Simon Wood

Posts Tagged: supernatural

THE SCRUBS is another of my supernatural crime stories.  This is also a title of mine which has fallen between the cracks with readers and I hope you will take the time to check it out. I think you’ll find it worth your time.

The Scrubs is what people commonly call Wormwood Scrubs prison, located in west London. It’s an unusual name for a prison, but not as unusual as some in Britain. In Manchester, you’ll find Strangeways prison (although, it has been renamed in recent years because of its bad image). I do like how British prisons have weird names whereas American prisons sound like vacation getaways. Pelican Bay. San Quentin. Soledad. It seems like cruel and unusual punishment to be incarcerated in a place that sounds so idyllic, but I digress.

Wormwood Scrubs was built in the Victorian era and is a typical piece of neo-gothic architecture. The prison strongly resembles a fortress in some ways, except it keeps people in and not out. It’s not very big as prisons go. Less than fifteen hundred people call it home. If you ever take a trip on a Central Line train of the London Underground system, you’ll see the prison as you ride through Acton. If anyone has watched the original version of The Italian Job with Michael Caine, the prison he’s released from is Wormwood Scrubs. But any relationship between the real life prison and the one contained within these pages are purely fictional. I took the prison’s name and its location and ignored everything else.

Anyway, I stopped thinking about Wormwood Scrubs in terms of a name of a prison and started thinking about what the words meant. This is a habit with me. I think about words we all take for granted and break them down. Too often we take words at face value and forget their meanings. Places were named for a reason, not by chance. So I forgot the prison identity and just wondered about Wormwood scrubs. Wormwood is an herbaceous plant. It’s a key ingredient of absinthe. Wormwood oil is poisonous, considered psychoactive and possibly addictive. Wow, what a herb! The word scrubs bolts on nicely onto wormwood. A scrub area or scrubland is an area of stunted vegetation. I wondered whether Wormwood Scrubs the prison had been built on an area of scrubland covered with wormwood.

I liked the concept of a prison built on top of an area covered in a poisonous, psychotropic and addictive plant. It’s just asking for trouble. All we need is a psychotic prisoner with special powers and we’ve got ourselves a story!

I have to admit that THE SCRUBS is a guilty pleasure. It started out as a short story but kept getting bigger as I got caught up in creating this alternate universe for this prison and its inmates. And it’s not going to stop here. They’ll be two more installments—SCRUBBERS and SCRUBLAND. There’s just too much fun to be had playing with THE SCRUBS. Besides, someone has to stop Jeter. I hope you agree and you’ll come back for more.

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It’s been a pretty crappy last few weeks with canceled projects and events due to the Corona virus, but finally a shaft of light! I won HAW CREEK HORROR‘s contest for real life ghost stories.  I saw the call for true stories about the paranormal and on a whim, I entered.  I was quite chuffed to take the win.

The story is called MY OTHER SISTER and it’s my account of an apparition I encountered when I was seven-years-old. To this day, I can’t explain what happened but the events still haunt me now forty-five years later.

You can read the piece here and I hope it give you some chills while you are in isolation. 🙂

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It’s Halloween so you’re entitled to a spooky story…however, this is one is true. So please enjoy…

MY OTHER SISTER

I was seven when I met my other sister.

As a child, it wasn’t uncommon for me to wake up during the night craving something to drink. I usually slept with a glass of water or juice on the nightstand next to my bed. On this particular night, I’d drained my glass and found I still hadn’t quenched my thirst. I hopped out of bed and, glass in hand, left the bedroom I shared with my sister, three years my younger. I switched on the landing light so I wouldn’t disturb anyone and trotted downstairs to the kitchen. I made myself a drink and took it back up the stairs.

As I reached the top of the stairs and turned to face my bedroom, a full-length mirror next to my sister’s bed reflected my image. I wasn’t alone in my reflection and I froze. Behind me was my sister wearing her black polka dotted nightdress. She was lying on the top stair, her face stricken in pain, reaching out to grab my bare ankle. She fixed me with her totally black eyes. There were no whites in her eyes at all, just solid black. Her mouth opened and closed as if trying to say something, but no words made it out.

My mind whirled. How had my sister followed me down the stairs and sneaked behind me without me noticing? What had caused her eyes to turn black? My mind snagged on the falseness in the reflected image, preventing me from answering the questions. For to the left of the mirror, my sister slept soundly in her bed, her face turned away from me. The fact she was wearing a flowered nightdress and not the polka dotted one only confirmed the impossibility of the distressed girl in the reflection being my sister.

