Agatha’s View

 

 

    A set of stairs leads towards the popular la Sala Teatro Timanfaya, a theatre popular for artistic and musical folklore productions. But, looking beyond and towards the sky ahead, a hotel that once dominated the skies of Puerto de La Cruz is surrounded by scaffolding and is clearly undergoing restoration and renewal.

 

    El Gran Hotel Taoro, built as a luxury hotel in 1890, endured financial crashes, civil wars, and world wars. It played host to some of the most prominent dignitaries in society; the list is long, but being a writer, I have to mention one of its most famous guests in my eyes, Agatha Christie.

 

    But not everything can stay in the past, and El Gran Hotel Taoro grew tired and outdated. Unloved and occupied by various businesses, it finally closed its doors around half a century ago. 

 

 

 

    The new owners, the My Way Hotel Group, are rehabilitating the facade and interior of the building. However, what will never change is the significance the building has played in the city's history. Future guests can take in the marvellous vistas below towards the magical blue sea as Agatha did and maybe even be inspired to write a book or short story.

 

 

 

 

 

https://granhoteltaoro.com/en/ 

Creative Slowdown

 

 

 

 I’m sorry I haven't been blogging much recently. Why? I've hit a bit of writer's block when it comes to writing posts. It's not that I haven’t been writing; I have. My brain has been finding it difficult to concentrate on more than one thing at a time in the writing field, I’m writing a new novel, and I've been focusing on that.

I'm venturing into the adult romance field this time, something slightly different for me as a writer. I want the story to be realistic, and I've spent time doing research, which has been time-consuming. 

I'm now halfway through the first draft, and hopefully, I'll soon be finished. But, of course, the draft is only the start of the hard work. Wish me luck.

No Kissing Required, Chapter Four

    The first book in my Salvation series is available to read free on Kindle from tomorrow for a few days. Jenny’s story, featured in this chapter illustrates bullying can happen at ant age and in any trusted relationship.

    Other extracts from my books can be read on this blog.

 

Chapter Four

 

Jenny’s Story

Jenny Green is lying on top of her bed staring into space when her cell phone starts to ring. On the display screen she can see it’s her boyfriend calling.

“Hi Kurt, I’m sorry I don’t think I can see you tonight.” She had been dreading this call.

“What do you mean you don’t think you can see me tonight?” says Kurt angrily. When he says jump, he expects others to say ‘how high?’, and his girlfriend is no exception.

“I see you every night. I’ll see you, usual place, or are you meeting some other guy?” He isn’t going to accept excuses.

“No. Of course not. I love you Ku…” Jenny can feel the tears prick her eyes as Kurt hangs up. Why did he constantly get so mad with her? They made out most nights, even when she didn’t want to. 

She had just wanted to explain that her mother had suggested that they should spend some quality time together. The suggestion came out of the blue and it was unlikely to
happen again in a long while.

Jenny’s mother, Gabriella, is a forty-something, going on twenty, divorcee. She goes clubbing with her friends most nights, meaning that Jenny can normally do as she pleases, with no questions asked. The young woman is treating her mother’s newfound caring side with mistrust. But as she’s always longed to have a close relationship with her mother, like
other girls at school have, she’s willing to give it a go. 

But what is she going to do about Kurt? She doesn’t want to do anything that might cause her to lose him. She is the envy of all the girls at school, as he’s Wingate High’s promising sports
star of the future. Her mind drifts, she dreams of them together in the years to come, she’ll have fancy clothes and jewelry and they’ll guest at red carpet events. Kurt promises her it all.

There’s a knock at Jenny’s bedroom door. “Jenny, the pizzas are here. I’ve put your favorite chick flick in the DVD player. Cold beer for me, cold soda for you. We’re all set.” Gabriella
enters the room. Jenny doesn’t reply, her mind is racing. She can’t let Kurt down, he can get any other girl he wants. “Okay a cold beer for you as well. One won’t do you any harm.”
Gabriella tries to coax a response from her daughter. 

“I don’t want pizza. I don’t want beer. In fact I don’t want you,” shouts Jenny defensively at her mother and she suppresses her tears of frustration.

“You ungrateful little tramp. I could have been out with Andy tonight.” Gabriella is angry at her daughter’s outburst.

