Detective Mentis – Chapter 4

Body after body is pulled from the water in an endless cycle of horror. Each one with eerily similar signs to the other. Mentis loses count when the 18th is pulled from the water. It takes 2 weeks and an endless cycle of new faces from various policing departments far and wide to search every inch possible of the oceans harnessing depths below. At the end of one such day, as the night draws in once again, the chief, alongside a hierarchy of other credentials finally stop the search when it’s been 6 hours since the last body was found.

It’s been a long and tiring few weeks, both on Mentis’s body and mind. The events have taken an understandable toll on everyone. Erickson has been on his back, finding any chance to ridicule him or step on his toes while Stinton has been following in his footsteps. Asking Mentis questions with hidden notes of resentment and egocentrism. Mentis has been doing his best to function on little sleep and food. He’s already adjusted his belt to 3 settings tighter. Every time he got so much as a break he would get a call about another body being found and rush to the scene with a moment of hope that it may be different to the others. That there may be evidence on the body that it’s a suicidal death or just an accident. His hopes were always dashed when he unzipped the bags and saw those harrowed empty eye sockets. Men and women of all shapes and size. Even a boy as young as 10 have been found. The worst thing is, not all the bodies were complete. Legs here, arms there. Years or depredation on somebodies meant it was a jigsaw puzzle trying to work out what went where. Some of the older bodies have been checked by the coroner who estimated they could be around 40 years old.

All evidence points towards it being a dumping ground of a serial killer but they have no clues to who it is and where they are or even if they are still killing. They haven’t found Miss.Simms body so who knows. The earliest body they have found otherwise is already 6 months old. Standing at the edge of the field with Erickson by his side. They look over the grass coated with a layer of body bags. Covering the field like a haunted quilt that nobody would ever dare to wear. Even Erickson is quiet. Stinton is hovering in the wings, observing the scene with a face of terror, Mentis sent him to the side when they were halfway through the body count, Stinton became obviously detached and shaky, who knows how this is going to affect the young lad.

“I’ve never seen anything like this” Erickson is surprisingly considerate. Cases don’t normally affect him, or Mentis for that matter but this one has them both keeping them emotions back with a pitchfork.

“How many is there?”

The chief’s voice appears behind them. All the important people are here. Erickson looks a lot like his dad. Tall, dark, a perfect ladies man. Unlike Erickson though the chief doesn’t drink or anything else of the sort meaning he looks pretty ripe for someone of retirement age.

“73” Mentis forgets to call him sir but on such an occasion the chief decides to let it slide.

“Do you recognize anyone? Do we have any ID’s?”

Erickson answers his next question whilst Mentis signs a document handed to him.

“No, sir. No identities for anyone of them yet. We’ve got a lot of people working here and nobody recognizes any familiar faces and as far as we can tell they haven’t been reported missing”

Erickson has always been respectful to his father and very professional of their relationship. If only he could exert that professionalism for the rest of his job, he would make a good impression. As it stands though, the Chief keeps him on but always lumbers him with others in the department to try and keep him out of trouble.

“Miss.Simms has been the only one” Mentis intervenes. “I’ve asked two men to do a last sweep on the spot where I saw her jump”.

Mentis expects a whiplash from the chief about going behind his back but just as the chief opens his mouth the shout he’s been waiting for arrives.

“I think we found her!”

Mentis rushes to the aid of the two men dragging the body up. Not yet in a body bag it gives him a chance to do the once over. It’s the same lady who jumped of the cliff and started all this.

“It’s Miss.Simms. I don’t believe it” Erickson has only ever glanced at the case information.

“We can’t be sure Erickson”

“Yes, we can. Look at her left arm. You see that tattoo on her wrist”

It’s a tattoo of a swallow in drowning waters. Mentis remembers seeing it from the paperwork and thinking how tasteless it was. He’d never seen a tattoo like it. It was a strong confirmation that it’s Miss.Simms in their minds. A grunt of disapproval escapes his lips. Mentis did the hard work and yet Erickson turns up in his drunken state and can identify the body as quick as he can down a pint.

The chiefs authoritative voice snaps them back to focus.

“Erickson. Go call her parents. Get them down to the station. Mentis, I want you to get all these bodies sent to the coroners and start digging for information. Literally, if you must. Witnesses, evidence, anything you can find is brought to me first”

With Mentis’s nod of agreement and Erickson’s’ figure already in the distance the chief heads back to his car. Now alone, Mentis does a quick check on her body and checks her stomach for the words like the others. This is the only body they recognise and it may be a clue to the killer, a good starting point. Scrawled on her stomach the letters are fresh, possibly a few weeks, maybe they were put there the day she was on the edge of the cliff. These words are different though. They cause hairs to stick up on the back of his neck and he scans the area for any suspicious activity. Standing up he retreats towards the cars and gets straight onto the phone.

