Local history books tell us the railway had been built sometime in the 1800s to ferry the wealthy from their city dwellings to their country estates. 

The local library in Woodstown proudly displays sepia photographs of a thriving, bustling town built around the railway station, but no one knows for certain when or why it closed down. One day the trains just stopped arriving!

Gradually nature swallowed up the 10 miles of abandoned track. Where once monsters of steam had battled their way through open valleys, the deer now ran free. 

People still talk about the railway in its heyday, oblivious to the fact that the station was demolished long before any of them were born. The signal box sits in ruins, hidden in amongst the trees its windows smashed and the wood rotten with mildew.

But people in this town are nostalgic and they all have a story about the railway…



When I began my Blog at the beginning of December last year, I never really thought that anyone would read it. I created it for me to encourage me to write creatively every day.

But today I had this medal pop up on my phone and I am really proud of myself and if what I have created.

Thank you all for following me and for your lovely and supportive comments, this is a great community to belong to πŸ˜ƒπŸ‘πŸ»πŸ‘πŸ»πŸ‘πŸ»

Home Alone…

I haven’t written a post in almost a week as I’ve been feeling really poorly and had trouble stringing a coherent sentence together.  I’m not completely back on top form as could easily fall asleep (it’s only 1:45pm in the UK), but I’ve really missed our little community and have been annoyed with myself for not being able to write anything.

I apologise now for any grammatical errors or inconsistencies that may annoy fellow writers but as I say my head is still a little fuzzy but I think giving my mind something to focus on may help my blocked nose…

I hope you enjoy it and be kind to a poorly fellow writer πŸ˜‰


We all assume that we know our homes like the back of our hands. The nooks and crannies, the night time moans and groans that as children scared us, but we now find comforting and familiar. We walk carefree through our homes in the dark safe in the knowledge that the shadows are our friends and the creaking of the stairs its way of communicating with us. 

But what if things changed! What if you woke up one night and you felt the shadows were watching and taunting you and the creaking floorboards mocking every tentative step you made, how would you feel then?

I’m huddled on the sofa, home alone. The power’s been out since 8pm and the only light comes from the gentle flicker of the candles dotted around the room and the faint glow from my laptop. I’ve tried calling my husband a few times, but he’s not picking up and I just get his answerphone, I’ve left a dozen messages already, I can’t call anymore though because I need to conserve the diminishing life of my phone – I’ve no way of charging it.

I don’t normally scare easily, I’m used to my own company and can entertain myself even during a power cut, but tonight is different, it feels different, the house feels different. Outside it’s pitch, I can’t even see the tree line 100 meters from the house. I locked and bolted all the doors and windows like I do every night before I went to bed at 10 pm.

I’m not sure what woke me up, but I suddenly felt an icy chill as though a window had been opened. I found the latch on the bathroom window loose, Jerry must have opened it before he left, he’s always complaining about the condensation in there. Maybe I turned too quickly as I left the bathroom but I am positive that I saw a movement in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs. 

Here on the sofa, the creaks of the old pipes cut through me and chill me to the core. Every shadow hides a menace I know I am not strong enough to fight… And in the reflection on my laptop I can see its silhouette waiting…

The Day the Machines came…

Image credit: Andreas P. via Unsplash

Bikurgurl 100 Word Weekly Writing Challenge β€”Week 4

Day 1

Fear spread throughout the forest like a cancer.

Day 2

We felt the vibrations from the drilling machines long before we saw them.

Day 3

The birds and creatures left their homes in the canopy.

Day 4 

The leviathan attacked at dawn and tore down trees, slaughtering everything in its path.

Day 5

The river ran red with the blood of the innocent and the sun turned black from the suffocating smoke.

Day 6

Those of us who were left ran for our lives.

Day 7

The machines rested; peace, if but for a short time, was restored.

(100 words)

Thanks Bikurgurl for a rather challenging photo this week.

Time for Change…

Funny how normal becomes mundane; the daily routine  controlling.  Feeling claustrophobic; you drown in a sea of soulless boredom.

Change comes when you least expect it, grab it and enjoy. 

(30 words)

My poor fiancé thought this was an autobiographical post about my life now, I had to put him write and explain that this was my life 3 years ago just before we met ❀

Meet me at the Crossroads…

Contracts are ten a penny in my line of business, the more people want, the easier it becomes to encourage them to sign.  I’ve never had an office per sa, experience had taught me that word of mouth is all that is needed. If people want something they’ll always find me.

Take Richie Mason for example, we first met 40 years ago. At the time Richie was a young, keen entrepreneur. He had big dreams but just needed a helping hand which I was more then happy to assist with. The deal was cut and over time Richie became a successful businessman, beautiful wife, three children and a holiday home in Marbella. 

But now the contract has expired and it’s time to collect, after all a deal is a deal and the Devil always collects…

Come in and make yourself comfortable…

I’d walked past these gates a thousand times, never stopping or curious to know what lay beyond.  But then they’d always been locked; a thick chain encircling the bars like a snake squeezing the life out of its prey.

Everything about tonight though was different. The moon hung limply in the sky obscured by burgeoning clouds. Rain fell in large droplets bounding off the gravel beneath my feet. 

It was the sudden squeaking of the loose gate that first alerted me to the fact that it was open. Wet through I clambered up the bank to where the Yew tree could shield me. The darkness swallowed the light from my phone, shadows mocked me with their inexplicable silhouettes.

My heart began to beat faster, the sweat mixing with the icy rain.  I was about to head back to the road when I heard the whispering, a dozen disembodied voices all talking at once, calling, begging me to come in.

As I slid down the bank to the road I turned back just once to see the silhouettes gathering at the gate…