A Far-Off Fairy Tale

In a land not too far away, lived a Prince who was actually just a Duke but all his other family members had been killed in a freak landslide that destroyed the castle, and as the last remaining royal family member left he was promoted to Prince.

This Prince was doing what Princes do, holding court with pretty maidens and being charming, when a courier burst into the palace, which wasn’t actually a palace as that had been destroyed and instead was the nicest house on the hill above the village, and screamed red murder. He couldn’t scream blue murder as there were ladies present and using blue language was frowned upon.

The courier rushed to the Prince who was really a Duke and told of an army of invaders that had broken through their defenses, their defenses being two local farm hands, a baker and a really large seamstress because the kingdom’s army had been washed away in a flash flood just the year before.

The Prince quickly called to arms all available women in the village, as he’d learned over the years that women fought meaner than men when their families were on the line, and quickly donned his royal armor and grabbed his sword.

Upon his mighty steed, which was a camel he had bartered from a traveling Sheik earlier in the year, after all the horses had come down with mad cow disease and had died, and charged with his army into the fray.

He was astonished to find that the invaders were men, women and even some children, and for an invading arming, they were rather cumbersome and slow. Zombies, he realized, what were the odds? It took almost no effort at all to vanquish the first wave, in fact the ladies set up a refreshment stand just behind them where they could have tea and wait for the next couple of invaders to lumber up. The Prince simply lopped off their heads with his sword.

The maidens found other ways to destroy the brains of the zombies, some used tools, some weapons, and one maiden opened her corset and the zombie’s head simply imploded. She was the oldest maiden in the village, a spray one hundred and two.

The Duke Prince was enjoying his second cup of tea and a biscuit when he saw there was only one Zombie left, and it was still half a mile or two away. Feeling generous, and in the mood to be charming, he kissed each of the ladies on the fingers, and sent them home to their husbands, then he started to stroll down towards the oncoming zombie.

It was a beautiful spring day, he thought, as took the time on his walk to smell the flowers and watch a butterfly flitter about the bushes on the side of the road. So intent in his merriment he did not pay attention to where he was going, and when he tripped over something he was forced to look down at his feet.

Bodies, he realized. Hundreds of bodies all strewn along the road, all half eaten and, at the least, mostly dead. Appalled by the sight, he scrambled backwards, felt the crunch of a dead person’s arm and fell onto the road. The Prince who was once a Duke had never seen a real battle, not like this and the carnage shocked and frightened him.

He saw that the lone Zombie was getting closer, so he started to rise to his feet and realized that he had badly wrenched his ankle and lost his sword! He started hobbling back towards his village, calling out for help, but as he had sent all the women home, there was no one to hear him.

Too soon the Zombie was upon him and the Prince who had been a Duke and would now, never be King, cried out as the Zombie grabbed him and sunk his wide, carnivorous mouth into his skull.

The Prince’s brain was made of candy, because after all, this is a fairy-tale. Such a sweet treat for the Zombie that he munched and crunched until he’d eaten the whole thing up. But as he stood, he got a horrible sugar headache.

“Arrrrghhhhhaggrhhhhh,” he growled, which was Zombie for I’ll just walk it off.

So, down the road he went, toward the village that would no doubt have more candied brains. But after a few slumberous steps his tummy twinged. Then it twanged. Then it really started to hurt. He slowed, which for a zombie means he stopped, and dropped down on the ground. He must have eaten something that didn’t agree with him, but he couldn’t think what.

He lifted up his tattered shirt and stared at his protruding stomach, then saw an eyeball staring at him from where his belly button used to be.

“Hello? Anyone out there?” the eyeball asked moving around and around in the zombie’s stomach, trying to get a better view.

“Arrrrggggehhehhggggeeahh?” the Zombie growled which meant who are you and what are you doing in my tummy?

“I’m a Bogeet” the eyeball said. “I’m what you get from eating too much candy.”

“Arrrrggggghhhhhhrggg?” Can you please get out of my tummy, was what the Zombie tried to say.

“I’m trying but this is the only hole I can find and I won’t fit through it. Any suggestions?”

