 Lakegrave School for Young Women Lauren Carter Genre: Horror, Dark Academia, Historical Fiction Date of Publication: 9th September 2025 ISBN: 9781739376444 ASIN: B0F74BRMC3 Number of pages: 237 Word Count: 54k words Cover Artist: Grim Poppy Designs Tagline: Lakegrave is unlike any other school Book Description: Here, we do not care where you are from or who you are. We care that you are women. And we care about your minds. Lakegrave is unlike any other school. Hidden in the mountains of Scotland, it only accepts one bright woman per specialist subject. With no teachers and no curriculum, the self-taught establishment offers its students the tools to expand their skillsets to then go onto being masters in their fields. When Raven and her cousin Rowan are accepted, they are excited to refine their crafts and converse with fellow classmates. That is until students go missing. Some come back but they are not as they once were. Something is off about them. Something is misplaced. So when fellow student Esme wants to investigate and invites Raven to join, they uncover that there’s much more to the school than they thought with chilling secrets kept tucked away in its history. But with ghosts stirring and the cohort decreasing, will any of them make it to graduation? Amazon Book Trailer: https://www.instagram.com/p/DJHXckqI6ge/ Excerpt: There isn’t much known about Lakegrave School for Young Women due to its remote location and it being a new school, but it is the only school in the world known for its unique education style—it’s completely self-taught. There are no teachers, just one headmistress. The school only invites the best and brightest women from across the globe to study there for one year before being scouted to go on to their dream careers. This didn’t mean smart in absolutely everything but a genius in our own field. That is the other unique thing—it also only invites one person per specialist subject. That’s why Rowan and I were lucky enough to be accepted. Rowan is only just old enough to attend at one and twenty years of age; I, on the other hand, have two years on her. Luck was also on our side when we were encouraged to pursue different hobbies instead of the same, otherwise we wouldn’t have been accepted concurrently. Leading up to the school, I can only make out the tops of the building as the hedge has overgrown so much. It’s as if the place has been neglected over the summer, if not over the years. Such an odd notion for a new educational establishment but, then again, it was something else before. I reach the main gate and see a crest at the top. In the middle, there is a sprig of lavender and on each side of the shield are bees facing inward. This looks like it’s been cleaned recently. Couldn’t say the same for the rest of the gate. It looks like it once was black, but it is brown now due to the rust. I don’t want to touch it, so I nudge it open with my elbow and shut it again once I’m in. It’s called a school, but it would be better off compared to a castle, just like every other boarding school that exists. The windows stretch tall and look like they are modelled after a church. Although it is a fairly new build, its appearance is like it has been designed as old-fashioned on purpose, fitting in with something from the 1600s rather than the 1800s. And it almost looks like it’s falling apart, the brickwork cracked and turning the walls into a darker colour rather than its usual sand. It is preposterously big for a school that doesn’t admit too many students. There is definitely some sort of beauty to the building but for some reason, even in the daytime, it appears a little ominous—as if the place is lifeless. It seems as though the garden has overtaken everything as greenery and moss is growing alongside the building. To the west of the school there are some greenhouses and to the east of the school is a church. The ground crunches as I walk up to the building. There is a huge fountain which is bordered by the driveway on either side but appears not to work, and a huge statue coming out from the middle of it. I’m not that knowledgeable about Greek gods but I know it’s Aphrodite. It seems fitting to have her standing guard over us. I pause by the front door, already hearing voices coming from within, so I grip my violin case tighter and push the double doors inwards—letting them shut me away for the next year.   About the Author:
Lauren (she/they) is a library assistant by day and writer by night. She is the author of WHEN THE DEMONS TAKE HOLD and YOUR DARLING DEATH. She has published several short stories including: ALIVE, JUST with The Horror Tree, THE CHILDREN OF OWL WILDS with Haunted Words Press, and THE SACRIFICES WE MAKE with Rooster Republic Press. https://x.com/writerlcarter https://sleekbio.com/writerlcarter https://www.instagram.com/writerlcarter/ https://bsky.app/profile/writerlcarter.bsky.social
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 CHAPTER ONE
The fog curled around him as he walked, attempting to envelope him. On any other day, it wouldn’t bother him, but now… Picking up the pace, he headed for the house, hoping to get inside before it got worse. It was eerily quiet out here, not even birdsong broke the silence. While he welcomed the escape, he did not like the lack of noise. With nothing to distract him, it left him alone with my own racing thoughts. Thoughts he wished to avoid. The house loomed up out of the fog and he paused to take it in. He was lucky to get it on such short notice, but when they saw his offer, they were only too happy to allow him to rent it out for the month. I just need some time to rest and come to terms with what happened. Clutching the handle of his suitcase tighter, he glanced around, almost expecting something to lurch out of the fog at him. A ridiculous notion, but after what happened back at home, it had made him jumpy. All he needed was to rest, kick back with a good brandy and collect his thoughts. This