Join our lil unicorn, Kirsten, as she meets new people, travels to new places and has all kinds of fantastic adventures. A colourful series that is fun for all ages!
This little bit of pink sparkle is guaranteed to put a smile on your face. You might just learn something too.
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It’s been a great run so far and I am thrilled to see so many people tune in, enjoy and follow the Knock, Knock series.
It was a novel idea (no pun intended) when it first began and thanks to the success there will be more coming your way.
It is a story that is special to me. It began on a cold, winter Aberdeen night as I travelled home from med school and has been a story I have been itching to tell ever since.
To those of you who have subscribed, commented and simply tuned in to read I am extremely grateful. For those of you who haven’t read it yet Episodes 1 – 15 are now available on the site in handy little drop down menu so you can go straight to your favourite EP or read it from the very beginning.
We are reaching the conclusion of the story now so I look forward to hearing your responses to the ending.
Episode 16: Shots in a Glass will be live 6pm (UK ST) on Sunday 8th of October exclusively to vivikawidow.com
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After their music lessons ended the twins decided to play in the gardens. They were running around throwing snow at each other, laughing wildly when Cristof saw a little child peering out from behind the crooked tree. She was laughing and she waved at him.
“Did you see that?” Cristof asked his twin.
Petya looked up but the little girl was gone. “See what?” he asked.
“Never mind,” Cristof moaned, dismissing the sight as just being his imagination. They carried on playing and Cristof saw her again. This time she appeared to be angry with him.
“There she is again!” Cristof called pointing to the tree. Petya still saw nothing. “Wait here,” Cristof ordered and made his way to the tree.
Petya watched in silence as his brother neared the great dark trunk. He disappeared behind one side but didn’t emerge from the other.
“Cristof!” he called a couple of times before plucking up his own courage and following his brothers footsteps. He followed the small prints, much like his own, around the tree where they stopped suddenly right at the base. A boy with pale skin and ebony hair was seated in the snow with his head in his hands.
“Have you seen my brother? He looks just like me,” Petya asked sensing Cristof was playing a game with him.
“I haven’t seen anything,” said the boy. He raised his head, opened his eyes and showed empty sockets. “I am blind,” he explained.
“Who are you? Where do you come from?” Petya asked.
“My name is Baldasarre,” said the boy. “I am from a land far from here.”
“What happened to your eyes?”
Baldasarre told him, “They were taken from me. That is why I am here. I am going to retrieve them but I can’t get inside the castle. Will you help me?”
Petya hesitated, “I really need to find my brother.”
Baldasarre sighed, “If you help me get inside the castle I will help you find your brother.”
Petya, sweet, trusting, naïve soul, asked, “What do you need me to do?”
Subscribe to the page for more from Vivika Widow’s fairy tale world of Red Snow.
As with all good fairy tales it all started with a curse. This particular one was brought on by the clash of egos between two powerful witches.
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There once was a nasty little troll,
whose life was desperately sad.
He spent his days spitting curses
and trying to make everyone mad.
When no one would listen to him,
he was so mean.
He stamped and he shouted,
demanding to be seen.
The problem was,
And this made the little troll truly scared.
“Get a life little troll,” the villagers said.
“Wipe your eyes. Here’s a tissue.”
His words would never bring them down
But that was the little troll’s issue…
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We’ve all had our experiences with trolls. Comment below and share some of your most ridiculous ones.
“What is it?” he asked eagerly. “Tell me!” Charlie urged.
“I am a witch.” said Aunt Trudy softly and slowly.
Charlie’s eyes lit with joy. He had always known there was something unusual about his lovable aunt. “Does that mean I’m a witch too?” he asked excitedly.
“Don’t be stupid boy,” said Trudy. Charlie’s hopes were dashed in an instant. When Trudy saw his sad little face she continued, “Being a witch takes years of practice. I will show you but in the meantime … What to do about those bullies…” her voice trailed off as she heaved a heavy, dusty, green leather bound book, slammed it on the table and proceeded to unbuckle the golden clip that held the book closed. Dust flew from the pages as they were turned. Aunt Trudy ran her finger slowly over the hand written words. The writing was so scribbled and hurried it was difficult to read.
“Aha!” announced Aunt Trudy in triumph disturbing their quiet contemplation. “This ought to do the trick!”
Aunt Trudy’s first spell: Removing an enemies voice
With lizard tails,
And an old woman’s nails,
Take a frog and a pot of snails.
Mush them together in one big stew,
Add a drop of blood but it must be new,
Along with rat tails, not one but two.
Give to your enemy; they must drink it fast,
Every single drop or the effects won’t last,
Now they won’t say a word until you ask.
“Lucky we have all the ingredients right here,” said Aunt Trudy cheerfully pulling bottles from the shelf. Charlie picked up a jar labelled ‘pickled raven’s claw’. He opened the lid and brought the jar to his nose. Aunt Trudy snatched it back from him. “Don’t sniff that, not unless you want a pig snout,” she warned.
“I’m not sure about this,” the nephew said hesitantly.
Aunt Trudy began pouring the ingredients into a black ceramic bowl. The contents were bubbling, mixing together to form an orange paste. “Don’t be silly, that bully will learn.” There was a crazed look in Aunt Trudy’s eyes that Charlie didn’t like one bit.
Charlie asked “Will they get hurt?”
“Not unless you want them to.” Aunt Trudy took the bowl, held it high above her head and whispered the magic words. “Munchlum Doodledum Frooglepop.”
She took some to their garden, Charlie followed. The neighbours’ dog, Benny, had managed to climb onto their grass again ruining Aunt Trudy’s vegetable patch and leaving canine deposits everywhere. Benny was yapping uncontrollably.
“What are you doing?” the little boy asked when he noticed his aunt staring at the dog.
Aunt Trudy held the bowl out in front of her. “First rule of witchcraft Charlie, take out the neighbour’s pesky pet.” Benny was wagging his tail eagerly and still yapping. Trudy lowered the bowl to him and he took several large gulps not stopping to sniff. He started yapping again. Charlie folded his arms across his chest in disappointment. “Give it a moment,” Trudy said. They both watched the dog. Suddenly Benny’s voice was lost. His horrid screeching bark became silent. His jaws were open and his lungs were pushing but no sound came out. “I do that when I want to shut that thing up,” said the aunt. “Now you know how it works, give it to your bully.”
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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!
September 14, 2017 | Categories: My Silly Little Confessions, Thrill Reads | Tags: author, confessions, confessions of an anatomist, humour, murder, My Silly Little Confessions, Myths and Tales, thriller, tracey campbell, vivika widow | Leave a comment
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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September 12, 2017 | Categories: The Grip, Vivika's Musings | Tags: amazon, amreading, anxiety, author, cozymystery, depression, download, mental health awareness, The Grip, vivika widow | Leave a comment