As the Zombie had just eaten a brain he was a little smarter than what he would usually be and thought of a way. He tensed up and let loose an enormous fart that poofed out behind him in pink and yellow puffs.

“Well now!” said the Bogeet, once the candy coloured smoke had cleared and it found itself standing outside of the Zombie’s body. “That is so much better! Thank you very much.”

“Arrrgg.” Welcome, was the Zombie’s response as he stared at the pink, yellow and green striped creature that had one eye, three arms and four legs.

“I bet your tummy feels better, now?”

The Zombie nodded. His stomach ache was gone and he felt so much better. He continued to stare at the Bogeet for a long moment, as if trying to remember what it was. An eaten brain doesn’t last long in the memory of a Zombie so he was unable to recall what he had been doing earlier. He reached over and ate the candy coloured creature. Because that’s just what zombies do.


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February 26, 2018 · 3:27 am

Am I Normal?

I love movies, I’ll watch them over and over, reference them as often as possible in my daily life and am madly in love with several fictional characters, is that a bad thing?

Yes, because we talk about fashion, racism, politics and climate change. No, because we gossip and complain about things that upset and anger us, yet make no real effort to change anything but still expect change to happen. I am aware my movies are not real, and do not expect they will change, so I freely talk about them because they bring me joy and laughter and insight, and helps me live a happier, more focused life.


I believe in faeries and other less noticed creatures.  I watch the sidewalk when I walk to give ants and other bugs the right of way and consider all creatures to have a consciousness, does that make me weird?

Yes, because Humans are the highest intellectual beings on the planet. Everything is beneath us because, we have founded powerful civilizations, built great cities and have exceeded the boundaries of technology in order to make our lives simple, fast and effective. And no, because ants have also created great colonies and civilizations. Spiders create unique and individual webs, more perfect than any snowflake, and beavers build strong and sturdy dams with only their teeth and what they find in nature, and yet the ant does not compare their success to the spider, or the beaver. They do not even compare themselves to other ants. Humans are the only ones that are continuously adamantly and ridiculously comparing our achievements to each other, Our country is better than yours, our people are better than yours. Our success is greater than yours. To consider myself above anyone or anything is not only foolish, it is a discourtesy to all creatures. It takes no effort to avoid stepping on an ant, and don’t we as Humans also get offended when someone pushes us or gets in our way? If we do encounter someone bigger, stronger and more powerful than us, would we not hope that creature was kind and considerate to us lower life forms? Would we not prefer to avoid conflict, injury or death?


I can see two butterflies, an impressively shaped tree, a broken flower, a dragon in the clouds and litter on the sidewalk while others only see their phones, does that mean I’m abnormal?

Yes, because life is far too busy to see anything beyond the goal we are striving for. Who has time to look at a tree or a cloud when we have an eleven thirty meeting with a huge client that could make us lots of money? Who cares about a broken flower when we have only had three hours sleep and still have to pick up the kids from day care before returning to work for another twelve-hour shift? Dedicating our thoughts to frivolous things is a waste of time and energy, in such a frenetic world, one that is currently on the verge of chaos. And still… No, because as busy as I am, as tired as I am I can still manage to find a moment of wonder, a moment of true beauty and a spark of inspiration in such turbulent and depressing surroundings. These moments clear my head, offer me peace and allow me to appreciate all the hard work I do, which gives me the strength to continue through the depression, the monotony and the chaos, until the next butterfly I see or the next cloud animal that rolls by. Life is not all about work and money and trial and tribulations. It is also about finding yourself, experiencing new things and considering ulterior perspectives. Really you should give it a try some time.


The point of all this? This is none, and that is exactly the point. I wrote it because I was inspired to do so. I think it because it is my choice to write a thoughtful piece than a rant about the ills of the world. It is your choice to read it and comment…or not. Which is as it should be. 🙂


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Filed under Ramblings Of A Wee Writer

My Brain on the Night Shift

You’ve heard of ‘ This is your brain…this is your brain on drugs?’ Turns out my brain on the Night Shift ain’t so far removed from that fried egg scenario.

