Vivika Widow’s ‘Myths and Tales’ Official Teaser 2016

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

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Copyright Torrance Media 2016. All Rights Reserved.

 

Vivika Widow speaks to Amy Irons (STV)

Author of MAESTRO, RED SNOW and the CONFLICT graphic novel series discusses her vision for the Ragdolls UK Foundation for girls with Turner’s Syndrome with STV News.

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

Tiny Terror

This is the third time you have been sent to my office this week, Miss Campbell,” said the head mistress – a grey haired old crone with a chin so pointed it could cut ice.

She wasn’t wrong though. It was the third time that week I had been in her office.

“Martin Burrows stole my glasses,” I explained. “I told him to leave me alone.”

“You cut him pretty deeply,” the headmistress scorned.

When I dragged the knife across his arm I must have hit an artery because there was a fountain of blood.

“Where did you get the knife?”

“The cafeteria. I was cutting my meat and he attacked me,” said I.

The head mistress surveyed me. I don’t know how much of my story she believed, if any. It was lucky for me though that I wasn’t the only one to complain about Martin lately.

“I’ve been trying to contact your parents but there has been no answer.”

My parents weren’t speaking much to anyone lately. Not they way I had left them.

“They’ve been busy,” I told the teacher.

The head mistress sighed.

“You are a bright girl, Tracey. Perhaps a little too bright sometimes. You have ambition and if you focus on that you will achieve great things.” She paused for a moment and looked down at her desk. “After the incident with Martin his mother may wish to get the police involved.”

That was fine by me. I expected that anyway. Who are they likely to believe anyway? That cheeky no user who gave the teachers nothing but grief or the little girl in pigtails and spectacles who aced most of her classes, kept herself to herself and did charity work. The head mistress was right about another thing. I did have ambition. I had ambition by the bucket loads. One day I would be a doctor and nothing was going to stand in the way of that. Not even bullies like Martin with his nasty, sneering face. I would open his throat before I allowed that to happen. My parents could attest to that.

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For more of Tracey’s murderous adventures check out the Confessions of an Anatomist short story as part of the Myths and Tales collection!

We Need To Talk

Of all my stories THE GRIP tends to get the biggest reaction. It draws a lot of emotions that many people would much rather not face. No one likes the idea of their loved one suffering and equally no one likes to feel like they are an emotional burden. In this fast paced modern world it is so easy to lose touch and not even realise it. There has never been so many ways to communicate and keeping in touch has never been easier but with the modern technology comes a certain disconnect. They are just words on a screen.

THE GRIP raises the issue of mental health. The depression and anxiety that eventually leads to tragedy is unfortunately not something reserved for fiction. It is something that many people face every day. There is still a lot of stigma attached to those who are fighting depression and/or anxiety. However, one thing I hope was clear throughout THE GRIP was that tragedy could have been avoided if the son was willing to speak of what was bothering him and the mother was willing to listen. It seems simple but sometimes simple solutions are the best.

I have fought the demons of depression and anxiety myself and it is tough. I hope that people reading THE GRIP will be able to see that there was help there, just like there is help available in the real world.

To my friends who are currently facing mental health issues, know that we love you, we are there for you.

The Grip is available for download!

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Rivalry

I had a happy life – to a point. A dedicated husband and two beautiful children, Noah and Violet. The little red head who hung around the house more often than was appropriate seemed a constant reminder that my husband’s dedication wasn’t to me but he was dedicated none the less.

Both of our children should have been set for life as heirs to a great fortune but since they were small they have had this inexplicable need to get rid of each other.

We live in the coastal town of Melway. Our own house – a large, crooked, stand alone structure with three floors – sits on the edge of a cliff. A forty foot drop into the rocks below awaits anyone who takes the wrong steps along the pathway. The house has been in the Regard family for generations. It was probably the most beautiful and grandest house in the area once upon a time but now it is a cold and empty vessel housing the Regard children until came of age to move to somewhere more cosmopolitan or one kills the other.

As a family we were close. We didn’t talk much but when we did we shared everything. Violet told me on more than one occasion she wanted to see her brother dead and as far as Noah was concerned the sentiment was mutual. What little scamps they were.

Violet was the most boisterous of the two. She rarely stayed indoors. She was always running, never walking. She climbed trees and even got into fights with the local boys. Noah was much quieter. He would spend hours in the library reading through volumes and volumes that he could barely understand yet. A great, unquestionable thirst for knowledge had my little Noah. He had many friends but kept them at a distance. He was his own favourite companion. The year or so he had spent as an only child had been a blissful time for him. He had my undivided attention as well as the sole attention of the staff who helped around The Grange. As is the norm with more than one child in a family the attentions were split. Noah probably grew a resentment towards baby Violet from there, growing stronger as they grew up. Violet no doubt felt this from her brother and sowed seeds of her own resentment.

