‘Myths and Tales’ a series by Leo St Paul. Based on the works of Vivika Widow. Starring Simone Connelly as Vivika Widow.

For the latest updates subscribe to the Torrance Media youtube channel!

Copyright Torrance Media 2016. All Rights Reserved.

 

Author of ‘Maestro’, ‘Red Snow’ and the highly anticipated ‘Conflict’ graphic novel series offers a candid interview with Amy Irons of STV news as she discusses the building her charitable foundation Ragdolls UK

For more information on the Ragdolls UK foundation and their work with children with genetic disorders visit www.ragdollscharity.com 

‘We weren’t like that’ is something I’m sure every generation grumbles about the one coming after them. I hear my fellow generation Xers despair about the millennials and how disconnected they are from the world. If it is true what we read we can assume them to be whiny, incapable of looking after themselves and completely unprepared for the harsh realities of life. If could be just that I’m on the wrong side of thirty and my fellows like to have something to moan about. The fashions, the television shows and the obsession with Ed Sheeran (as good a musician as I’m sure he is) are all strange to the genX. Then again, the Spice Girls, gladiators and skousers (skirt trousers) certainly raised a few eyebrows in the 90s and early noughties so who are we to judge?

Is it just a generational thing or is there a lack of understanding in the millennials? I don’t think so.

The millennials get a lot of stick in the media but I for one can see the amazing changes they are bringing to the world. My eldest niece (a millennial) defies what the media has to say about her generation. She is a confident, well educated and independent young woman who has just started her own business and is thriving. Like many of her peers she is ready to take the world on.

Despite the man buns and snap chat second life our millennials are up and coming and sure to do great things for our world. They will always fight for social justice. They work hard despite educations costs rising and getting on the property ladder is more difficult. So to you millennials, your ways seem strange to us but you will change the world for the better. Your contributions are invaluable.

Enjoy this?

Subscribe to the page for more.

Knock, Knock: Episode 10

“You’re Dennis Platt,” repeated the little boy. “I’m Milo, your son.”
Dennis’ eyes widened in shock at first. He looked back at me. I could only shrug my shoulders. I didn’t know Dennis’ family. I couldn’t confirm. Finally the club manager emitted a hearty laugh.
“Nice try kid,” he said. “I don’t have a son.”
He started to push the door closed. The boy stepped in the way. The door man stepped forward and placed his hands on the boys chest. He shoved him back into the alley. The boy stumbled and fell into a pile of trash bags.
“I am your son!” he cried as the door was closed over. “Julianne Platt is my mum!”
Before the door came to a complete close Dennis pushed aside the door man.
“Get out of here kid!” he warned. “It isn’t safe here.”
The boy was locked out. He had had such a striking resemblance to Dennis If it wasn’t his son he was at least a close relation. I couldn’t believe Dennis hadn’t seen it.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” the door man commented off handedly.
Dennis was frowning. Temper was not suiting him. Anger told in his dark eyes and it was like the amiable mask he wore for the public had been torn off exposing the true person underneath.
“I don’t,” he replied with frustration. “I don’t know him.”
The door man crossed his arms across his chest as he resumed his post. “He seemed to know you.”
This only heightened Dennis’ anger. “Don’t breathe a word of this to any one. Do you understand me?” The door man backed off. “Especially to Tabitha.”
As he turned round he came face to face with one of the regular patrons. The mask was back on. “Oh hey bud,” he said. “Having a good night?”
“Any messages left for me?” the patron asked.
Dennis put his arm around the broad shoulder of the customer and started to lead him away. “Not that I know of but if you go back to your table I’ll check with the girls.”
The customer seemed satisfied with that. He hadn’t overheard Dennis’ exchange with the door man and if he had he wasn’t interested.
I followed Dennis towards the bar. “What if that boy is your son?” I said.
Dennis stopped. He glared at me. I think it was the most honest exchange we had had in our time knowing each other.
“Do you think I wouldn’t recognise my own son? Even after all these years?”
Before I could speak again Dennis added, “That boy was Milo but it’s far too dangerous for him to hang around here.”
“Anything could happen to him out there,” I pleaded.
Dennis shook his head. He rested a hand on my shoulder. “I need your help.”
I raised my eyebrows. “My wife was killed, I was accused of murder, I’m being kept a prisoner here in this dank hole of a club and I find out my grandfather was responsible for every wretched run of bad luck I have ever experienced. I turned to you to try and help me – help us both – get out of here and you told me no. Now you want me to help you?”
Dennis narrowed his gaze. “You won’t be helping me. I’ve made my bed. You would be helping an innocent ten year old who has nothing to do with any of this.”
Damn it! Dennis always had an answer for everything. Tabitha was off stage and would be there any minute.
“Fine,” I relented. “But you have to get me out of here.”