There is nothing quite so alarming as going into a bathroom to do one’s business and finding strange, little polyester fluffs INSIDE the crotch of one’s underwear. What follows in an actual account of my reaction!

SSSSCCRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEECCCCHHHHHH (initially I thought it was spiders, you know, creepy, small, dark and in the one place you’re least likely to expect one to be) Luckily, I was in the bathroom so after nearly shitting myself I felt reasonably secure it would not cause an embarrassing catastrophe. I then picked up one of the pieces of dark fluff and thought WTF? How did these cheap, slightly abrasive elements get inside my carefully selected, 100% cotton, form fitting and Doctor approved boxer shorts?

Did they just detach themselves from the materials around my legs and crawl, swim, climb up? Were they just cold and seeking the nearest warmth, or had there been a mighty battle, like for Helm’s Deep, whereupon the few that ended up in my underwear were the only survivors? Was that swishing sound that accompanied my walk not just my enormous thighs but the actual sound of little polyesters dying, or was there something more sinister afoot here?

Were these, seemingly harmless pieces of fluff actually part of an alien race that had decided to integrate themselves into the very ‘fabric’ of our lives in the hope of taking over the planet? (An Alien origin would explain so much about Polyester) Holy crap! Had these little bastards been crawling around in my underwear all this time and I only just now noticed? Was this how little baby polyester uniforms were made? OMG! Am I wearing something that came out of another woman’s vagina? No wonder I got a rash! Sweet Crying  Baby Jesus, am I pregnant???!!

Is this just the beginning of the end for us? Has the New World order actually developed these as a bio-weapon so that we would all end up looking like people from the fifties? Creepy, fluffy, legless parasites that crawl inside your underwear and impregnate you, then wait until you’re in a public area with hundreds of people, before it bursts through your stomach, like Alien, and immediately cover everyone in sight with horrendous polyester suits! Is this the start of the polyester apocalypse in which everyone would have to wear scratchy, unbreathable, UGLY material for the rest of our natural lives?? Lady Gaga! Save us!!! Noooooooooooooooooooooo!


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June 25, 2017 · 11:08 am

Stand for Standing Rock

Oh Great Spirit of our ancestors

We come before You and Grandmother Moon and Grandfather Sun

With the offering of love, prayer and sacred tobacco

And with the smouldering of sage and sweet grass that Mother Earth provides

With peace in our hearts and desperation in our souls

We ask that you judge not the men who prosecute, defame and attack us

We ask not that you bring your wrath down upon those who wish to do us harm

We ask only that you reach into their hearts and offer them the blessings you give us

Peace for others and true understanding and respect of Mother Earth

We ask that you help them to see beyond their politics, lust for power and avarice

So that they might understand the consequences of their actions

We ask that you take what you must from us to make Mother Earth strong enough

To defeat Her enemies, to survive this great threat to all creatures who live within Her bosom

Allow them to hear the sweet song of the wind and feel the true blessings of what lays beneath them

We ask for all who stand against oppression and annihilation to show your support

Come be with us to make history , for if we do not stand, history may no longer be written

We are the people of the Earth. You are the people of the Earth.

Fight with us. Pray with us. Stand with us at Standing Rock



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December 15, 2016 · 4:42 pm

LA CUCARATCHA (Not for weak stomached or easily offended)

Eunice Haversham loved to hate. She loved to hate people; she loved to hate politicians. She loved to hate big business, internet media, rock and roll music and screaming little children. She hated animals, hospitals, healthy food and infomercials. Eunice hated so many things that it is easier to explain what she actually liked. She liked daytime talk shows, greasy takeout food, (the more grease the better), powdered donuts, the kind that got all over everything when you ate them, and historical romances by Harlequin. She liked to spit and swear at the boy that delivered her groceries and listen to Neil Diamond records. Oh yeah, the Jazz Singer did it for her every time, she had all his albums and wouldn’t even consider buying those new-age cassette tapes or Compact Discs, which she also hated, Neil only sounded right on vinyl.