Everything at The Grange must have seemed heavenly to those on the outside looking in. That was until my death and that is where this story begins.

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Knock, Knock (Episode 15): Down in the Dumps

It was late at night when a soft tap at my door stirred me awake. I hadn’t even realised I had fallen into the swamp of my dreams until I stirred awake. I shuffled across the bare wooden floor. I opened the door and Dennis was stood in the shadows like a great ominous bird.

“If you are going, you have to go now,” he said.

I pulled a pair of oversized boots on. My coat hung on a stand by the door. I pulled it off and the coat stand came with it. Dennis snatched it before it toppled completely.

“Quiet,” he warned in a screaming whisper.

I was silent and still a little sleepy. Dawn’s early light was beginning to show. I followed Dennis down into the main body of the club.

“Promise me you will find Milo,” he urged.

I nodded my head dumbly. At any other time I would have said something along the lines of, “the boy will come to no harm under my charge,” but I was so taken aback by finally leaving the ‘Knock, Knock’ club I couldn’t find the words. We made our way across the shaky floor. Freedom was imminent. The outside air was going to be so crisp and so sweet.

A lock shuffled. A door handle shook. Dennis pushed me back from the main door . At the farther end, by the stage a little girl came skipping. She was followed by Tabitha.

“Now take a seat,” said Tabitha. The little girl – Sarah – obeyed. She pulled out a chair and sat at a table nearest the stage.

“Would you like some ice cream?” Tabitha asked. She leaned closer with a warm but mischievous smile.

The little girl wrinkled her nose. “I’m not allowed ice cream for breakfast.”

Tabitha’s smile widened like a great python ready to strike. “You are here.”

The kid’s eyes lit up then. It was like she had been told her birthday was coming twice that year. She had no idea the danger she was in. Her life was in the hands of Tabitha and if I left the little girl would surely die. If I stayed I could do something to keep her alive.

“See,” Tabitha continued. “It’s not so bad here is it? All that crying earlier was for nothing.”

Sarah agreed.

Tabitha crossed the floor towards the bar, behind which lay the kitchens. As she passed she muttered to Dennis, “Watch her.”

She stopped and did a double take when she noticed I was wearing boots and a coat.

“Going somewhere are we?” she laughed.

I knew then I wasn’t.

When Tabitha was out of sight Dennis pushed me back towards the door.

“Go now. Hurry!” he said.

“I can’t,” I stated. “If I go now you could get hurt or that little girl.”

Dennis growled. “What about Milo?” You said you would help him.”

“I did and I will,” I said. “But before I do I have to make sure no harm comes to that kid. You told me that if I left they would be watching me. I could lead them straight to Milo. That would be two dead kids on my conscience. Right now, Tabitha doesn’t know Milo is near. He is safe.”

I couldn’t believe my own sentiments. Since arriving at the club I had been seeking a way to escape its grasp. Seeing Sarah changed everything in an instant.

Although no one had ever said the words I was a prisoner at the Knock, Knock. If Dennis were to orchestrate my leaving, they would kill him, the little girl and then hunt me down. I couldn’t risk it. At least not yet.

Dennis stormed away. I could understand his frustration. I had been pushing him to help me. I even threatened to tell the club about his son if he didn’t. I didn’t have any time to worry about that. The only reason I was still alive was because my grandfather was one of the club’s founding members. I was walking a very thin line as it was.

Tabitha returned with an over flowing bowl of strawberry ice cream.

“Changed your mind?” she laughed when she saw I was pulling my coat off

“I was just a little cold. I’m fine now,” I replied.

“That’s just as well,” said Tabitha. “You would have been dead before you reached the end of the alley. Do you think it would be so easy as to walk out the front door? Even if Dennis opened that door for you? And without so much as oodbye? A girl could be insulted.”

She dropped the plate of ice cream down to the little girl. She gripped the spoon and immediately set to digging in.

“Don’t hurt her,” I warned for as much use as it could be.

Tabitha raised her eyebrows. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

We paused. Tension rose. Her steel grey eyes stared right through me. Then her teeth began to tear through her ruby lips as a smile spread.

“It all really depends on her father cooperating now doesn’t it.”

When I first came to the Knock, Knock I was an enthusiastic journalist in search of a new story line. I had no idea the nightmare that lay behind the closed doors. Now, I was in deep. As the bodies began to pile around me I had to do something!