My other sister’s hand continued to reach out for me and was within inches of grasping me. I couldn’t tell if she existed only in the reflection or whether she was right behind me. I didn’t dare turn my head to find out. In the reflection, my view of her was at least twenty feet away, but if I turned to face her, then those black eyes would be right on top of me.

Whether my other sister really meant me harm or just needed my help, I didn’t have the courage to find out. I bolted for my room, throwing my drink into the air and screaming all the way. This meant running directly at the mirror and if my other sister existed there, then I was running straight towards the creature and not away from it. In the mirror’s reflection, my other sister made a desperate lunge, missed me and collapsed on the landing, but she lacked the strength to give chase. I hurled myself on the bed and buried my face in the pillow and bedclothes.

My screams woke my sister and my parents. My mother had to pry me from the mattress that I clung to in the fear that it wasn’t my mother who had me, but a false mother like the false sister I’d seen in the mirror. Even when she managed to unpeel my fingers from the mattress, I refused to open my eyes in fear that I was in the arms of a phantom. But when my mother shushed me and rocked me, I knew no false mother would treat me with such tenderness and I opened my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” my mother asked. “Why all the screaming?”

Through my sobs, I choked out the event I’d witnessed. My mother showed me that my sister, although crying herself from being rudely awakened, was okay, and more importantly, that her eyes were okay.

“You were dreaming,” my mother insisted.

How could it be a dream? I’d made myself a drink. I told my mother this.

“Well, whatever you saw, it isn’t there now,” she said.

“How do you know?” I demanded.

“Because we would have seen it when we came into the room. Come on, come look.”

My mother tried to show me, but I clung to my bed. She wrenched me free and I went with her, even though I dug my toes into the carpet. She showed me that nothing lurked on the landing, other than my father cleaning up my spilled drink.

At some point when I’d calmed down, my parents put me to bed, but I failed to fall asleep straight away, fearing my other sister would return to get me. Finally, exhaustion claimed me and I slept through until morning.

After that night, I developed a fear of mirrors after dark. Once the sun had set, I averted my gaze or closed my eyes when passing a mirror. I wanted to hang something over the mirrors, but I didn’t want to expose my fear. If I woke during the night needing a drink, I let my thirst go unquenched. Nothing would get me out of bed after dark. I never wanted to meet my other sister again. I feared my escape might not be guaranteed.

Two weeks after the incident my sister was struck down by a nasty bout of flu, which kept her, confined to her bed for several days. The nightdress she wore when the flu hit was her black polka dotted one.

I don’t know if the phantom sister I saw was a premonition of some kind, but I never saw my sister in that stricken pose on the stairs during her influenza bout or at any other time and she never possessed those black eyes. I wonder if the phantom was some form of guardian spirit trying to warn my family of a threat to my sister’s welfare? Regardless, I didn’t look into a mirror at night for another seven years fearing a repeat encounter with my other sister or some other phantom that lurked in mirrors.

Eventually, when I summoned up the courage in my teens to stare into a mirror at night, I saw nothing, although I broke out in gooseflesh fearing that I would. Now, I’m in my thirties, and if I’m honest, I still fear what I’ll see in a mirror. If I have to get up at night, I don’t turn on the lights and I keep my eyes averted. My other sister has never shown herself again, but I can never be sure it will stay that way…

 

Hopefully this tale has put you in the mood for your Halloween celebrations. If you’re looking for something a little spooky to read, I hope you’ll pick up ROAD RASH or my other darker titles THE SCRUBS and DRAGGED INTO DARKNESS.

   

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It’s Halloween and a couple of my Halloween scares written under my pen name, Simon Janus, are on sale this week at Amazon.

In THE SCRUBS, James Jeter, the notorious serial killer with a sixth sense, holds court inside London’s Wormwood Scrubs Prison. He’s the focus of the “North Wing Project.” Under the influence of a hallucinogen, Jeter can create an alternative world known as “The Rift” containing the souls of his victims.

Pardons are on offer to inmates who’ll enter The Rift. Michael Keeler has nothing to lose and little to live for. He’s sent into The Rift to learn the identity of Jeter’s last victim.

It’s a mission where the guilty can be redeemed, but at a price…

For US readers, get it here for 99c here.
For UK readers, get it here for 99p here.