Back to the things that Eunice love to hate, the one thing she loved to hate most of all was Cockroaches. Those hard backed, multi-legged insects that were attracted to the food and dirt people left around their homes and gardens. Pesky little beasts that have been around for thousands of years and thrived on humanity’s lack of conscience to clean up after themselves. Oh yes, Eunice loved to hate cockroaches, or rather she loved killing the little beasts, which was why she kept dozens of cans of RAID on hand for just such an occasion. She never bothered with an exterminator, they were expensive and troublesome, and she preferred her own way of terminating the creepy little bastards.

There were black and red cans or RAID all over the house. Two in the kitchen, one by the sink and one in the pantry, three in the living room by her chair, one on the window sill by the front door. Three cans remained in her bedroom, one on either of her little night table and one more in the closet. She only had one can of RAID in the bathroom; it was small and didn’t require much. Whenever she’d see one of the annoying home invaders she’d grab one of the cans, scream ‘RAID, just like in the commercials, and release a steady stream of liquid onto the poor unsuspecting roach. Then she’d drop to her knees or lean in close as it squirmed and writhed and eventually ended up on its back with its useless, miserable legs pointed towards the ceiling.

Eunice had asked someone a long time ago, when she’d first heard about RAID, how exactly did it kill the bugs? She learned that cockroaches, and most other insects, don’t have gastric tract. When this poison sprays them, it builds up the gas in their little bodies and without a way to expel the gas, their insides pop and they die. That is what Eunice listens for, that little pop that tells her they have exploded inside, almost like a cork from a wine bottle, only such softer. Eunice looks forward to that subtle popping sound whenever she sprays one of the bastard roaches.

Eunice lived in a lower west side area of the city, a place that used to be quiet and peaceful, where people knew their neighbors and kids played in the streets together without concern. These days, her neighborhood has turned into a cesspool of welfare recipients and gang violence. Sirens squeal at any time of the day or night, rotten little youngsters let loose by irresponsible parents at all hours, playing their foul music and breaking windows on the uninhabited apartments, and drug dealers seemed to linger in every doorway.

Eunice used to like her neighborhood, but then the Blacks and the Mexicans moved in, the Muslims and the Chinese, all of them moving into her nice clean neighborhood, bringing their filth and violence with them and living off her government. Hell, most of them didn’t speak or understand a word of English, but that certainly didn’t prevent them from collecting that check every week.

Well, Eunice was just one woman, she didn’t have a say in the way the President was running the country, or the fact that he was running it into the ground. She was content to remain in her own little space and to hell with the rest of the world. She survived on her late husband’s military pension, awarded to her when he died in the war and her measly retirement pension from where she worked as a doctor’s secretary for almost forty years. She could have moved to a nicer neighborhood, but this was the house she and Bobby bought, right after he enlisted, and she refused to leave it.

She’d never had the inkling to remarry, she liked having her space and she could do without the sex, even with Bobby it was more chore than pleasure; her duty as his wife, but she loved Bobby, loved him with all her heart. Her father hadn’t approved of Bobby’s radical views, but Eunice loved him all that much more, because he clashed with her uptight minister father.

“RAID!” she screamed, as she spotted a cockroach crawling next to her chair. She giggled gleefully as it tried to outrun the death spray, but seconds later stopped, twitched a few times, and then went feet up. *pop. “Gotcha ya little bastard.”

She set the can of Raid back on the dinner tray and grabbed a doughnut from the package next to it. She’d make dinner soon, but she wanted to watch Jerry Springer first. He always had such trash on, and she enjoyed watching people make idiots of themselves.

After Jerry Springer Eunice washing the a few dishes and set them in the strainer. She also hated dishes, but eventually she had to do them or there was nothing clean to eat off of. A cockroach skittered across the counter next to the sink. Eunice grabbed her can and drowned it in a pool of pesticide.

“RAID!” she cackled and watched it squirm before going legs up. pop.

She smirked, grabbed a piece of paper towel, and covered the beast with it, pulling it off the counter and tossing it in the trash. She wiped at the leftover spray with another paper towel, then grabbed a fork from the strainer and retrieved her microwave dinner. Wandering into the living room, she settled before the television and switched on Maury Povich to see what little sluts were on today trying to discover who the father of their baby was. Stupid whores, if they weren’t opening their legs for everyone on the block they would know who the father was, instead they spent their day on their backs and collecting childcare from the government. Eunice felt blessed that she and Bobby had wanted no children; she would have drowned the whining, blubbering things at birth. Who wants something that constantly gushes from either end?