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Solve the Mystery!

If your son took his own life would you be able to put shattered pieces together? Could you unravel the secret he tried to take to his own grave.

For a limited time only Vivika Widow’s award winning drama THE GRIP is free to download! Click HERE to claim your copy!

Torrance Media will match £1 for every copy claimed to Ragdolls UK Foundation for girls with Turner’s Syndrome.

Cast your spell!

For a limited time only Vivika Widow’s bewitching short story is free!

Click HERE to claim your copy.

Torrance Media will match £1 for each copy claimed to Ragdolls UK Foundation for girls with Turner’s Syndrome.

A Prisoner in The Old king’s Castle

Sonya couldn’t count the days she had been held behind bars. The sun had risen and fallen but since her prison allowed no light she couldn’t tell how many times. What had been her crime? The beloved King Roman had fallen ill. Since then, the Kingdom of Navaria had fallen into anarchy. Cries of witchcraft spread panic throughout the snow covered land like untamed fires blazing through a dry forest. General Drenisov of the Navarian Guard had taken a firm grasp of the people. He held them in fear. He allowed the rumours of the cursed kingdom to circulate unhindered because the more frightened the people were, the more they turned to him for leadership. The sick king had been falling further and further into madness. His second wife, Annabelle, had retired from public view without explanation.

Sonya had been expressing her views.

“We’re being treated like animals,” she said. At first she had only whispered this to a few friends in the marketplace but before long more and more had gathered to hear what she had to say. She stood on top of a box to voice her opinion further. She lifted her skirts as she climbed to the new height. The hem was muddied from the ground where the snow had been trodden into filthy slush.

“We are stronger than they and they know it. We have had no word from the castle because they don’t deem us important enough.”

A merchant cried, “Here, here!” from behind his stall. Some of the gathering nodded in agreement with a firm shade of anger across their brows. There were others who hunched their shoulders and cowed away for fear that they would be seen listening to such thoughts.

“We demand to know what ails our beloved king. There are no such things as witches in Navaria, merely a symbol of fear designed to keep us under the control of the Guard.”

As she said this, the crowd began to part. Through the ragged clothing of sombre peasant colours charged a group of tall, young guards wearing the vibrant red and gold that was their signature uniform. Word of her malcontent must have reached The General at the grey, brooding castle that sat high on the mountain looking down on its subjects below.

Two guards snatched Sonya by the ruffled collar of her dress. She fell onto her knees in the mud. No one moved to help her, not even the grey haired, doe eyed merchant who had been cheering her on moments before.

“Don’t let them silence you!” she shrieked. “We are stronger than they.”

Sonya was taken to the castle and locked away in the dungeon. Word reached her that King Roman had been murdered. She heard two guards discuss it as they brought in a new prisoner. She even heard it from The General himself.

“You have murdered the king and doomed this land with your witchcraft,” Drenisov barked. She heard heavy footsteps on the stone floor. She pressed herself against the small window to the outside corridor on the door of her prison. She could only see the red of The General’s coat. There was no reply from the prisoner. The guards departed and all fell silent.

“Stay strong, comrade,” she said, not sure if her fellow prisoner would hear her.

“Is someone there?” The voice that returned to her was that of an adolescent boy. Sonya guessed him young enough to be her son.

“They can’t keep us here forever,” she assured.

The boy’s voice was eerily calm for the horror that he had no doubt just endured. “The king is dead,” he stated. Although youthful, the voice carried the wisdom of age. It’s owner must have been well educated. The son of a nobleman.

A deep motherly instinct that Sonya possessed looked past the obvious maturity of the boy and sought to lay comfort at his young feet.

“It’s a terrible tragedy. I heard The General say you are the murderer but I don’t think that is so. When the eldest prince, James, is granted the throne Drenisov will have no choice but to release us.”

The boy gave a laugh, the kind that bordered on hysterical. It held no real humour.

“I salute your optimism, my dear woman, I truly do. I fear that here in this darkness is where we will live out our last days.”

Sonya was chilled by the youth’s acceptance of fate. “Prince James…” she began.

“The prince can do nothing to help,” the boy interjected.

Sonya could feel tears on her brittle eyelashes. “He will …” Now it was she who was needing comfort.

“Take solace in knowing that soon it will all be over,” said the boy softly.

“I will get word to the Prince,” Sonya offered. “He is much like his father. He will help us.”

“He already knows your plight. My lady, I am Prince James and any chance I ever had of helping my people died with the king.”

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