would pass. Walking up to the house, he searched his pockets for the key. Setting the suitcase down, he patted my coat down. What had he done with it? Somewhere in the distance, a fox screamed and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Taking a breath, he scanned the fog. What was it doing out at this time? It had to have been a fox, he had heard many of them at home, but this one sounded slightly different. Almost like a woman screaming, but different. Enough foolishness, get inside the house. He finally located the key and unlocked the door. Hurrying inside, he closed it and made sure to lock it. Nothing was getting in through there. Feeling somewhat better, he turned and took in the house. A large foyer stretched out before him. To the right lay the sitting room, the left the parlor. The house was dimly lit as the shutters had been kept drawn to prevent thieves from looking inside. Before all of this, the dark had never bothered him, but now he had taken to keeping a candle lit by his bed at night. A childish act, but he needed something to soothe his frayed nerves. Leaving his suitcase by the stairs, he stepped into the sitting room and opened the drapes to let some light in. Due to the fog, it didn’t do much to break through the gloom, but it gave him enough light to start a fire. Once it was crackling away, he went in search of a drink. He discovered a bottle of brandy in a sideboard and poured a generous measure. Removing his coat, he settled down in a chair by the fire. A few sips into the brandy and he finally started to relax. Everything he saw must have been the product of a fertile imagination, nothing more. Ghosts did not exist. They only existed in stories designed to scare children. And he was not a child. A scream came from outside, closer than before. He jerked up, looking toward the window. Had the fox come up to the house? Perhaps it was sick or injured. That might explain why it was out. Curious, he got up and moved to the window. The fog was practically at the glass now. There was no hope of seeing the fox unless it was right under the window. Still, he leaned forward, trying to make out anything that might be out there. A dark figure passed through the fog and he leaped back. That was no fox. It looked like a person. A woman to be exact. Spooked, he shut the drapes and moved back to the fire. It was just his imagination. And yet, he worried what would happen when night fell once more. Out Now - Available At All Major Book Retailers  CORKTOWN CHAPTER 2 The orientation interview happened in the first week of August. The school had two classes in every grade beyond kindergarten. One was a uniform grade the other was a split grade with half the class of that grade the other students being the grade below. The more experienced teachers handled the split grades where the students often had complicated issues that needed experience handling. Sometimes the students were behind, sometimes they were far ahead of expected grade level, in both cases they needed extra attention. As for the newcomers, they would be handling classes with the single grade students. Lorain was to take on grade five, Diane grade three, Mary was being handed grade one. After the meeting with the principal they went down the street to the nearest coffee shop all three could agree on budget wise and had a celebratory treat. Mary picked a small iced chocolate, heavy on the chocolate sprinkles please, the others had lattés. “Am I the only one wondering why they are taking on three rookies at once in the same school?” Diane asked. “I’d be willing to bet they use this place as a testing ground. Survive here and you get to upgrade to a neighborhood where the parents of the kids actually have jobs,” Lorain said. As the only one of the three who was born and grew up in Toronto, Mary found herself wanting to defend her home turf. She’d never done anything more than ride through this spot on a street car but she knew its history reasonably well. “Actually, at this point you’re probably only half right. Yes, there’s still a lot of public housing and subsidised housing within walking distance. There’re also entire streets full of houses that’ve been renovated to the point where you couldn’t rent an apartment in one without a really nice income. Then there’s the condos, they may have been built with well to do singles and couple in mind but developers in general forget the fact that the one thing you can count on with most couples is, they won’t stay just a couple forever. After this small victory party, they went their separate ways. Each one of them with the painful realization that they had very little time to prepare for the coming ordeal. September arrived and the first week of school was both better and worse than Mary pictured. The second week went smoother, the third smoother still. She was Miss Allan the new grade one teacher. As a label it made her head spin just a little but Mary found she liked it a lot. It was October first before Mary noticed anyone from The Mission breaking the rules. She was on playground duty, standing with her back to the six-foot tall chain link fence marking the boundary between the sidewalk and the yard. A figure standing on the sidewalk stepped into her line of sight causing the nerves on the back of her neck to tingle. A little over dressed for the still comfortably temperate fall weather he stood on the other side of the fence looking into the playground, not moving simply standing arms limp. Eyes on the kids Mary casually strolled over to within his hearing range and spoke. “I mean no disrespect but there is a rule.” When she looked in his direction to see if he was listening, he wasn’t there. Before Mary could spot which way the man went the recess bell sounded and it was time to get the kids back inside. This was a process she secretly thought of as similar to herding cats. He was back two days later. This was before the nine o’clock bell. Mary