She set her dinner on the TV tray and pried off the plastic top, cursing when the escaping steam burned her fingers and knocked her fork to the floor. Bending to retrieve it was an effort, Eunice was not a small woman, she stood 5’9 and weighted in at 240, so of course trying to reach her pudgy hand beneath the flimsy metal dinner tray, while her ample bosom was pressed against it, was probably pushing her luck. Sure enough, the table flipped and her dinner went all over the floor.

She heaved herself out of the chair, knelt to scrape up the mess, and within seconds cockroaches approached from all angles, eager to be fed. Eunice grabbed her RAID and sprayed them, startled that so many approached at once, must be four…no six of the buggers. Pop. Pop. Pop. One crawling up her dress! Pop. Two more were trying to hide beneath the recliner. Pop. Pop. Eunice gripped the recliner and struggled to her feet, huffing and puffing, both from the effort and the fright that the roaches had given her. She obviously had an infestation. Maybe she should call an exterminator…No, she’d take care of the little bastards herself, she was sure there couldn’t be that many more, not after she killed an entire squad of them.

Moving back to the kitchen and dropping what was left of her dinner in the trash, she washed her hands in the sink. Her heart was ramming against her ribs, but she soon began to calm down, just as her doorbell rang. She glanced at the calendar and noticed that today was Friday, the day she had her regular order of groceries delivered. Good, she needed a pick me up. She opened the door to the young man who stood outside, frowning when she saw that he was black.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Adam, Mrs. Haversham. I’m delivering you’re groceries.”

Eunice’s eyes narrowed, her face creasing in an ugly scowl. “You’re not my regular boy-I don’t want no Blackie bringing me my groceries, How do I know you didn’t spit or piss in them? How do I know you didn’t drop ’em on the ground and put your dirty shit-colored hands on them? I know all about you people, how you sacrifice live chickens for your black magic, you cast a spell on my things, boy?”

Adam stared at her, shocked. “I…I brought them straight from the store, Ma’am, I ain’t touched nothin’ inside.”

Eunice grabbed the box. “Get the hell out of here then.”

“Ma’am…you haven’t paid…”

Eunice cackled and slammed the door. “Figure it out yourself. I ain’t given’ you any money to go spending on drugs, Blackie.”

“Mean old bitch!” the boy called, slamming his fist against the closed door, before storming off.

“Tell it to someone who cares, sonny,” Eunice smiled as she put her groceries away. She could imagine the story he would have to come up with of why he didn’t have her payment, stuttering and stammering about what happened. The manager will fire his as for lying, shouldn’t have hired him anyway; can’t trust their kind.

She pulled out an old box of cereal to make room for the new, and the box tipped over on the counter. Immediately the counter top swarmed with roaches. Screaming she grabbed her cans of Raid and sprayed at the roaches with vengeance, not stopping until a large puddle of insecticide and dead bugs lay on her counter.

“Je-zus!” She grabbed the trashcan, some paper towels and started wiping them into the trash. “Where are you bastards coming from?”

Once finished ridding herself of the bodies of dead roaches, she grabbed up her phone to call an exterminator. They wouldn’t be out until Monday, but she made an appointment with them anyway. Needing to settle her nerves, she grabbed a glass from the counter and poured a glass of juice. She made a face at the first taste, thinking that the juice had gone off, but it was from the new groceries so it couldn’t be. She checked the expiration date, still a week to go.

She poured the rest of the juice out. Dirty bastard probably did piss in it. Sweating now, she returned to the living room and flopped back in her chair. She’d find a sitcom or something to watch to calm her nerves, then she’d be fine. Picking up the remote she started to flip through the channels when she felt the first gastric urge to belch, which she did long and loud. Then a startling wet sounding fart expelled itself from her body and she almost laughed at the length of it.

