My short story, Aibhileen’s Curse, is now out for free on Smashwords :)

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Hey guys. Just letting you know that my short story Aibhileen’s Curse is now available free on Smashwords. It’s a supernatural mystery with a touch of fantasy. It stars the spirit detective Alex Harding, and is the sequel to A Most Peculiar Haunting . You might remember me putting up the first few parts on the blog under the name A Most Peculiar Being.

You can check it out here.


Twittering Tale: The Remainders


I don’t like it when they open the windows. Memories blow out. And memories are all this place has.

We lived here, slept here, played here. Those moments have faded with the centuries, but they remain. And as long as they remain, so do we.

(239 characters)

Image: Alistair MacRobert via

Written for Twittering Tales #86 – 29 May 2018

A Most Peculiar Being (Part 3)

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Her face was in utter ruin.

Lumps and pockmarks scarred her flesh. There were patches of discolouration on her forehead and cheeks, but her neck and arms were untouched, and behind a curtain of curls she had eyes of the most beautiful cornflower blue.

She hadn’t seen me, though I knew it was she who had called me here.

Whether she had called me to the past, or to a world of her making, I could not say.

I took a cautious step forward.

“Who are you?” I asked. “Tell me how you died.”

She continued to run her fingers through the hair of the straw doll on her lap. Her lips were moving, in a nursery rhyme perhaps, or a lullaby.

I considered my surroundings. We were in a barn, or something that had once been a barn but now served some other purpose. The place was set up like a living room with tattered settees, a tea table set with fine china, and a tiny bed in the corner. Through the window I could see the spires of Oldfield Manor.

I made a home of the settee and tried again, gently. “My name is Alexander Harding. I am a spirit detective. I can help you, but you must help me first.” She gave no sign of hearing me, but I kept on. “You came to visit me last night – do you remember? You spoke to me and pointed to Oldfield Manor. What is it you were trying to tell me? What is it you want me to know?”

My approach was not working. I didn’t know how much time I had left, so I tried several questions in succession, hoping she would respond to one at least.

“Who are you?”

“How did you die?”

“How old were you?”

“What do you know of the goddess Aibhileen?”

A shockwave, like the sudden shattering of bone.

Everything stilled.

She looked straight at me.

“”You’re not supposed to be here,” she said.

And then there was fire.


(To be continued)