On Miss.Simms stomach, scrawled in capital letters across her abdomen are the words “YOU’RE NEXT”

Copyright 2018 

My favorite Author Tag #whosemyfav

Hello! It feels like it’s been a while since I’ve written properly on here because recently I’ve been sharing the Chapters for Detective Mentis. They’re still coming but they will slow down now. I only have a few more that are already prepped and I haven’t yet started writing others. So, for now, you will have to cope with me.

Everyone has a favorite Author, even if you don’t write you will likely have a favorite Author. Anyone who says they don’t just haven’t found theirs yet. So, who is mine?

Well for this post I decided to create a favorite author tag #whosemyfav. I have no idea if this has done before, I would assume so as it’s not that creative but I figured it would be the easiest way to talk about my favorite Author while also encouraging others to do the same with the questions below. Enjoy!

Christina Henry

Some Facts
  • Christina Henry is an author who is mostly recognized for her Black Wings Series,
  • Christina lives with her husband and son in Chicago.
  • She enjoys novels and books of similar categories, including zombies and samurai.
  • She is very keen on long-distance running, which is an activity she enjoys on a regular basis

courtesy of https://www.bookseriesinorder.com/christina-henry/

Do they have a website?

Yes- http://www.christinahenry.net/

Do they have social media accounts?

Yes, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Goodreads 

How did you first find them?

I can’t remember if my husband bought me the first book or if I may have spotted it when it came out in a bookstore.

How long have you liked them?

She’s not actually been my favorite Author for that long. I would say maybe a few years now since I read ‘Alice’ which is a dark, twisty story based upon my childhood favorite, ‘Alice in Wonderland’.

Why do you like them?

I love her ability to turn stories into some dark and thrilling with plenty of suspense and twists, both terrifying and gory. She’s a huge inspiration to me as a writer.

The biggest inspiration

Turning things into something dark and sinister. A very creative play on words.

Your favorite book

‘Alice’ the first Alice book is amazing. I couldn’t put it down and want to read it again soon. Probably the darkest book I’ve ever read and it was so good!

Your least favorite book

Out of them all, I would say ‘The Mermaid’ I still love it greatly but out of all the stories I care about Mermaids the least.

Most recent or current read

Currently reading ‘The Mermaid’

What did/do you think so far?

I’m loving it so far. Really enjoy the love story at the beginning and the idea behind the museum and people after her.

What I’m looking forward to?

I can’t wait to see what other stories she creates a dark version of. Beauty and the Beast or Snow White would be amazing. I would also love more in the ‘Alice series’

What I want to read

I really want to read the books she first became famous for which is the ‘Black Wings’ series. They’re supposed to be really good so I’m excited to give them a go and read some of her short stories.

If you like this post feel free to copy the questions and answer them yourself. Let me know in the comments if you do as I would love to read others and also remember to hashtag your post with #whosemyfav

Detective Mentis – Chapter 3

The first thing Mentis did after seeing the girl jump off the cliff was to ring everyone he could think of that should be there. It took a while for him to work the phone but eventually, all the right people were called. Within an hour the place was filled with police and ambulance while a local coast guard was scouring the ocean to find the body.

The night’s events have left Mentis in a state of hatred and confusion. Hatred over what has been done to the girl and confusion over the circumstances he finds himself investigating. In the early hours, the coast guard announces that he’s found something. Police work on dragging the body up just as Erickson turns up with Stinton close behind. Mentis grumbles under his breath. Erickson always appears at the crime scene to play his role as the partner when all the paperwork and research has been done. Mentis would happily say something to him but he wouldn’t dare without the worry of whispers heading back to the chief. Then it would be his neck on the line.

“Hey Mentis”

Stinton’s lanky exterior greets Mentis in a warm manner with an awkward wave that he quickly turns into a head scratch. Unhinged by where he is. Mentis nods in response. There’s no such greeting from his apparent partner. Erickson’s 6-foot slender frame hangs off balance, probably intoxicated. His 30-year-old body looks haggard and his sagging face has tell-tale signs of alcohol abuse and an uncommitted attitude to being here.

“What do we have?” he asks in his brash woven voice.

Mentis narrowly avoids remarking on his choice of the word ‘we’ and leads them to the police who are now laying a black body bag on the floor inland, away from the edge of the cliff. Mentis walks straight up to the body bag, kneeling on the floor he unzips it carefully. A moment of shock befalls his features. It’s not Miss.Simms in the bag. It’s a woman but this woman is from a completely different generation. Signs of age hold onto her skin forming wrinkles and dark spots. She looks at least 80 and she has been dead a while by the stench and decomposition stage of the remains.

“It’s not her” Mentis acknowledges to the gathering of emergency services people around him.

The most shocking thing is that such as the young girl, this woman doesn’t have any eyes. In a remarkable resemblance to the other, they look like they have been dug out and all that is left are two large holes with perfectly rounded edges.