“Good God!” she cackled. “That was a good one!” she slapped her knee, then realized there was more to come. A second and a third, each sounding worse than the original, and when the cramping in her stomach grew steadily worse, she hurried for the bathroom.

Running inside she hiked up her lounge dress and dropped her drawers just as the first wave of diarrhea hit. Oh God! Her stomach was on fire! That bastard kid had put something in the juice! She’d been poisoned, she was sure of it! She groaned and moaned as her bowels emptied and yet she felt no relief.

She was sweating more now, and the belching had started again. Her heart felt like it was going to punch right through her chest and her whole body started to itch like crazy. Finally, the diarrhea eased and she reached for the sink to heave herself off the toilet. She had to get to the phone and call for an ambulance, she needed a hospital and once they found out she was poisoned she’d sue that kid and his family enough that they’d still be paying her for generations to come!

Groaning from exhaustion and pain she eased herself up, took two steps and was hit by cramps so severe that she doubled over. She hit the tile floor of her bathroom hard and felt the excruciating snap of her hip as she fell.

“No,” she moaned. “Oh God it hurts!”

She tried to crawl towards the bathroom door, if she could just get to the phone…if she could just call for help. Another cramp hit and a wave of shame flowed over her, almost as painful as the break in her hip, as she felt her bowels release again, this time onto her pristine clean bathroom floor.

“Help me!” Tears of fear and frustration fell down her cheeks. She had no family, no friends, had alienated all of her neighbors. She could die here because no one would think to check on her. “Someone help me!”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw something skitter towards her. “Go away!” she cried slapping at the floor as a single roach stopped just out of reach and seemed to stare at her. “Get out of here!” another roach appeared, then a third, all lined up by the first, as if waiting for a command. “Get out of my house!”

Eunice grappled for the sink, lifted herself half way off the floor and managed to grab the can of Raid that sat on the corner. “Go away!” She sprayed the mist at them, watched the skitter off, then another horrific cramp hit her so badly that she felt bile rise in her throat.

She tried to belch, tried to fart, she didn’t even care if she shit on the floor now she just had to relieve this intense pressure but nothing worked. She cried and moaned and screamed as the pain increased until she felt like her stomach was going to explode. Her head lolled sideways, her hand still gripping the can of Raid and her blurry vision managed to make out the small warning label on the back.

WARNING: Harmful if swallowed or absorbed through skin. Avoid breathing spray mist Provide adequate ventilation of area to be treated. Cover or remove exposed food, dishes, or utensils and food handling equipment. Keep out of reach of children.

Flashes of all the times she had sprayed the insect killer, aroudn her living room, her kitchen, within range of her dishes, food. She’d never opened a window because she felt the air outside was too polluted. She never washed her hands after each spray, she’d been too busy enjoying their miserable little deaths.

“Oh God! Oh God!” Realization dawned, it had not been the grocery boy that had poisoned her, she had done this to herself by her own damned stupidity.

She threw the can across the floor, horrified, watched it hit the wall, spin and then come to a slow halt. Another pain hit her, this one ten times worse than the others and again no matter what she did she couldn’t seem to expel the pressure. She watched as the roaches started to appear again in the corner of her eye, across the room, and she swore she could hear their legs clicking behind her as well.

Roaches have no gastric track so they can’t expel the gas that builds up, eventually their bodies just explode.

But she wasn’t a roach! That couldn’t happen to her! She was a Human, damn it! She was Human! Terror caused her attempt a panicked crawl towards the door. She’d be okay if she got to a hospital. She’d be okay! She wasn’t a cockroach! She wasn’t a pest that fed off others, that was hated by everyone. She was Human, she mattered! She was Human!

She screamed as the roaches started to crawl up her legs and across her arms. Screamed louder as they seemed to swarm at the doorway that was still out of her reach, as if preventing escape.

“I matter! I matter!” she cried as they swarmed her, and the pressure inside of her grew. Frantic she rolled onto her back flinging a good many of the bastard roaches off of her, but the movement caused the pressure inside her gut to increase again. She cried out and curled her knees and arms inward as if to protect herself, as the roaches descended upon her.

“No! Nononononon…” POP!