“Don’t let me spoil your night,” screams Jenny.

“Spoil my night. You’ve spoiled my life. Don’t bother coming down for pizza.” As she storms out of her daughter’s bedroom, Gabriella slams the door closed behind her.

“Bitch,” shouts Jenny after her mother. Glaring at the closed wooden door, she wishes that she could see through it. She wants her mother to know how much she hates her. After all, her mother has just made it very clear that she has no love for her at all. Gabriella’s beloved little dog, Kushi, has always been at the forefront of her mother’s affections. “Bitch.”

§ § §

“Goodnight Isais. Thanks for the lift and the company. Probably see you tomorrow.” I walk with Isais to the front door.

“Probably will. Goodnight boy, enjoy school.” He gives me one of his now familiar big hugs. As I close the door, I can hear Isais laugh loudly as he makes his way down the front path.

I walk into the kitchen where Aunt Sylvia is putting away the dishes that Isais and I washed and dried earlier.

“Daniel, sit down at the table, we need to have a little chat. I’ll be with you in a moment.” I instantly realize by Aunt Sylvia’s tone that she takes the role of guardian very seriously. Now that we’re alone we’ll be able to get to know each other a bit better.

“Sure, time to get down to business.” My bravado is to cover up the fact that I’m now feeling rather nervous. Although the word nervous is an understatement; I’m totally petrified. Whilst Isais was with us, the evening had been happy and relaxed. But I knew the serious stuff would have to be raised at some point in the evening.

“Daniel, do you understand why you are here with me?”

“Yes. Mikey explained, sorry I mean Archangel Michael.” I don’t mean to be discourteous towards her or Mikey. I hope she’s okay with what I just said. Things are good, she’s smiling.

“I’m sure it was all explained to you, but I’d like to reiterate a very important point; you’re here because you need to prove that you deserve salvation.” Her voice is so gentle, kind of hypnotic. I’m not sure if she wants me to say anything or not. If in doubt, which I am, I think I’d better wait for her to speak again. Phew, she’s opening her mouth. “You’ll be tested on various things. We angels require a multitude of strings to our harps. We offer everyday guidance, healing, support, as well as spiritual guidance. We also need to demonstrate that we can protect, deliver others and ourselves from evil. Unfortunately for Earth, Satan is at large and more humans than normal need our help right now.” Her eyes search my face. I think she’s probably weighing me up.

“Seems simple enough.” I’m trying to sound confident but I’m quaking in my boots. Aunt Sylvia seems to find my statement as amusing as you probably did; she titters in an angel like manner. Not that you would know how an angel titters and I have no time to mimic her titter at
present. I have a few things that I want to clear up and now would probably be as good a time as any to get my questions out of the way.

“I’ve had two kid’s profiles downloaded to me, but no pictures, how will I know them?” This has been quite a puzzle to me.

“The information you have been provided with is pretty accurate. For one, you have their names and a few discreet inquiries around school should point you in their direction.”

“Okay I never thought of that. That’s put my mind a bit more at ease about the good guys. What about the bad ones?” I only asked the question because I thought you would want to know.

“Unlike the good guys, as you like to call them, you won’t always know them. The Devil and his accomplices come in all shapes and disguises. They will endeavor to seduce you and enlist you in their wicked, cruel ways. Going with the Red Rider will do nothing but lead to your ruin and your heavenly ambitions will be destroyed.” No smiles from her this time.

“I can understand why you chuckled earlier. If my enemies aren’t easily identified, things are going to be a little more difficult than I first anticipated. In fact, I was being cocky.”

“I don’t think you were being cocky; you were being a tad naive. I know this is something that you will have been told already, but there is no harm in me going over it again. You do have a slight advantage over the Devil’s new recruits. The power of good, given to you by our Lord, will help protect you from their attacks. But once their souls have been fully possessed by the Red Rider, I’m afraid it will be a matter of good versus evil. And we can only pray that the good you have been empowered with will win. Now, do you have any other questions?” Aunt Sylvia is a real sensitive lady. The only problem I can see with the powers I’ve been given is that no one has actually explained what they are. Mikey told me that it’s all about gaining hands-on experience.