“What the fuck” Erickson regards in his ear before disappearing, assuming to help with the continued search.

Mentis sends Stinton to grab him a pair of gloves which allows Mentis to have a better look, starting with the teeth. Surprisingly well kept for someone of this age, the teeth are almost all their with only two missing. On closer inspection, Mentis predicts they may have been pulled by force due to the visual damage at the root. That’s not the only torture inflicted. At some point her finger and toenails have been pulled from the nail bed, they have struggled to grow back properly and look somewhat thin and claw-like as a result with skin covering them in a peculiar manner. A layer of dirt and dried blood are coated underneath suggesting she may have been dragged or tried to defend herself at some point. Possibly during her death. Her hair is matted and sparse due to her decomposition. Again, like the other, this woman has shredded clothing hanging sparsely onto her body with just a few threads holding everything together. It appears to have been a floral nightgown by the intricate detail and lack of shape. On her arms, there are thousands of small scratches, whether they are on from the bedrock or before she died it is uncertain.

“There’s another one” Erickson calls to Mentis.

Just as he stands to view the other body a glimmer of the morning’s sun rays draws his attention to a marking on the woman’s stomach. Barely visible by the mud and clothing. Removing the garment and using it to wipe away most of the dirt, the word ‘RUN’ is scrawled on her body it large uneven lettering. It’s old and is now only a faded scar but the letters are still readable. By the uneven format and lack of structure, Mentis assumes that it may be self-inflicted.

“Run from what? What does it mean?” Stinton’s voice is shaky.

“I don’t know” Mentis can only shrug off his words. He’s expecting the suspected Miss.Simms to be in the next bag and is more focused on that. With a begrudged feeling of guilt weighing down on his shoulders, Mentis walks to the other body bag and unzips it.

A silence of many emotions fills the air. Inside the bag is another John Doe. A man this time. With the same tell-tale signs, even the eyes. This man looks no more than 30, yet his decomposition makes him dead a good month.

“What-t-t. What is this?” Stinton squeaks in his ear.

Mentis has no words to support Stintons fear. He can only do his best to hide his own. A quick glance in Stintons directions tells Mentis that Stinton is fearful of more than just the presence of the body itself. Focusing on where is eyes lay, Mentis pulls aside a piece of degraded cloth on the man’s stomach. The word is more difficult to make out this time but it’s still there. ‘RUN’. The same word on both victims with their torturing appearance in such similarity. Mentis’s heart is racing with a sense of panic and adrenaline, unwilling to admit what it means. Erickson appears at Stinton’s side after scrounging through the remains of the other bodies. Hovering over Mentis’s knelt figure with a look of horror that even the strongest willed would succumb to.

“You know what this means” Erickson states in a stern tone.

Mentis is quick to jump in.

“It’s too early to tell. Forensics will need to be called in but they certainly have similar marks which….”

“We’ve found two more!” One of the police helping in the search call from the water’s edge below as a group of people are each dragging lifeless bodies out of the water.

Mentis springs into action as Erickson rushes to aid the police officers with the bodies.

“Stinton. Call the chief and tell him he needs to be here. Then I want you to call forensics and the department in the city. Get them to send people over. We need more people. Tell them we’ve found bodies and we may find more”

Stinton runs off in search of the nearest phone or radio whilst body after body is dragged from the murky depths.

“STINTON!” Mentis shouts towards his rushed childlike figure just as shouts are heard about another body being found.

“Tell them it’s a serial killer!”

 

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

Detective Mentis – Chapter 2

Glimmering like sunlight on ocean wavers under the allowance of the moon’s luminescence and his flashlight. Mentis slowly walks towards the figure. Taking big strides to try and reduce the noise from his oversized feet and leather shoes. He doesn’t want to scare them. A little closer and he can make out the figure of a female. This is what he came here for. A potential sighting of Miss.Simms. It could be her. The 5’2 petite frame and dark hair blowing in the ocean’s breeze match the description down to the last detail. Edging closer until he’s just a few yards away, he’s so sure that it could be Miss.Simms. It’s someone short and he’s seen enough girl’s arses over the years to know that the figure is female. He’s close enough to touch the girl now but he hesitates.

Why hasn’t she noticed him? Even though he’s tried to be so quiet he must have made some noise, maybe not from his shoes but certainly from his overexerted breathing and it would be impossible to not notice the light of the flashlight currently being shown, and yet, the figure remains still. Head steered toward the open ocean. Now he’s closer he can see that she’s wearing little clothing. Ragged material hangs from her body as if they have been through a shredder. Long like a dress down to her ankles but unconnected like a seamless piece of fashion. Then he notices the smell. It’s resonating from the girl in putrid waves, carried towards him in a sudden strong gust of wind. It’s like nothing he’s ever smelt before and he has dealt with some gruesome things in his life. Dead bodies coated in maggots is ecstasy compared to the smell his nostrils are detecting now. Layers of body odor doused in rotten food that coats a deceased rotting corpse. It’s almost too difficult to bare, but, bare he must if he’s to help the poor girl.