That was how they found Eunice Haversham three weeks later, laying on her back in a dirty bathroom, her legs and feet in the air and a look of horror on her face.




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October 30, 2016 · 11:59 pm



R.J. Runn has a special gift for finding things. She works alone and likes it that way, so when a British aristocrat asks her to find the legendary Sword Of Mars, she doesn’t expect to be saddled with his grandson, who never seems to stop talking! Her patience and skills are tested as fate and ancient assassins conspire to keep her from her goal. Can she find the sword and get herself and her new companion back home or will she sacrifice the nobleman to the assassins just to finally have some peace and quiet?


R.J. Runn is an aboriginal woman who lost her only remaining family when she was fifteen to a suspicious death. She lives alone, eats alone, travels alone and she works when she wants to and with whom she wants to. There is no room in her life for relationships because she has learned that those who get close to her tend to either betray her or die. With such a grievous past, it’s no wonder that she also prefers to work alone.  R.J. hides her unique tri- coloured eyes behind dark glasses, for she has learned that they make others uncomfortable, and those glasses also help her keep her distance from anyone who choses to get too close.

R.J. has a special gift for finding things. She’s used her special ability to help people find items that were lost days, weeks, and in some cases, centuries ago.  It is not a super power, however, and she does need some details in order to be directed to the area with the item was lost. So when she finds herself taking a case to find an ancient sword once owned by Attila the Hun she expects it to take a little more time than a lost wedding ring or the neighbor’s cat. No one could predict that she would end up crashing into a mountain, chased by ninjas and even trapped in a cage with a live, angry tiger! This hunt has turned out to be far more dangerous than she had expected and not only does she need to scramble constantly to save her own skin, she also has to make sure that the British Aristocrat who insisted on coming with her also makes it home in one piece!

Rory Dodge is the grandson of a British Lord and has lived a privileged and often secluded life.  He is an outgoing, well mannered young man, and his passion for his ancestors allowed him to peruse several degrees in history and ancient civilizations, he also speaks several languages. Having lost his parents when he was very young, he was raised by his grandfather, Lord Ashley, who raised him a proper young nobleman to be his heir. Rory understands the responsibilities of his grandfather’s title, however he also craves a departure from his restrictive upbringing and constant schooling. He craves excitement and adventure, and he believes he has found an avenue to explore such things when he meets the beautiful relic hunter his grandfather has hired to find the Sword of Mars. R.J. Runn is confident, deliberate and mistrustful of others. She seems unimpressed by titles or wealth and has the most extraordinary eyes he has ever seen. R.J. is unlike any woman he has ever met and Rory is immediately fascinated by her.

So when his grandfather convinces her to work for them, Rory is added to the deal as her companion. R.J. is not happy and Rory can’t blame her, however they have their own secrets to keep and goals to make and so eventually he persuades her to take him along, despite her warnings that it could be dangerous. He is sure that the adventure for the sword will be fun and exciting, but instead it turns into a life and death struggle for both of them. Now he must prove to R.J. and himself that taking him along wasn’t a mistake, and keep them both alive long enough to finish their quest.

Lord Thomas Ashley is a British Lord who raised his grandson from a young age after his daughter and son-in-law are killed. He is a Spaniard who married into English nobility, so he knows better than to judge a book by it’s cover. As a member of an ancient society to find and preserve powerful artifacts, he has his reservations about the female relic hunter that was recommended to them to help find the Sword of Mars. She is a bold, brutally direct and amusingly crass woman with no sense of fashion who gives the impression that she could easily storm the castle walls as walk through them. She is not his ideal, but they are running out of time and options and so when she demonstrates her fascinating ability for finding things, he agrees to take her on for their quest. He does not know if he can trust her, however, and so he sends his grandson Rory along with her to keep tight reign on the precious clues they had uncovered. Had he known he was placing his grandson’s life in such extreme jeopardy he would certainly have rethought his decision, but now they are out there, R.J and Rory and all he can do is pray that they find the sword and make it back to England alive.

