-marine eyed maiden peering above the waves. He blinked, and looked again just to see a set of large red-silken flukes disappearing into the sea.

He forced himself to his feet, and stared out to sea for several minutes, but saw no more than waves and sea birds. He reached back rubbing the walnut sized whelp behind his head, then turned inland and catching sight of a milestone, headed for “Danzig 3 km.”

One - The book was seriously flawed in plot or delivery. It was however not so bad as to not finish it.

Two - The book had lapses in plot or delivery, but still kept my interest.

Three - The book was well written and mildly engaged me in the plot, are in its imagery. It left me wanting more, in a negative sense, as if something was missing.

Four - The book was wonderfully written and transported me into its plot-world during the reading.

Five - The book was superbly written. It transported me into the plot-world and had me anticipating what was coming next even in the times I was not actively reading it. It left me wanting more in a positive sense. Bring on the sequel!