“Miss.Simms? Is that you?”

He addresses the shadowy figure. Best not to mess around. If it’s not Miss.Simms, then at least she will turn around either way. Or that’s what he thought. Instead, the figure doesn’t move. In fact, he doesn’t recall seeing the silhouette move since he laid eyes upon it. Mentis begins fearing the worst. Maybe she’s too drugged up to even know where she is. Or, maybe she’s to messed up mentally to even know what reality is anymore. Maybe the smell is a sign of her rotting flesh after months of decay. Mentis notices that the smell is less potent now though, turned into more of a hesitation on the nostrils. Who knows where she’s been the past six months. He decides the best approach is to stand to the side of her rather than to possibly make her jump if she has unpredictable behavior.

Edging a few steps forward he does his best to slowly take a long stride to her right-hand side. He never looks her way and instead gazes forward so as not to startle her, making sure to point his flashlight towards the ground. His shoes don’t protect his feet from the sharp edges of the uneven rock surface at the cliff’s edge and his thoughts distract him for a moment. He’s going to need to buy new shoes after tonight. Layers of mud, excrement and grass coat his shoes like a 3-tier cake. That and the now protruding sharp rock edges are creating second-hand shoes. Guaranteeing they will spend the rest of their days in a garbage pile or on some homeless soul’s feet.

Remembering where he is, Mentis turns his head slightly to try and catch a glimpse of the woman, pointing the flashlight at her feet in the process. Pushing his eyes to the furthest corners of his eye sockets he can make out the outline of grubby bare feet and scraggly legs and arms. Her hands grip his attention most. They are swaying to and fro in a slow angelic motion similar to a ballroom dancer’s gracefulness. With the way she’s swaying them, you would think she was skipping but she’s still motionless otherwise. Moving towards her head his eyes float across her body and the clothes she’s wearing. They look very similar to the ones she was last seen in. A long white plain cotton nightdress down to her ankles, chestnut hair cut to the top of her shoulders, naturally straight and worn down. No shoes were reported missing and no bags so she left with what she was wearing which crossed off the possibility that she might have run away. Even the most idiotic runaways would take the essentials on their backs. The other possibility would have been kidnap but the family had no enemies and there had been no other evidence towards this and certainly no demands. Mentis had been baffled by the case and the lack of evidence towards any possible conclusion to her whereabouts. In his mind, everyone was a suspect because there had been no push towards a certain individual. If it’s not Miss.Simms, then it’s certainly someone who has stolen her clothes.

Mentis’s eyes pull into focus on her head. It takes him a moment to realize that she’s now turned slightly and is focusing on his plum shaped forehead. This isn’t what makes him step back in horror though. It takes a second for it to come into focus but when it does Mentis is repelled by what he sees. It looks like Miss.Simms. The facial features, height, and weight all match. She’s even wearing the same clothes. Her eyes though, it’s her eyes. Or lack thereof. You see where her blue eyes once were there are now two large sunken holes. Dug into her skull with what looks like the shape of a spoon, rounded on the edges like a barber’s clean shave. Once life there, all that is left is the muscle tissue that connected them. Unapproachable signs of torture and death tug at Mentis’s consciousness. It would be impossible for her to see and yet she seemed to stare straight through Mentis. It was unnerving and he didn’t have the expertise or the know how to deal with such an outlandish situation. Mentis does his best to keep his professionalism but his instincts rage war with his commitment to his detective title. Ready to run at a moment’s notice. His feet on the verge of betrayal. For the first time in a substantially long time, he is bullied by the sight that befalls him. Possibly even scared. Forcing his shoulders into a more relaxed stance he stands a little further away.

“I’m Detective Mentis of the GreetWood Police Department. We’ve been looking for a missing girl. Francesca Simms?”

A knifes edge silence fills the atmosphere. She doesn’t utter a word or even signs of a breath. Both Mentis and the girl stand like this for what seems like a long time. Mentis remains on edge but he does get a chance to look her over, shining his flashlight on each precise part without the worry of it being noticed. Hair sits in a deranged form on her scalp. Bunches here and there like unwilling flowers in a perfect bouquet.  Mentis idly takes a moment to appreciate the color, a reminiscent shade to his favorite whiskey. Deep in color with undeniable tones of ash. As well as the various matted textures and knots, Mentis also notes the woodland extremities embedded within the layers of the hair, leave and twigs decorating her scalp like a forest floor. He avoids focusing on her eyes just yet as they will draw the most attention. Instead, he takes the time to embed the rest of her facial features into his memory – in his haste, he never thought to bring something to scribble on in case she makes a run for it and he wasn’t about to try fiddling with the phone in his pocket. Concentrating on the rest of her face. She has an elongated Roman accented nose with small nostrils. Either side, there is a red swelling of flaming cheeks, almost like she’s embarrassed or is covered in a rash. There’s a small black mole – just like the information from the case file – that sits outwardly above her thin, blistered, white rose lips. Taking a couple of steps closer and towards her front allows Mentis to shine the flashlight on her nightdress. A shameful layer of cotton covered in unrecognizable stains hangs from her feral skin, holes bigger than the material itself. Mentis feels a sudden overpowering feeling of sorrow towards the undoubtedly pained girl in front of him. She must be too afraid to even speak. Moving slowly towards her he reaches out a chubby aged hand so it’s the first thing she feels. When he’s only a few steps away a raspy voice protrudes from the woman’s throat forcing him to stop in his tracks.