Enjoy this?

Subscribe to the page and have each new episode sent straight to your inbox.

Follow from the beginning:

Knock, Knock (Episode 1): Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock (episode 2): Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock (Episode 3): Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock (Episode 4): Take A Bow

Knock, Knock (Episode 5): Big City Kid

Knock, Knock [Episode 6] Picking up strange women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7 (A night cap at the club)

Knock, Knock: (Episode 8) Just a quick one

Knock, Knock: Episode 9 (The daddy of them all)

KNOCKKNOCK_vivikawidow_Blurb

Conflicts are fought on many fronts. With heroes and villains on all sides it takes a fearless group of people to stand against social injustice. They come and go without being seen. The forgettable man you pass in the street, the woman selling jewellery in the market or the even the children playing. The spectre society is everywhere and they will have their people remember one thing… THEY ARE NOT AFRAID.

They will stand against injustice, they will fight against tyranny and in a world torn by conflict they will protect the innocent.

Not a single soul but a society.

*Special thanks to Glasgow Museum and Art gallery

Enjoy this?

Subscribe to the page for more updates, images and stories from the Conflict graphic novel series.

Coming soon in Myths and Tales web series.

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales.

 

 

 

Joining the Myths and Tales series will be Vivika Widow’s Hangram. Based on the short horror story we find ourselves in search of a monster. The legendary creature known as the Hangram seeks those who have sinned. She devours their evil souls and her thirst for the blood of those who have done wrong is […]

via Can you escape the Hangram? —

I once had a little red notebook. It could rest quite comfortably in the palm of my hand. I was only twelve at the time this all happened but I had pretty small hands. Anyway, this book had been in my family for generations. Lots of the pages had been torn out. It didn’t seem like much when I found it amongst the boxes in the attic. We were clearing out junk and I pulled this little red notebook from the dustiest box, hidden in the darkest corner.

What’s this?” I asked my mum.

Her eyes widened. She was never one for dramatics but I saw a true look of fear on her face that day mixed with general bewilderment. “That was your gran’s,” she replied.

My gran had lots of weird belongings. I remember some of the strange statues we had found after she moved to sunnier climates. They looked eerily like little people carved out of wax. Some some of them had needles sticking in what I would imagine would be very painful places. Mum melted all of the dolls down and threw them away. My gran was a little weird. I always thought so but as a kid it was really fun to be around. When I stayed over with her she would show me all sorts of old books and tell me ghost stories. I said I could handle it but she told them so vividly that I would wake up in the middle of the night and swear that the ‘goober man’ was watching me. ‘Goober man’ was one of her favourites. He was a dusty old creature who stalked the ancient streets where my gran lived. The fingers and toes of little girls – just like me – were his favourite delicacy. He had long thin strands of hair covering a liver spotted head. His eyes were bulbous and yellow. His fingers were long and he had sharp teeth for gnawing on little bones. He sounded awful. I didn’t want a visit from him. As I said gran loved telling me stories of ‘goober man’. She would see how scared I would be getting and she would laugh. She was a little strange.

Can I keep this?” I asked my mum of the little red book.