was only half way through her first tea of the morning and not feeling nearly as charitable as she might have been later in the day. As before, she strolled up to him on her side of the fence primary attention on the yard in front of her in an attempt to talk to him in as non-confrontational a way as possible. “Listen, I’m trying to be polite here. I realize you might be new and not know it yet but there is a rule. You need to stay on your side of the street during school hours and as early as it is this qualifies,” she said quietly. Conveniently or inconveniently, Mary wasn’t sure which word applied to the situation, this time he didn’t vanish. He was listless, seemingly unconcerned about losing any meal or shelter privileges. That thought alone was a little bit worrying. It suggested possible interests beyond food or shelter that had the outside potential to be dangerous. “Who are they?” he asked. “This is a school yard. On any given day you can spot kids, teachers and the occasional parent volunteer. Can you narrow down which –they- you mean?” Mary asked. “The one’s in fancy dress,” he said. Caught completely off guard by this incongruous statement Mary looked from the strangely listless man to face the yard. There was one parent, a Mrs. Mason, who was a constant volunteer and a bit of a hovering annoyance. Beyond that she could see Diane Murphy and a growing selection of children. In a little while, once breakfast club got out, the number of kids would more than double. At this point however while some of the kids were dressed better than the others, no one was in anything close to fancy dress. “What do you mean fancy dress?” she asked him. When he didn’t explain Mary turned back to the fence but again, he was gone. This time she had a chance to look for him. He couldn’t be seen walking off into the distance in any direction, he was simply gone. Mary refocused her attention on the kids and took a deep drink of her tea. There was one explanation for this odd ability to simply be gone. Confirming this notion wouldn’t solve the whole puzzle but it would be a start. Telling herself to keep her eyes on the yard for the duration of her preschool hour Mary grumbled, “That’s all I need, ancient history coming back to haunt me; as if I wasn’t stressed enough.” That night Mary went on line and did a little research. It didn’t take long to find pictures of deceased homeless. One of the agencies organizing outreach in the city had set up a memorial page. Slowly she scrolled through pictures and brief, sometimes painfully brief, life histories. With each death she went farther and farther back in time, wondering vaguely how far back the list went. He was there on the tenth page. There was nothing about his life in general and it was entirely possible they knew nothing. What was there was all about his death and it told Mary a great deal. “Timothy Durham, sometimes called tiny Tim because of his stature, left this life October tenth nineteen fifty-nine at the age of thirty. A lifelong heavy drinker with possible mental health problems; he’d been seen earlier that night sitting on the church steps talking to no one. The discussion was an energetic one so witnesses left him alone to argue with his demons. The next morning, he was dead. Hypothermia was suggested as a cause of death but rejected due to the relatively warm October temperatures. At the inquest it was pointed out that the nearby shelter was operating at under capacity due to the temperate night so Tim could have slept indoors. Eventually heart failure due to long term alcoholism was declared.” The picture that sat above this short blurb was clearly a mug shot, probably taken one of the times he’d been arrested for vagrancy. Her rule breaker was defiantly dead. That solved one puzzle but left a couple more. Who were the people in fancy dress he mentioned and why did it bother him? In bed that night waiting for sleep to come she thought through the situation. Her talent had come back for the first time in years. It was a waste of effort to wonder if she was glad or not. This was a fact of life for her. Unfortunately, it was a fact most people didn’t want to believe even existed. As much as she wanted to ignore this Tim, there was no getting away from the fact that he wasn’t a recently dead lost soul who hadn’t figured out what was happening. He was clearly tied to this location for some reason. On top of that, something was bothering him. There was only one thing to do, face the elephant standing at the edge of her playground and ask Tim what was wrong. When on yard duty Mary generally kept her phone in her jacket pocket. Now she picked up a small cheap Bluetooth earpiece. She used it two days later as she took her position for early morning post. This time she didn’t bother to walk close to where the shade stood. She simply took the earpiece out of her pocket and slipped it into her right ear to mask the fact that she was about to appear to be talking to herself. “Do you know you’re dead Tim?” she said softly, knowing he would hear her. When he answered she heard and almost felt his deep sadness. “Yeah. I been looking around. I can’t believe how long ago it happened. Everything’s so different. It’s like I’ve been asleep. I forgot about everything. I forgot about them.” “It did happen a while ago. Why are you still here?” she asked. There was a long, embarrassed silence. Mary tried to be patient but eventually the school day would start. If the bell rang, she’d have to leave this shadow behind for the classroom. There was no telling if he’d ever be in the mood to talk again. “I don’t want to go to hell,” he said quietly. Mary gave a deep sigh. Religion in general had good parts and bad parts. This was a symptom of the bad. “Tim, I’m not sure any faith has that part completely right. What I am sure of is you probably never hurt anyone in life but yourself. If you did hurt anyone, I think you were the one you hurt the most. I don’t think that gets you an elevator ride to the cosmic basement,” Mary said. “What about talking to the dead? My Nan, good Catholic woman my Nan, she raised me. She said it was a sin,” he asked. This was another thing religion did that bothered Mary on a personal level. Supernatural talents were all well and good for prophets and people in the bible that lived a long time ago. That was fine. Tell your priest you can see his recently dead grandmother sitting in her usual place in the front pew, looking completely at peace and you can get yourself in trouble. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I? Do I seem bad enough to go to hell? I won’t call it a gift Tim. It’s too damned annoying to be a gift. I will call it a not very well understood natural talent,” Mary said reasonably. She glanced in his direction and saw a pronounced change. Instead of looking as solid as any living man suddenly he now looked vaguely translucent. He was accepting his life, all of it the good and the bad. This was one of the few moments that let her believe having this ability was a good thing. He was comfortable with things now, almost happy. “I think I’m ready to go now but I need to tell you something. There’s one here that’s dangerous. Don’t talk to him. The bad ones can get inside you if you talk to them. That’s what happened to me,” he said. Realizing there was one thing left she needed to ask, Mary sputtered knowing for a fact she had left the subject to far to late. “Tim, wait what?” He vanished. “What did you mean by fancy dress?” Resisting the urge to give a loud exasperated groan Mary took a deep drink from her tea and dropped her earpiece into a handy pocket. Pacing her side of the school yard she thought about the situation she found herself in. She might have accepted her talent from an early age but that didn’t eliminate the fact that there were long periods of time when she hated it. During one of those periods in her early teens she went on a years’ long reading binge; absorbing everything she could on the subject. That convenient bit of academic ranting against fate put her more than a few steps up on the poor long dead Tim. Mary knew that negative forces were like bratty demanding children. As Tim said it really was best to leave them alone. If you wanted to be a bit more proactive you needed to pay them just enough attention to prevent disaster, then leave them to their own devices. The kids in fancy dress might reference the difference in dress from his time to this one or it could mean something completely different. There was no way of telling at this point and frankly it didn’t really matter. She was a rookie teacher on her first posting. The last thing she planned on doing was turn ghost buster. * * * Standing in an open and empty second floor classroom, cell phone in hand, father O’Dell watched Mary drop the blue tooth ear piece into her coat pocket. She’d defiantly been talking and not on the phone. What he had here was a hint of something he’d been praying for but was almost impossible to find. He looked at his phone, tapped a number next to the name John Walker and listened to the ring. “While I am prepared to forgive you for calling at this hour your penance is likely to be energetic if the call is not for a very good reason,” said the sleepy voice at the other end. “Mea Culpa,” O’Dell said. Father John Walker, answered this in a voice that said its owner was rapidly struggling toward wakefulness. “Robert, what’s up?” “Mary Allan, we talked about her this summer. Incidentally you didn’t exaggerate nearly as much as you usually do, she’s got the makings of a very good teacher. I now want to press you on the stuff you didn’t want to say, or to be more exact only half said,” O’Dell explained. “Been drawing conclusions again I see, you were always good at that. She did talk to herself as a young child but that petered off and died eventually. If you’re wondering if she might have schizophrenic tendencies, symptoms like that should be reversed. I have to admit by the time she hit middle school she was a different person and not in a completely good way,” Father John said. “I don’t think she’s schizophrenic John. I think she really did see your predecessor’s dead mother,” O’Dell said. This clear statement bought a long silence. O’Dell waited, knowing he had painted a mental picture that required deep thought. “You really think she can see spirits? I suppose that would be an explanation. Most kids give up the invisible friend game long before they get to school. She did tone it down gradually as I remember. Dropping it completely defiantly took her much longer,” father John said eventually. “I want you to keep this between us but yes I think she could see spirits and more importantly I think she still can and that’s exactly the person I need right now,” said O’Dell The unmistakeable sound of a piece of chalk hitting the ground and braking into several bits caused O’Dell to turn around. The room was still empty but on the formerly blank chalk board across from the windows there was now a large and decidedly pornographic picture of a naked man and woman. Sighing deeply O’Dell crossed the room and began erasing the picture. “I’ve been having problems John. Things have been happening here, increasingly disturbing things. Involving the diocese could cost me my job but I need help,” he said. “Robert you are the most grounded person I know. If you say you are dealing with the supernatural, I believe you. You have my promise of confidence and you have my girl,” said Father John. “If you need anything else let me know.”  I am a novelist screenwriter and playwright. At this point in my life I am divorced with adult twins. I live in my home town of Toronto Canada which I am currently populating with aliens, monsters and fairies. Because, well, why not. I've actually learned recently that most of what I write is called Urban Fantasy. The things you learn when you aren't trying.