“How long has it been?”

Her voice is poisoned with withered distress and a lack of fight. Her hands, once swaying now stop in their motions at her side.

“Are you Miss.Simms? Why don’t you come away from the edge”?

Silence befalls once again. Mentis is becoming increasingly agitated about her being so close to the edge of the cliff, especially if she can’t see.

“Miss.Simms has been missing for the past six months. Is that you? ” Mentis calmly states. Perfectly formed eyebrows sit above the girl’s empty sockets, all most like an unfinished doll. They raise slightly when she hears this information and her lips quiver as if holding back tears.

Deciding enough is enough he reaches out towards her, in hopes of grabbing her to pull her away from the edge. His actions are too late though. In a moment of what seems like clarity. The young girl smiles a heart-wrenching smile of life lost. Then she turns her head back towards the ocean and steps over the edge without a moment’s hesitation, stepping as if she’s stepping onto lush grass. Mentis is quick to react but not quick enough. He reaches for her and falls to the ground in dire hope but she’s already gone. He can only watch in a moment of horror as she falls into the dark water below. A single sorrowful tear falls onto the surface of the rock as Mentis accepts her fate.

 

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

Detective Mentis – Chapter 1

A few words to the wise before the story begins. All parts of this story are fictional, any resemblance to anything is a coincidence. There are significant amounts of swearing throughout this and other chapters that some may view as offensive. All rights to this story belong to me (Charlie Wright).

Chapter 1

Currently wading through a farmer’s field to get on the other side of the track.

“Fuck sake Karen”

Detective Mentis angrily exclaims as he steps in yet another steaming cow pat. An hour ago, he was sat in his favourite thread pulled armchair. Whiskey in one hand and a fag in the other. He was content listening to his usual radio show. Hosted by one of the latest self-righteous know it all youths. The whole show consisted of the host ringing up people to prank them with terrible news. Making people believe that relatives were dead or pets had been run over among other things. The show had already been pulled off air twice. Mentis didn’t know why they kept putting it back on. Maybe there were plenty of others like him. People who liked to listen to it to remind themselves that there are worse people in the world. Either way, Mentis had become accustomed to his 11 pm show. Every evening on the dot. It was something he had begun to look forward to at the end of his shifts. This evening was no different. He had just taken his first warming sip of dark liquid when his phone rang. He tried to ignore it but when it rang the third time he forced his hefty weight out of his chair and over to the other side of the room, grabbing the phone and silencing it with the push of his large sausage finger.

“What!?” He proclaimed to the phone without so much as a hello.

Silence

“HELLO! Who is this?!” He hated this infernal contraption. Holding it to his ear caused a sheen of sweat by the time it was removed. He only used it for work but he detested every second that he had to.

“Oh, uh I’m sorry Mentis. I’m so sorry to disturb you I wouldn’t normally….”

It was Karen. He recognized her squelchy voice. It always sounded like she had to clear it but was incapable of doing so Mentis thought to himself. He pictured her jittery hands holding the other end of the line. Pointed nose facing the ceiling. The stench of her three dogs caked on her skin like wearing a dressing gown. She was probably wearing her dressing gown come to think of it. Unless she was still in the office. She often worked late hours.

“I called Erickson but received no answer. I didn’t know who else to call and….”

Erickson was Mentis’s partner when he bothered to turn up for work. Even then it was unpredictable when he did. Would you get Erickson the belligerent drunk or the head up his arse alter ego?

“Get to the point Karen” Mentis interrupts before she can continue her apology.

“There’s been a call from an anonymous source. Miss.Simms has been spotted somewhere along the GreetWood Cliffs. Past the farmers’ fields near there. You may have to….”

Mentis hung up the phone before she could continue rambling on. Shoving his phone in his trouser pocket, he grabs his flashlight from the cabinet on his way out – it’s old and you have to wiggle the batteries to get it to work but it was better than relying on his eyes in the pitch black – in his haste he forgets his jacket. Stepping outside there’s a cold shrill in the air. Mentis is in his beat-up 4×4 and on the trail towards GreetWood cliffs within minutes of receiving the call. Which is how he ended up here stepping through cow pats in the middle of the night illegally crossing a farmer’s field. He did consider waking the farmer but decided he didn’t have time. He’d already stopped to fix his light twice causing stumbles through the excrement. After the day, he’d had it was just the icing on the cake. His day started with an empty coffee pot and the chirping of Stinton in his ear. Classed as a corporal but not rightly so. Mentis had been lumbered with his shadow.