“Do you think I’ll ever have any recollection of who I am, how I died, or will heaven even be able to establish the true facts?” I’m starting to feel rather anxious about this whole thing, especially the devil slaying part. Maybe I should have jumped in the lake, saved them the trouble.

“Your memory should gradually return. I will try and explain what’s happening the best way I can. Following accidents, trauma, and bad experiences, some humans suffer from amnesia. They can’t recall past memories, or retain current happenings until their brain deals with
what caused it to forget in the first place.

“In the same way, you’re having to come to terms with the traumatic experience of death. This in turn, has caused your recollection process to go into lock down. Dan, don’t build your hopes up, it may take some time. In fact, it could take years before you will remember anything about yourself. Of course there is also the risk that when you do recollect, you’ll wish you never had.”

“Do you think Heaven will find out my true identity in the near future?”

“Dan, these are very unusual circumstances. The Gatekeeper keeps excellent records and you’re proving to be an enigma.”

“Mmm. Let’s hope I’m a good guy then.”

“Dan, even if you’re not, I am on your side and I will help you when and where I can. As will the other celestial beings who watch over you. This is your big chance, grab  it with both hands.”

Something that will surprise you is I’m kind of lost for words. I look at Sylvia for some kind of assurance.

“Now when you go to bed think hard about what I’ve said to you. Now let us pray.” She smiles and takes my hand.

If it was possible for me to run for the door and head for the hills, I would do it right now, at this minute. But somehow I think the celestial beings would find me. I better just pray and hope that someone up there is listening to the pleading in my voice. We both say in unison,

“Our Father who art in heaven…”

https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/2023/07/no-kissing-required-chapter-two.html

https://www.amazon.com/No-Kissing-Required-Salvation-Book-ebook/dp/B08GD315P1/ 

Inspiration from the Tedium

    The last few weeks I’ve been nursing a cold and annoying cough. The good news, for my partner is that I lost my voice for a few days. Of course, for every piece of  great news, there is a piece of not-so-good that seems to come along and smack you in the face. Yes, my voice has returned.

    Due to the tedium of spending all day at home and my eyes feeling a little tired, with screen time, I decided it was time to look through old notebooks and files.

    Some notebooks contain the blogs I've written over the last eleven and a half years. That's six hundred and twenty-five to be exact. I even came across a few surprises along the way, as to how I chose my subject matter in the early years.

    Now, my  completed and unfinished manuscripts, are contained in plastic folders. Some of the unfinished works have been printed out on paper and some not, I hold them all on my hard disk drives anyway. But, each file has a notebook enclosed and sometime these are also accompanied by sheets of lined A4. 

    These notebooks/A4 sheets contain outlines, descriptions of characters, plots and rough drafts for each of the chapters. All written in longhand, as unfortunately, shorthand is not something I ever managed to grasp.

    There was one of these unfinished works  that caught my eye dating back to 2015. I started to try and remember why I just never finished it. The answer is that in everything I write, I always require to know how it's going to end. This story I just could never think of an ending.

    I read through the notes and character outlines, call it inspiration or, boredom, the ending came to me in a flash. 

    So guess what I’m working on?

    Have a great week.

   

    

    

No Kissing Required CHAPTER ONE

 

Limbo

 
    My name’s Dan Pierce; whether or not that’s my birth name, I don’t really know. You’re asking; why don’t I know my identity? Good question. But there’s also a good answer; I’m Dea...d, and my earthbound memories have been totally wiped out. I’m finding the D word kind of hard to say, so excuse me. That revelation shocked you, didn’t it? Well it came as quite a blow to me. In fact, it’s a bit of a bummer, when you wake up and realize you’re now a spiritual being.

    I’ve discovered that entry into heaven is no mean feat. It’s like starting a new college, or university, the powers that be want to make sure that you’re qualified for the tasks ahead. When you reach the pearly gates they don’t say, “Hey you’re dead, come on in.”

    Firstly, your name’s got to be checked against God’s database. It used to be called the Book of  Life; well it still is, but it’s no longer etched on tablets of stone, or written on papyrus. No way, Heaven has invested in a high tech computer system and the gatekeeper accesses the information via an android tablet. I couldn’t believe it; the miracles of modern science will never cease to amaze.