The Marquis of Canterbury (Edward Allen George Hughes) is the oldest living Marquis at the age of 103 and the grandfather of Lord Ashley’s deceased wife. He is an opinionated, antiquated, bigoted man who values honor and prestige over all else.  He does not like this Runn girl one bit! Not one bit! They need a real antiquities hunter, a strong, tough, intelligent man to find the Sword of Mars, not this Amazonian squaw! His grandson refuses to see reason and accepts this person’s help, gives her private, confidential details of their quest and then just expects her to actually find the sword? The Marquis is sure that she will drink away her fee, as her kind tends to do, and then claim the sword cannot be found. Of course, she did find his daughter’s necklace, which has been lost for over a decade, but that was pure dumb luck. He had allowed his emotions to be swayed by that…that woman, and now she was off in the middle of nowhere with the last remaining heir to the house of Hughes! How could this have happened?


To purchase this book on Amazon, please click on the links below.

Planes, Trains and Ancient Assassins- Canadian Print Edition

Planes, Trains and Ancient Assassins- Canadian Kindle Edition

Planes, Trains and Ancient Assassins- US Kindle Edition

Planes, Trains and Ancient Assassins- US Print Edition

Planes, Trains and Ancient Assassins- UK Kindle Edition

Planes, Trains and Ancient Assassins- UK Print Edition


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October 24, 2016 · 4:03 am

Train To Nowhere

Leslie Daniels headed for the far side of the deserted subway platform, her rubber soled waitress shoes squeaking on the polished tiles as she walked. It had been a long day and she wanted nothing more than to get home, put her aching feet up and watch Letterman before falling into her bed with her cat Ruffles. She might even take a bath, if she could scrounge up the energy, but worried that she might fall asleep in the tub.

A movement in the corner of her eye caught a reflection in one of the glass-encased advertisements that thanked people for riding the subway. She suspected it was someone moving on the opposite platform, but when she glanced around she that she was the only person waiting for the train on either side. It must have been a bird flying by, yes that was probably it, or a loose piece of newspaper.

As she headed down toward the end of the platform she passed another advertisement, this one with a new movie poster, and again there was a figure reflected in the glass. Startled, she spun around, but found no one there. She was alone on the platform. She shook her head at her own paranoia and continued on past one of the tall columns, only to feel a feather softness touch the back of her neck.

Spinning around for a third time she called out, thinking someone was playing a trick on her. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Silence.

She put her hand to the back of he neck, trying to wipe away the feeling that had frightened her. Her arms broke out in goose flesh and a sudden chill crawled up her spine. She turned and continued on toward the end of the platform, her mouth suddenly so dry that she couldn’t form enough moisture to spit.

She slowed as she approached another of the encased advertisements, then slowly stepped before it and peered into the glass. The florescent lights of the subway reflected back and there was nothing else there but the poster. Berating herself for being foolish, she continued toward the end of the platform, but her steps quickened. She stopped finally and trying to ignore all the scenarios that her over active imagination was conjuring up pulled her compact from her purse to powder her nose. Not that Ruffles would mind if she had a shinny nose, but it would keep her mind occupied. She picked up the circular sponge and glanced in the mirror, dropping the compact when a shadowed face appeared next to hers.

Swinging around she saw that she was still alone. “Hello? Is anyone there?” She was not in the mood for games and there was really no where someone could hide in here. “If someone is there please come out!” The only response was her own words echoing back at her.

A gust of wind blew a newspaper across the floor and Leslie flinched from it, nervously. Her heart beat had increased and she was starting to sweat. She looked desperately down the tunnel, praying for the train to come, but the tunnel was dark and silent.

“There’s no one here,” she told herself, firmly. “You’re just being stupid. You’re alone and the train will be here any minute.”

At that, she heard the sound of the train and a dim glow appeared in the tunnel. Her heart rate started to slow, her fear easing. She pulled her coat higher on her shoulders as the vibration from the train set a ringing in her ears and the platform started to tremble beneath her. She bent to retrieve her compact and started to smile as she straightened, then saw the deformed face in the cracks of her mirror.

The high pitched squealing of the train break drowned out her scream as pair of hands pushed her from behind.





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October 23, 2016 · 11:15 pm