Erickson was supposed to be his mentor but ironically hadn’t bothered turning up that day. The lost shrill would pop up at the end of Mentis’s desk, asking for help on everything from filing a report to chasing up a suspect. Mentis is quite surprised he hasn’t yet been asked to wipe the guy’s arse. He wasn’t a hateful person. The lad was quite likeable, a can-do attitude and he wasn’t one to complain which Mentis appreciated. However, Mentis preferred to keep his head down and get on with things. Something he was unable to do as sufficiently recently with a bird flying around and tweeting in his ears. You may as well have stuck Apples and Cement together and expected them to be a great accompaniment to a refreshing red wine. In an ideal world, Mentis would have a partner much like himself. Committed to the job, wanting a good ending, soft spot for kind folk. But instead he was the logger carrying everyone’s weight in his department, what could he expect though, it was a small-town police department in the middle of nowhere, the case of Miss Simms was the most action he’d seen for a while.

Mentis had been quick to grab the opportunity. It was better than another day of harsh words for rowdy drunkards or babysitting Stinton. Despite his aggravations with his partner and a trying six months. In times like this, it would be suited to have someone by his side. He only wished there would be more comeuppance for his partner’s lack of engagement to his role. Nothing would come from it if it was mentioned though because his dad is the chief and Mentis wasn’t about to make himself an enemy. Mentis is on his own tonight. A preference for him these days.

Nearly at the edge of the field, Mentis’s shoes have a layer of dung coating the leather exterior. His grey shirt is exuberating sweat from the trek despite the cold night’s air and his fine wispy greyed hair – what he has left of it – is now slapped to his head like gel. He is determined to follow the source’s information. He’d spent the last 6 months trying to find the whereabouts of missing 17-year-old girl Francesca Simms. The events surrounding her disappearance were both worrying and vague. Miss.Simms visited a friend’s house on the night of Friday 20th March 1993. She left at around 11 pm that night and never returned home. Her parents didn’t realise she was missing until the following Monday, 23rd March. Apparently, it wasn’t unheard of for her to disappear for weekends at a time. They only began worrying when she didn’t turn up to her morning classes at Lenwood High. Mentis had dug his gritty nails into every piece of evidence. He’d questioned every suspect gruellingly to no avail. The only evidence that she was still alive was the lack of a body. This was the fourth suspected sighting of Miss.Simms. Three of which were in the first month of her disappearance. Mentis had given up hope about her being alive until Karen rang this evening.

Finally reaching the shameful fencing at the other side of the field Mentis walks along it, feeling for a gap to fit his ogre-like frame through. He’s relieved to find one that has been left unattended right at the end of the fence line close to some shrubs. Squeezing his way through clumsily….

“Fuck sake. Haggard old bat” he repeatedly swears and curses with Karen in mind. Blaming her for everything including his now stuck belt buckle on the wooden fence.

“Stupid fucking thing”

With a quick glance to make sure there’s no one around he unfastens his belt and pulls it from his waistline allowing him to lug the rest of his swollen body through the gap, swearing once again as he scrapes his head on a bent outward nail in the process. Regaining his posture as best he can and feeling his wound to make sure there isn’t a nail lodged in his skull. He grunts breathlessly as he loosely fastens the devil’s snare back around his gut which stubbornly protrudes in an obscure shape over the constraining leather material. The war with the fence has held his attention for the past five minutes. He only just notices the shadowy figure at the cliff’s edge.

 

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

Harlot Charlotte

“Harlot Charlotte!”

Dorothy spits in Charlotte’s face, a wide grin on her ruby red lips like a lion ready to pounce.

Dorothy hates any moment that Charlotte is near. Her weird ways only encourage hatred in Dorothy’s perfect world. Hannah and Tony stand either side of the queen bee. Ready to join in if given the chance. Acting as personal guard dogs, hanging onto her every word. Maybe guard dogs isn’t the best descriptive of the two. They’re more scaly and sinister than that. They only follow Dorothy because they don’t meet her high standards. If they resist then she’ll find others to stand in their place and then they’ll be with Charlotte. Huddled on the floor trying to minimise her existence by pulling in her limbs, close to her body. Nobody wants that. Not even Charlotte.

Words of abuse are thrown at her 5’2 petite frame. I’m just surprised that they know the meaning of the word Harlot. Charlotte can’t help but smile at the thought.

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

Writing – 9 Awesome Things About Being A Writer

Recently I talked about the things I hate about writing so, I guess you could imagine what was coming next. Despite all the hard parts, the hair pulling and the frustrations, I love what I do.