 

In ROAD RASH, Straley might think his life is cursed, but it doesn’t compare to what lies ahead of him on life’s highway. He’s on the run with the proceeds of a botched bank robbery. It’s all he has. His crew is dead and his getaway car just died on him. He’s on foot with the cash when he comes across a two-car pileup. There’s no saving the drivers, but he can save himself and steals one of the wrecked cars. But he boosts the wrong set of wheels. Within an hour of driving off, he develops a rash that eats away at his flesh. No doctor can help him–only the car’s original owner. If Straley wants his skin back, he must journey on the road to redemption, which ends in the heart of Central America.

For US readers, get it here for 99c here.
For UK readers, get it here for 99p here.

The books are available from other usual retail outlets and available on audio in the case of ROAD RASH.  Just click the book titles for details.

I hope I’ve given you something to keep you busy this Halloween.  🙂

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I’m happy to reveal the cover for the upcoming French release: LA FISSURE.  It’s the translation of my supernatural thriller, THE SCRUBS.  I don’t have a release date but it will later this year.

So what do you think?

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My book of the week is my supernatural thriller ROAD RASH. It’s 99c/99p at Amazon in the US and the UK for this week only!!

It’s the story of James Straley, a bank robber on the run with the proceeds of a botched bank robbery. It’s all he has. His crew is dead and his getaway car just died on him. He’s on foot with the cash when he comes across a two-car pileup. There’s no saving the drivers, but he can save himself by taking one of the wrecked cars. But he boosts the wrong set of wheels. Within an hour of driving off, he develops a rash that eats away at his flesh. No doctor can help him–only the car’s original owner. If Straley wants his skin back, he must journey on the road to redemption.

I have a real soft spot for this book.  It was inspired by a trip to Guatemala and a run-in I had with Santeria.  You can read all about my adventure here.

There’s also a great audio edition read by Ed Hunter.  I love Ed’s voice and it’s probably my favorite reading that anyone has done of my books.

It’s available from iTunes, Kobo, B&N, Audible as well as Amazon.  You can find all the links here.

Anyway, I hope you’ll snap up a copy.  I think you’ll enjoy it.

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Similarly to Kobo, a bunch of my ebooks and audiobooks are now on iTunes.  I must admit I feel like a bit of a rock star because I have an artist’s page on iTunes.  So if you’re an Apple iTunes person, you can find all my titles listed here.  Just make sure you get the correct “Simon Wood” books.  While there are a number of my foreign language titles, please note that I am not the author of the German BDSM erotica…that’s some other guy…really it is.  🙂

My Simon Janus titles are also on iTunes here.

Any questions or issues, let me know. Also, feel free to share with others. I won’t stop you.

I hope you can support me. Thanks!

POSTSCRIPT: Apple have made one of their never-ending updates and unfortunately, my author page no longer shows all my titles although they are on the site. Just to confirm, my titles on iTunes are: DID NOT FINISH, HALF-INCHED, HOT SEAT, THE FALL GUY, FAST CRIMES, WORKING STIFFS, CRESTFALLEN, LOWLIFES & SHORT SHARP SHOCKS. You can find direct links on “BOOK” pages of this website.

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pourriture-simon-woodI’m happy to announce the release of POURRITURE, the French edition of ROAD RASH.  After the success of my first French book, L’évadée, it was only natural to give French readers something else to chew on.  I’m looking forward to see their response to this story.

For those who read French, the storyline goes a little like this:

James Straley peut bien penser que son existence est maudite, mais elle n’a rien de comparable avec ce qui l’attend sur l’autoroute de la vie. Il est en fuite avec le butin d’un vol de banque loupé. C’est tout ce qu’il possède. Ses acolytes sont morts et sa voiture vient de tomber en panne. Il est à pied, avec l’argent, quand il aperçoit deux voitures impliquées dans un carambolage. Il lui est impossible de sauver les conducteurs, mais il peut se sauver lui-même en s’appropriant l’une des épaves. Manque de chance, il vole la mauvaise bagnole. Après une heure derrière le volant, il commence à développer une urticaire qui dévore sa chair. Aucun médecin ne peut l’aider – seul le propriétaire initial de la voiture en a le pouvoir. Si Straley veut récupérer sa peau, il doit entreprendre un long voyage sur le chemin de la rédemption, un voyage qui s’achèvera au cœur de l’Amérique Centrale.

So if you’re French or know someone French, I hope you’ll give this book a shot.

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