Be sure to check out my animations on my you tube page. Go to You Tube and search @RealityInk Look for a circle with a worried worm.  Years ago, when I was around eight or nine, my sister and I were made to accompany our mother to walk the dogs quite late at night, It was an eerily quiet night and there was no one around.
As we made our way up the street to a leisure centre, we walked around the field on the edge of it. To our left was a tall fence to block off the train tracks. As we got to the top of the hill, an old man appeared out of nowhere, scaring us. He was walking hunched over, with a sack on his back, dressed in old fashioned clothing. He wouldn't have looked out of place in the 1930s. Considering it was the 1990s, it was definitely strange. He was also very pale. When we jumped, he laughed softly and said, "Scare yous, did I?" We said he had and he smirked and walked away, disappearing down the hill. Now he could have been a regular person, but why was he out so late at night? And what was in the sack? And why was he dressed the way he was? It certainly gave us a scare and we hurried home. It was a small estate where we lived, yet we never saw him before or since. So...who was he?  Throughout September and October, we will be featuring all things ghostly every Monday on our blog. Our authors will be sharing their spooky books, real life encounters and even some excerpts to pique your interest. Perfect for the run up to Halloween.
Be sure to stop by every Monday to read more.       Here are some Paranormal Fantasy recommendations for you! All available to buy on Amazon.
We hope you enjoyed our event. Going into September and October we will be covering spooks and specters!  CHAPTER ONE
“I hate the cold and I hate the stupid woods,” I muttered as my boots crunched over the snow. I continued to swear under my breath as I went, mostly cursing myself for being stupid enough to venture out here. I paused to take a sip from the flask of bourbon I carried with me. I should have stayed at the diner where it’s warm, and I could order one of their hot chocolates, with extra whipped cream and those little marshmallows. When the hunter burst in, raving about a monster loose in the woods, I should have ignored it. He could be a raving lunatic for all I knew, but the beast he described, if it was real, could be a danger. I’d built a life for myself in the mundane town of Bedford. It was about as far from the supernatural world as you could get, which suited me just fine. I needed normal. I didn’t need some supernatural critter coming after me. As I entered a clearing I found some footprints. Or rather pawprints. Big ones. There’s no way that is from a bear, I thought. I could walk away now and hope whatever it was moved on but instead I followed the pawprints. Supernatural creatures had a way of sniffing me out and I didn’t need this thing coming crashing through my door in the middle of the night. “Stef? What are you doing out here?” I jumped nearly a foot in the air. Turning on the spot, I found Deputy Clark behind me, carrying a shotgun. He had a knit cap on over his dark hair and he was wearing his usual navy police uniform. “I wanted to see what all the fuss is about,” I said, knowing full well that normal women didn’t decide to venture into the woods on a whim when something big was on the loose, but I wasn’t normal. He frowned at me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s not safe. Go home, Stef.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Stef. That wasn’t even my name. I told him my name when we first met, but he misheard me and thinks my name is Steffanie. Which he has shortened to Stef, like we’re friends or something. I don’t have friends in Bedford, or anywhere for that matter. I stay at my house, on the edge of town and the only time I venture out is for groceries and a coffee at the diner. “It’s a free country. I can take a walk in the woods if I want to.” He sighed. “Whatever.” He knew better than to argue with me. From the few conversations we have had, I made it very clear that I do what I like. I don’t have the energy to argue with people, so I have a habit of being incredibly blunt. Some would say rude, but I don’t care. What is it they say? Respect your elders? I’ve got a few thousand years on everyone. I waited for him to walk away, he hadn’t noticed the tracks yet. I just hoped he wouldn’t accidentally shoot me, especially when I had decided to wear a black leather jacket and green sweater. I should have worn something that wouldn’t blend into my surroundings. Then again, I didn’t do bright colors, not anymore. I