1. Being my own boss
I am not a people person, not at all. I like being on my own, in fact, I enjoy it and crave it. So, I always hated having to go to work and be around people for the day in a job that I hated. The work gossip and the indefinite stream of ‘small talk’, it’s like a trap you can’t break free from until the clock tells you, you can go home. Then it repeats. It’s both daunting every night and draining every day. Being your own boss has its challenges but the rewards significantly outweigh for me.

2. The community
From the very beginning, I have found writing communities to be one of the most rewarding and friendly I’ve known. No matter how far you’re on your journey, as soon as you get excited about something and tell people, they get excited too. You have a little family that stands by you, helps you when you need it but congratulates you at the end of it. You also learn the meaning of the term ‘constructive criticism’ at a very early stage. If you embrace that, you grow.

3. Freedom over topics/strong>
Being a Self-Published writer -Rephrase, I was a Self-Published Writer who unpublished my books, I’m still a writer but currently, don’t have anything published due to reworks –  I can write what I want when I want. All the topics of conversation we wouldn’t think to talk about or tell to other people as if they were secrets. I can literally talk like an open book. This also means that I can create whoever I want. Everything from someone with mental health problems, serial killers or someone becoming a hero to the human race.

You can talk about anything you want, granted, you will get backlash. It won’t be all rosy and rainbows but it feels good to be able to talk about deep stuff sometimes. Writers will often try to place these topics into their writing in more subtle ways, either by opinionated characters or events in the plot.

4. A purpose
Writing gives me a purpose. It allows my creativity to flow whilst being unhindered and uncontrolled, to an extent. Somewhat like journaling, being a writer allows me to process my thoughts and feelings and sometimes even project them onto my characters. It allows you to take a step back from a situation whilst also being in control of it. Words are all you need to be the god of your own world and it’s very existence. That’s an amazing feeling.

5. An explosive idea
Every once in a while you get that idea, maybe it starts as a little spark. Most of the time those sparks just fizzle out and become dust to cover the pages in your brain, but, sometimes that spark turns into an explosion of creativity that twists and turns through the pages and creates something special. That idea becomes your whole existence until you get everything written down. That’s creativity like no other.

6. Character attachment
Through your development of the characters in your book, you act more as the messenger or the ‘narrator’. Your job is to write what they do but a good character has complete control over the story and plot. They control how they behave in situations and for the most part become a person within the pages. The writer is just telling the audience what that person does. So, it’s a given, that when your characters die or something terrible happens to them, or, even if you finish the book, it’s sad. You can feel like you’ve lost a friend just as a reader does. You become attached to the people you create on a more, somewhat potent level.

7. Publishing
The feeling of accomplishment and utter relief when you hit that publish button is like no other. You have worked your butt off writing that book, article or blog post for so long that when it’s done you have a whole moment of glorified happiness before you realize that you then have to market said piece of writing.

8. Reviews
When I had my books published, getting those first reviews was a wonderful feeling of periodical happiness. As a writer, you often think about others reading your writing and their reactions, to read what those reactions are can be heartwarming. Don’t get me wrong, you also get bad reviews but you soon grow a thick skin as a writer and focus on the good ones more so.

9. Enjoyment
The biggest reason I love writing it because it allows me to see the world in a different light and makes me more grateful to be alive. You connect with so many emotions on paper that you appreciate what you have all the more. You finish writing a horror scene where someone dies and then smile as your other half walks into the room. I love that feeling of indulgence and pure gratitude.  Writing is like nothing else. You experience so many emotions in one day by writing a story that you haven’t necessarily experience and all from the comfort of your own home. I love what I do.

Tell me, what do you love about writing?

Humanity’s last

A sudden persistent gust of wind pushes against her figure and she rebalances her feet. Looking over the edge, not to see where she’s going but to encourage the excitement that is sinking into her skin and tickling her muscles, readying for the descent.

Remembering the feeling of excitement gripping her heart like a child getting excited over a new toy. She can practically feel her feet twitching. This time is different though. This time she’s completely alone. There is no safety net and no way back. Maybe if she focuses on the thrill she won’t focus on the reason why she’s there. The sounds are hard to ignore though. Thousands of growls, screams, and footsteps as the hoard draws in. They scream at her. She’s done this so many times before, but she has never felt so lost or scared than in this instance.

Brown hair, an unfortunate shade of burgundy in places, sticks to her head in clumps and hangs, sticky and lifeless on her shoulders. The rope in her hands leaves an imprint. Forming blisters on her palms, she’s holding it so tight. The loud thump in her chest indicates her overexertion and her clothes feel heavy, the weight of her travels. Suddenly she wishes she had more layers on. The comfort of a warm jumper would feel nice against her skin despite her body’s warmth.