Mum wrinkled her nose. “It’s all rotten and there are hardly any pages left.”

I agreed but I did like the red cover. It gave the notebook some importance. Mum shrugged her shoulders and continued sorting the junk so I slipped the book into the back pocket of my jeans and helped.

That night when everyone – mum, dad and my little brother Ray – had gone to sleep, I kept my night light on and finally had a look at my new red notebook. There was an inscription inside that read:

ENEMY LIST; ENEMIES BEWARE. GONE FOREVER.

This actually made me smile. Even the most patient and tolerant of us would love the chance to make certain people in our lives disappear. One name came to mind – Stacey Willen. She was a nasty girl in my class who had being going out of her way to make my life a misery since we first started school. She would tease me about my hair, my clothes and pretty much everything about me. She had her loyal band of supporters who laughed at her jokes that really weren’t that funny. They were all so eager to gain her approval that they wouldn’t even help me up when she pushed me into the mud. They just stood there like grinning hyenas like it was the best comedy in the world. Just that day I had been sat underneath the tree reading a book. It was a very sunny day. The tree was offering a nice cooling, shady breeze. I was enjoying my reading, blocking out the nonsense screaming of my classmates in the school yard. Stacey must have spotted me from across the yard and felt unable to leave me content. She marched over to me and snatched the book from my hands.

Give me that back!” I protested.

Stacey sneered. She wasn’t particularly bright. She opened the book in the middle and spat on the pages. Not quite having caused enough havoc she turned to the end and ripped out the last three pages. Seeing I wasn’t reacting she got bored and threw the book back at me, hitting me hard on the arm.

Staring at my gran’s enemy list I took a pen from the night stand. It had thick black ink. She would have to be the first name. STACEY WILLEN. Content with myself I turned off my light and fell into a comfortable nights sleep.

The next morning when I arrived at school I had half expected Stacey to be there to greet me, somehow knowing I had added her to my enemy list. To my surprise her usual band of supporters were gathered but there was no Stacey.

She has just disappeared. Her parents say she was in her room last night and when they went to check on her she was gone! They think she has ran away. The police were around and everything,” Stacey’s appointed ‘second in command’ was telling the others.

Stacey disappeared? After I had added her to my enemy list? Surely this was just coincidental. I knew my gran was weird but surely she wasn’t that weird?

Mr Perlman was the caretaker at the school. He was always shouting at the kids and he spat when he spoke. He was a bitter old crank and never had a nice word to say about anyone, even sweet old Mr Faben – the headmaster – who was technically his boss.

He sat at a table in the entranceway making sure the students made their way to class in a timely and organised manner. He wore a battered old hat that was once red but now yellowy and in desperate need of a wash.

Move it along Wilson!” he spat at me even though he could clearly see I was moving to my first class. I turned and looked at him to verify exactly what it was he was shouting at me for. I had after all just crossed the threshold into the school. He pointed savagely at his brown forehead. “Are you a moron!? I said move along!”

I shook my head and grunted. I took out my red notebook and smiled to myself as I wrote down, in heavy letters, MR PERLMAN. It did make me feel much better. I walked along to my class. If I had turned at that moment I would have noticed the seat where Mr Perlman had been in just moments before, empty except for the battered old hat.

That afternoon over lunch I saw Mr Faben wandering around the hall looking for Mr Perlman. I didn’t think anything of it. I just saw it that the student body was getting a break for an afternoon both from Stacey Willen and Mr Perlman so it was win win. I overheard the girls at the table next to me discussing the maths test we were to have later that afternoon. They were in my class, they knew me well by name but never invited me to join them. It seems they thought I was a little odd. They hadn’t met my gran. As the girls left the lunch room, offering me but a fleeting glance I began to think of how under prepared I was for the maths test. I and many twelve year olds would much rather be doing anything else than sitting a maths test so for kicks I took out my red notebook once again. This time I added MISS PARSON AND THE S32 MATHS CLASS to the enemy list.