continued to follow the tracks. The only weapon I had with me was an old knife that I kept in my boot. It was a gift from my mother, a long time ago. It probably wouldn’t do much against Bigfoot or whatever was out here. Luckily, I was hard to kill. Not impossible, but I was pretty tough. Branches snapped up ahead and I paused, wondering if it was Clark or the beast. The low, rumbling growl answered that question. I pulled the knife from my boot. “Come out, come out, whatever you are,” I said softly. I could see dark fur and a huge hulking shape. Approaching it as quietly as I could, I was ready to attack when the creature turned. It was a blur of fur and the next thing I knew, I was on my back, the creature pinning me down. I closed my eyes, waiting to be eaten, but instead, the creature licked me. “Urgh,” I said, trying to wipe the slobber off my face. That’s when I got a good look at the beast. A beast I was very familiar with. “Cerberus?” I stared at the mutt in front of me, not quite believing my eyes. “Get off, you big lug,” I said, pushing him back. He moved enough to let me get up. “Move away, Stef. I’ve got a shot!” Clark ordered, appearing from the trees. I quickly stepped in front of Cerberus. “Put the gun down, it’s fine.” “Are you crazy? Look at the size of that…what is it?” “It’s a dog. A special breed.” Very special. “That’s like no dog I’ve ever seen, although it seems to know you,” Clark said, as Cerberus licked my arm. “That’s because he’s mine. He ran away a while back, but now he’s apparently back.” Clark slowly lowered his gun, looking confused. “Okay. Get a leash on that thing, will ya?” I forced a smile, waiting until he was walking away before flipping him the bird. God, I hated that guy. He was always sticking his nose where it wasn’t wanted. I guess that was part of being a cop, but it still annoyed me. How long before he started looking into my life? Of course if he was still calling me Stef then he couldn’t have looked into it yet. I turned back to Cerberus. “Where have you been, you naughty boy,” I said, hugging his huge head. Not wanting to leave them out, I gave his other two heads a pet. Thank God humans couldn’t see his true form. All they saw was a huge black dog, not the hellhound that he was. “Why are you here?” I asked, even though he couldn’t answer me. “Come on. Let’s go home,” I said. He perked up at the word ‘home’ and I felt a pang. Of course I meant my two-bedroom chalet, not that home. We could never return there. Cerberus bounced around me as we walked, acting like an overgrown puppy. He only acted that way around me. It reminded me of the first day I met him. *** A LONG TIME AGO I sat in the darkness, miserable and missing home. I missed my mother most of all. How would she survive without me? Ever since she fell ill last year, she continued to struggle. I prayed to the Gods that she would be okay and that I would see her again one day. He appeared out of the darkness, looking wary. I almost laughed, a God wary of a mere mortal like me, but perhaps that was to be expected with the fit I threw when I was told I had to live here. “You should see this as a great honor,” he said, his dark eyes watching me. People say that the Gods are beautiful, and I guess that is true, but they are also terrifying. The power they command can be felt when you are in their presence and with his reputation, it was doubly terrifying. “You stole me away from everything I know, how is that the honorable thing to do?” I snapped. He stiffened, and I could see that he was struggling to remain calm. “You will learn your place in time,” he said. “Or I’ll run away,” I muttered. “You can try, but I wouldn’t recommend it. You’d have to get by Cerberus first.” He whistled and a huge dog appeared, it’s three heads glaring at me. I had never seen a beast like it. I cowered on the ground, bracing myself for it to eat me. Instead, it sat down and started panting. Drool dripped from the head nearest me and I shifted back to avoid it. We were left alone. I don’t know what possessed me, but when I realized it had no intention of eating me, I reached out a hand for it to sniff. The middle head seemed to be the one in control. It sniffed my hand, then licked me. “Ew,” I said, wiping my hand on my gown. He bounced up and down, wagging his massive tail. “You’re just a big softie, aren’t you?” I said, stroking one of his heads. “Come on, Cerberus, let’s play.”  Witches are my favorite characters to write about because there is so much versatility with them. They can cast spells, make potions, use their special abilities to help people and so much more.