The noises are getting louder. Occasionally, there’s the sound of a scuffle as they fight or fall in their haste to get to her. She can’t bear to turn around and see. She knows what death looks like. It’s too familiar for comfort. Toiling with her emotions and her own grasp on reality.

Her name used to be Amelia. Before all of this. Now she’s just flesh, food for the world. There’s not much left of the girl who went seeking for the thrill of excitement. Amelia Sanders, once an adrenaline junky who avoided conflict, a stranger to her family. Who knows what she is anymore. The temptation to jump is more of a whisper in the wind now. The sounds are too loud to focus. They chatter their teeth as they get closer to their meal. She can smell death.

A single tear slides down her cheek and the name ‘Rianne’ escapes her lips as she leans into the wind. Unwilling to enjoy the thrill but very willing to let grief overtake her this time. Gravity pulls her the rest of the way. Guiding her hand.

Closing her tortured eyes, Amelia falls toward the dead world below.

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

A Florist’s Dark Desires

I’m currently working through a short course with Open Learning titled ‘Start Writing Fiction’ I believe I already know the basics of writing pretty well but it’s good for a recap as a part of me trying to give my self a restart. It’s actually a lot of fun going back to basics and focusing more on just playing with words a little. This story took about 5 minutes to write.

I would love to hear what you think and any ways I can improve.

A Florist’s Dark Desires

Darla arranges the flower stems until perfect, the Roses romantic against the Dahlias, the Dahlias whimsical against the intricate detailing of the Iris’s and the Iris’s simple against the slender cleverness of the Tulips. Not perfect enough though. When a single petal falls from a rose, unable to hold on any longer, the vase is thrown against the nearest wall.

Breaking into shards of glass that Darla doesn’t rush to pick up. Her hands shake, and she struggles to control the anger bubbling away at the surface. She must make it perfect. Nothing out of place. Her anger is still uncontrolled, spinning around she guides her fist into the wall the vase hit moments earlier – water still lingers, sliding down the elegant gold wallpaper – and after three heavy-handed hits, she steps back and stares at the blank space. A water stain creates a circle on the paper and it’s peeled in a few places. Her hand is bleeding but she doesn’t feel the sting or the ache in her bones. Only the need for perfection.

Leaving the ugliness on the marked shop floor, Darla reaches for another Vase and starts over. Everything must be foolproof tonight, if just one iota of the plan is out of place then everything could collapse around her. Tonight is the night she can finally get her revenge on the man who hurt her but it has to be absolute in every detail. She imagines her husband laid in a pool of his own blood as she begins again, arranging the perfect flowers, now with a quaint smile on her parched lips once again.

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

Writing – The Hard Parts And Hates

1. It never stops
Once you adopt that writer’s mindset, it doesn’t stop. You could be watching a film, doing your business on the toilet, eating at a nice restaurant with your family. It makes no difference. You will have random thoughts about ways to fix a storyline, things to add to a character’s development or plot at all the times of the day.

2. Procrastination
You never realise how many distractions there are around you until you sit down to work on your book or even a blog post. Technology is an obvious distraction but I’m talking about that plus others. Others like the sun shining through the window, your own hunger because you forgot to eat lunch. Sometimes, my own thoughts will distract me from thinking about another book or plotline for something I’m not working on right that second. Sometimes it’s really easy to write but most of the time it can feel like the world is working against you.

3. Getting it down on paper
Picture this, you’ve just imagined the most amazing plot line, characters and pretty much much of the story down to the little details, but, writing down is a whole other order of business. Describing what you imagine can be half the work in writing. It can take endless amounts of reworks, drafts and edits to get it to sound how you imagined.

4. Revisions and Drafts
The best feeling for me is when you finish writing a book, unfortunately, that’s only the beginning. Writing the first draft is the easy part. It’s the revisions, drafts and edits that are killer. Overhauling the whole book, taking chunks out here and there, putting chunks back in, checking for grammatical errors, punctuation. It takes so long and it makes you want to pull your hair out. You can have your book written in 3 months but it might take you another 6 months to a year to get it ready for publishing.

5. Reading is research
Once you become a writer you get a writer’s brain, like I was saying at the beginning, it never stops. That includes reading I’m afraid. If anything reading is the worst for getting your writing brain going for obvious reasons. You compare, critique and get ideas for your storylines from others works. Reading becomes your research. You will enjoy the books you read but you can’t sink into the pages like you once did.

6. Marketing
Once you’ve written your book, gone through a crazy amount of drafts and revisions, you finally get to publish it. But, now you have to spend the rest of your life marketing that book alongside working on others and every new book you release is just another to focus on marketing while writing another…see where I’m going with this? It’s endless. Plus…you also have to know how to market your books and who to market them too which can be a challenge in itself. With the number of marketing tools we have to hand, the options are endless which can make it tough making decisions.

If this put’s you off ever trying your hand at writing then fear not, I have an obvious post coming up about the things I love about writing because despite the annoyances involved, I love writing.