Eventually the bell rang and I swung my bag over my shoulder and took a deep breath. I arrived at my maths class and it was empty. Everyone had gone, even Miss Parson.

Whilst the school was in turmoil trying to find out where an entire class of students, a rookie maths teacher and the caretaker would have disappeared to I slipped my red enemy list back into my pocket. I was going to have to learn to use it wisely…

Enjoy this?

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales

Subscribe to the page for more images, updates and stories.

Coming soon as a web series!

After my failed attempt to escape the club I kept to the room they had given me. They revered me because I bore the same name as my grandfather who founded their murderous group. I didn’t know how long I could count on their loyalty and I wasn’t prepared to find out. It had fallen to evening. Normally, some of the girls working the club would bring me food and water but not that day. That day I was left alone. My stomach grumbled in protest. I made up my mind. If they hadn’t killed me by the evening show which was about to start I assumed they weren’t planning on killing me period so I might as well eat.

The club was busy so I hoped to scuttle around unnoticed like a mouse in a fancy kitchen. Dennis was stood at the bar watching the stage. The chorus girls were fluttering around in a parade of sequins and feathers. They were preparing for Tabitha – the club’s top act – to take the stage and entertain the evening audience.

Dennis caught my eye. He had been the one to stop me leaving. I got the sense that if he had to be stuck managing the Knock, Knock then I wasn’t allowed to leave either. After all, my family had created the club that caused the disappearance of his wife and child. He knew I had no involvement in that. Up until a few weeks ago I didn’t even know the Knock, Knock club existed. I don’t think he blamed me but he seemed keen on keeping me around all the same.

He smiled with that over familiarity he carried with everyone. He waved at me and ushered me to join him. As I approached he swung a vibrant red bar stool round.

Take a load off Sam,” Dennis urged but I chose to stand.

I am hungry,” I whined like a child. My frustrations were beginning to surface. I had remained calm – even after my wife, Theresa, had been murdered. I had decided that I would get the full story, take it to the newspaper I worked for in my previous life and expose the club and all its members. I wouldn’t let Theresa die in vain but it was becoming more difficult with each passing day.

Dennis leaned back over the bar. The girl tending bar lit up as he addressed her. “Have a plate of something brought out for Sam, will you kid?”

The girl abandoned her post immediately and danced off to the kitchens.

How long are you going to keep me here?” I asked. “What do you want from me?”

Dennis didn’t look at me. His large, doe like gaze remained fixed upon the stage. “It’s not my decision,” he stated. “I just run the place.  The order comes from upper management.”

The band had been sent into a flurry, introducing Tabitha to her audience.

Surely you don’t want to stay here either?” For someone who was overly familiar with everyone Dennis was a bit of a closed book so I tried my luck.

Dennis laughed and finally he did look at me. “Where would I go? Everything I had is gone.” He must have sensed he had said too much because his eyes turned back to the stage. “The club needs someone to lead. The need someone with the Crusow name. Until you are ready to deal with that or they find a replacement both you will be kept here,” he explained.

Tabitha was now on stage. She had been the one to introduce me to Knock, Knock. She had been there at the police station when I was accused of murder. She had done similar for Dennis. She was the reason we both were now in the clutches of the Knock, Knock club. She was an attractive woman with long, flowing brunette hair and a steely grey stare. Her face was soft, round and innocent in appearance but there was an underlying malice. On stage she wore a top hat and tales. Her lips were painted a vibrant shade of purple. Her singing voice was sultry but soft, deep but feminine.

We could both leave,” I boldly suggested to Dennis. “If we put our heads together they couldn’t stop us.”

Dennis stopped to wave to one of the regular patrons. “Almost eight, Frank. Getting better!” he called over jovially. The man laughed and waved back. He took a seat near the back, adjusting the button on his jacket so they wouldn’t be too strained over his ample stomach.