Witches in Paranormal Fantasy are often trying to blend in when it comes to the real world. Their abilities are kept hidden, only used when necessary. Some witches may only discover they have powers In the beginning of a story-with them either being bound or lying dormant until something unlocks them. This popular trope allows the audience to be surprised alongside the MC as she learns about her abilities. One example of a Paranormal Fantasy show about witches is Charmed. Charmed ran between 1998 and 2006. Across 8 seasons, the Halliwell sisters discovered their powers and used them to take down demons, warlocks and the Source of All Evil. There are some great ideas within the show and it does deal with real world issues, alongside the supernatural. It is important to ground your story in reality and remember that supernatural or not, witches still have to navigate the real world. That can cause issues in itself. Do you use magic to fix your problems? Or are there consequences to doing so? If you are going to include witches in your paranormal fantasy book, its important to note that many aspects Of Wicca seen on screen and in books is part of a real practice. Be respectful of it. Of course you are writing fiction, but just be aware of stereotypes and misinformation when it comes to building your world. Happy writing!  Paranormal abilities are a lot of fun to write, especially If you try something new with them. Some of the most common are -
Telekinesis is a fun ability but what if the user was exceptionally strong? Or exceptionally weak for that matter? Their power could destroy an entire building or maybe they can only move tiny objects. How would that affect them if they went against a bad guy? Precognition is the ability to see future events. But maybe it only works if the MC is high. Or through their dreams. That would certainly hinder them If they were in danger! Telepathy could be an extremely overwhelming ability to have. When we see it in movies or TV shows, the main character usually gains control quickly and is able to single out specific thoughts. But what if it was more like the episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer -Earshot? What if it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between voices? Or what if it was impossible to tell the difference between their actual thoughts and their daydreams? That could lead to some mishaps! The ability to talk to ghosts has been used many times over and here is a lot that has been done with it. There are some good ways to mix things up though. Maybe your MC can only hear ghosts, not see them. Or vice versa. Maybe they only attract vengeful spirits. That wouldn't be fun. Pyrokinesis is the ability to start fires with your mind. A cool idea might be that the user can only set themselves on fire! Imagine seeing that and then the person walks away unscathed. Psychometry is the ability to see things when touching an object. But perhaps it only works if the owner died violently. Or if the object is very old and therefore has had many owners, it confuses the user. There are so many fun ways to alter these abilities and give your MC a harder time in using them. Play around with them, try to create issues that will impact your MC and really let your imagination fly. Happy writing!  Chapter One
“I know I’m late again, I’m so sorry, Frank. I’ll be there in just a minute,” I panted into my phone as I jogged along the sidewalk. This is the third time this month, he’s going to fire me. “Get your ass…” Before I could hear the rest, I crashed into someone and dropped my phone on the ground. “Fuck!” I cried, scooping to pick it up. The screen was cracked. “Hello?” It looked like Frank had hung up on me. Looking up, I found a man looking down on me with the most mesmerizing blue eyes I’d ever seen. “I’m so sorry,” I rambled, finding it hard to look away. He scowled at me. “Watch where you’re going,” he snapped. Turning right, he headed down Cooper Street, leaving me standing there like an idiot. I was going to walk on when I realized that not many people went down Cooper Street. At least humans didn’t. But given the eyes and the impressive physique, I’d guess that guy was anything but human. Fae maybe. Or something else. They all lived in that end of town, separated from the rest of us. Personally I didn’t understand it. When the supernaturals revealed themselves eight years ago, everything changed. We all had to adapt to knowing that magic existed, that there were beings with wings, pointed ears and various powers. Not long after the Fae, and a few other species outed themselves, including werewolves. The government liked to lump them altogether under the heading of Other. They had to give them a place to go, so they sanctioned a few streets in the lower end of the city for them to set up and work. Other cities did something similar, but even more refused to allow them in at all. While they weren’t prohibited from crossing into the other side, they needed a good reason to go there. I watched him until he disappeared from sight. Most people feared them, but I had to admit I was curious. The idea of magic being real was enticing, but you couldn’t admit that out loud. I especially couldn’t with my father being in the government. “Shit! Work,” I cried as I snapped out it. I raced down the road to the bar, hoping Frank would buy whatever excuse I came up with in the next two minutes. Crashing through the door, he glared at me from behind the bar. “What’s your excuse this time?” He crossed his arms and waited. My brain whirred as I tried to come up with a valid excuse. “I…slept in. I’m sorry.” Why bother lying? Anything I came out with wouldn’t be a good enough excuse anyway. “You can’t keep doing this, Ella. I need my employees to show up on time.” “Should I go?” I asked. No one would blame him for firing me. Not even me. He paused for a moment, then sighed heavily. “Go get the mixers from the back.” Relieved, I hurried to do as he asked. “But if it happens again, you’re out!” he yelled after me. Dumping my jacket and purse in the back, I grabbed the mixers for him. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that Frank liked me enough to give me another chance. My guess was he wanted to stay in with my father. He was in charge of zoning or something, I never really listened when he talked, and he could make trouble for business owners if he wanted. I barely spoke to my father. When I was old enough to move out, I got the hell away from him. He wasn’t a nice person. Too concerned with his career and his image to give a shit about me. Every now and again he summoned me to see him, mostly to berate me, then he ignored me for weeks or even months at a time. If I didn’t need this job to pay rent, I’d tell him where to stick it. I don’t want anything from my father. I even changed my surname to my mother’s maiden name in a bid to distance myself from him. It didn’t help that I lived in the same city I grew up in though. People already knew whose daughter I was. Trying to stay on Frank’s good side, I made myself busy cleaning tables and putting out the chairs. The reason I was up so late had to do with my boyfriend, Leon. He insisted I listened to his new album. Then he insisted on playing it again when my eyes started to glaze over. We get on well together, but I’m not into heavy metal music. He has his own band and they are trying to get a record deal. I guess he wanted me to tell him how wonderful they were, but it all sounded the same to me. Now he was in a mood with me. I’d make it up to him tonight. Maybe open a bottle of wine and watch a movie together. The bar opened for a lunch time crowd and usually got quite busy. It was after two before I finally got a break. When I took a seat in a booth to drink a coke, I spotted my best friend, Amy, making her way toward me. She slipped into the booth opposite me. “Hey, do you want to go out tonight?” she asked. “Uh, I don’t think so. I have a long shift and I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Amy pulled a face. “You’re no fun.” She pulled out a compact and started fussing with her hair. “I heard that the supes opened up a club down on Wilson.” “They did?” I asked, suddenly intrigued. It seemed weird that they’d do something so…human. “Yeah, like anyone would go there.” Amy was not a fan. She loved to gossip about them, but she’d never dream about going anywhere near them. “I think I saw one today. Actually I walked into him by accident.” Amy snorted. “Surprised he didn’t turn you into a toad or something.” I rolled my eyes. She was always making stupid little comments like that as though the supernaturals were fairytale characters. I mean that was how we all learned about them originally, but I couldn’t believe she wasn’t more curious about them. “No, he just looked annoyed.” And hot. But I didn’t say that part out loud. “So you’ll be in here all day?” Amy asked. “Yep. Why?” “No reason. I guess I’ll find something else to entertain me. Catch you later,” she said, blowing a kiss. I watched her walk out, wondering why the two of us were friends. Amy and I were in high school together, but after we left, we stopped having anything in common. Yet, we remained friends. She was the party girl, I was more a stay-at-home kind of girl. At least around here. It was the same thing over and over and I didn’t want to spend my nights in a bar when I worked in one all day. Especially when Amy dumped me five minutes in to drape herself over some guy. Besides, I had Leon. I didn’t need to go out anymore. Finishing my drink, I got back to work. Shortly after four, the bar emptied out. It had happened a few times lately. I think it was because we were so close to the supe district and it got dark early this time of year. Not that the supes were nocturnal, at least not all of them, but stupid stereotypes persisted. “Why don’t you head home?” Frank said a half hour later. “What?” “It’s not going to get any busier, at least not until the hardcore alcoholics come in, but that will be after your shift ends. Go on home.” “But I was going to stay late to make up the time.” Frank gave me an ‘are you kidding me’ look. Raising me hands, I said, “Okay, I’ll go. But let me know I can cover anyone’s shifts.” He nodded and waved me off. I grabbed my things and left, actually relieved to go home early. I could make Leon some dinner and hopefully he’d get over my less than enthusiastic reaction to his music. As I passed Cooper Street, I found myself looking for the man from earlier. It was dumb, he was long gone, but still, I took the time to look. What is it like in there? There were documentaries and interviews, but they wouldn’t show the real truth. Remembering Amy’s disapproving comments, I forced myself to look away. She wasn’t the only one who thought like that and I didn’t need any more eyes on me. I already felt like everyone watched my every move because of my father. A light rain started to fall as I reached my apartment. It was a modest two bedroom I shared with Leon. He used the second bedroom to rehearse, much to the annoyance of our neighbors. Unlocking the door, I dropped my purse by the door and headed inside, wondering if Leon was home yet. I heard a bump from the bedroom. “Babe?” Heading for the bedroom, I heard more bumping. In fact, it almost sounded like… My heart pounded in my chest as I opened the bedroom door. I was right. The sound I heard was the headboard banging against the wall. And the reason became abundantly clear as I saw Leon’s naked ass as he pounded into a blonde on the bed. “Leon!” I screamed. He stopped and looked over his shoulder and I got a good look at the woman. “Amy!” She gave me a sheepish smile. “Oh hey, girl, you’re home…early.” |
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About the Author:S. K. Gregory is an author, editor and blogger. She currently resides in Northern Ireland. “Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.” 
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