Dennis didn’t reply to my suggestion. I was almost at the point of repeating it when the bar maid returned with a plate of curling fries. The smell of grease caused my mouth to water. I took the plate from her with a firm thank you and laid it on the bar. I immediately set to digging in, using my fingers instead of waiting for eating irons.

I promise I will help you find your kid,” I told him.

Dennis suddenly seemed morose so I said nothing more. It was more his loyalty to Tabitha that kept him at the club. Until I found out why that was he was never going to help me.

Those were the unfortunate circumstances I had fallen into. I didn’t like Dennis and I suspected he didn’t like me much either but there we were, stuck together, watching Tabitha entertain.

We stood in silence. I finished the food and the bar maid slid a whiskey over to me to wash it down. One of the door men approached, leaning into Dennis but still speaking loudly over the music.

There is someone at the door looking for you.”

Dennis was disinterested. He was busy watching Tabitha engage with the audience. “If they don’t have an invite they don’t get in.”

The door man’s goon look made him a natural as bouncer. The goon looked confused as he tried to process too many words at once. “It’s a little kid,” he said.

Dennis straightened up his tall, lean frame. He groaned in frustration. He picked up a whiskey but there was nothing left but the glass. He slid it down to the bar maid. “Fill that, will you?” he instructed. “With the good stuff.”

I didn’t have anything to do. My stomach was now happily swimming in grease and whiskey so I followed him to the club’s main door that led onto the alley. Tabitha watched us from a distance. Dennis pulled open the door. Standing in the alley was a little boy of about nine or ten. He was wearing grey shorts and an oversized black sweatshirt which was made for a man double his size. He face was filthy and his knees scraped.

I can’t help you, kid,” Dennis said without an introduction. “There’s nothing here for you. Over eighteens only. Try your luck at the Town Hall.”

The boy didn’t flinch. He was a tough little thing. I could see it but Dennis seemed to have overlooked the resemblance.

Are you Dennis Platt?” he asked.

Who’s asking?” Dennis was becoming suspicious.

I’m Milo,” he announced. “I’m your son.”

Enjoy this?

Subscribe to the page to have each exciting new episode sent straight to your inbox!

For more thrillers click HERE to read the hit novella ‘Maestro’

Check out the story from the beginning:

Knock, Knock (Episode 1): Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock (episode 2): Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock (Episode 3): Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock (Episode 4): Take A Bow

Knock, Knock (Episode 5): Big City Kid

Knock, Knock [Episode 6] Picking up strange women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7 (A night cap at the club)

Knock, Knock: (Episode 8) Just a quick one

KNOCKKNOCK_vivikawidow_Blurb

It is said that the great Bale, Lord of all stars and the brightest illumination in the night sky once fell to the land below. His fall was so great that his form began to change. He emerged from the waters with skin like black velvet and eyes so bright they could not be looked upon directly.

He wandered the lands as a man and each night he would look above and long to return to his realm. One day he stumbled across a woman who went by the name of Anna, a dweller of the land. He felt such a sudden rush of affection for her that his starlight energy began to burn white hot.

Anna gazed into Bale’ eyes and was able to withstand their strength. Bale could only maintain his energy whilst he was near her. He loved her and she became a part of him, the crucial part that kept him burning. He offered her his hand and would give her the world above and below. Anna wished for nothing more to be a part of Bale, to offer light to the lands. Before she departed her dwelling and she bid farewell to all she knew the tears she shed filled the rivers. Everything she owned built the mountains and her earthly flesh fed the baby saplings of the woods. Her grief at the loss of the life she once knew was left behind as beauty of the land. High in the realm of the great Bale she felt a true happiness never known to a humble dweller.

Each year, on midsummer’s eve the great Lord Bale can be seen taking his love through the sky in a dazzling display of greens and blues. The aurora reminds the dwellers of the love the Great Lords and Ladies have for them. One day, in a great flash of light, he will return to the lands below.

Enjoy this?

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales.

Subscribe to the page for more images, updates and stories from Vivika Widow