    Back to the Book of Life, it’s literally a journal of your existence. You know, birth name, where you were born, achievements, disappointments, the good and the bad things you did; of course, it helps if you’ve led a blemish free life and I don’t mean a life without zits. Finally, it states where, when, and how you died. Now this data allows God and his trusted elders to judge as to whether you’re celestial material.

    When I arrived several days ago, or was it several years ago? Time isn’t measured the same way here. Sorry I’m rambling, put it down to shock. I don’t even know if it’s relevant as to when I arrived, what is relevant to me is the fact that I didn’t actually know my name, never mind how I died. But seemingly, this isn’t so uncommon.

    However, there was a complication in my case and that was the gatekeeper didn’t know my details either and he certainly wasn’t expecting me. He had no note of my arrival, nada. To cut a long story short, I didn’t get in. I was named Daniel Pierce, for the sake of the records and whisked away to Limbo, tout de suite.

    That’s when I got the devastating news; take a deep breath because this is a shocker. I was told that if they couldn’t establish who I was, or why I was there, I’d be thrown into the Lake of Fire for a second death. Well knock me down with a feather, if it wasn’t bad enough
that I’d died already, I was to die again. No right to appeal, no chance of a reprieve.

    Well that was until Mikey, sorry, I mean Archangel Michael, arrived in Limbo yesterday, to speak to me and a bunch of undesirables. He explained that there was a chance of salvation, all was not lost, we could prove that we were worth saving.

    He proposed that we enlist in God’s army to help defeat the Red Rider, aka Satan and his foot soldiers who are attempting to flex their muscles on Earth. It seems that Satan has escaped from the burning sulfur lake and he is determined to seek revenge on God for the years he has lived in torment. He is proving to be elusive, his army is growing stronger every day, and Heaven needs all the help it can get.

    Duh, now who would say no to this opportunity of redemption? Surprisingly enough, some of my fellow suspected hoods did decline. They didn’t fancy doing good deeds, obeying God’s word, or Devil slaying. But I said, “Bring it on.”

    Sooo, that’s where I’m at in my celestial career. By the way, I’m now an angelet, which is another name for a probationary angel. How long will my internship last? Well how long is a piece of string?

    Guys, I’m about to embark on an important journey and I could do with good friends like you around. What I’m saying is, I’d like you to tag along. I’ll need someone to sound off to. How about it? I believe I’ll be boarding a bus in Las Vegas tomorrow, headed for Phoenix. I hope to see you then.

 https://www.amazon.com/No-Kissing-Required-Salvation-Book-ebook/dp/B08GD315P1

 

No Kissing Required PROLOGUE

Arizona, six months earlier

    What’s happening? How did this all spiral out of control? The sixteen-year-old boy is confused. With the promises of no rules to obey, eternal life, and sex anytime he wants, with anyone he so desires; yeah, who wouldn’t be tempted? Besides, no money need change hands.

     However, payment was expected; of course, there was a charge for Utopia. Deep down, he had known it was all too good to be true. The price was non-negotiable, no haggling, no cutting a better deal was possible. What he had been asked for in exchange was priceless, and he just wasn’t prepared for it. No, selling his soul to the Devil wasn’t something he would ever be prepared for and something he wasn’t going to do.

    Therefore, he was now fleeing for his life, he needed to get away from Wingate and fast. Luckily, for him, the road was quiet. He had been driving for about an hour, he had only seen one other vehicle in that time and it was following close behind. It had joined the road about three miles back; the driver had not attempted to overtake and was unlikely to do so now, due to the byroad’s narrowness. At first he had thought it was a police car following. Somehow, they may have been alerted that he had stolen his father’s car, but eventually he had decided it was unlikely his father would notice it was gone before morning.

    The tailgating car suddenly closes the distance between them and it’s headlights illuminate the rear-view mirror of the boy’s vehicle; blinding him on every turn and twist of the winding road. He presses his foot down, hard onto the gas pedal, but the car’s response is sluggish. The young driver is certain that the engine is protesting at being pushed so hard.

The two cars reach the summit of the climbing road and the fearful teenager knows that the ground drops steeply down away from the side. He can’t see the bottom of the ravine, it’s as though it’s lurking in the bowels of the earth.

    “What the?” the teenage boy yells with surprise, as the pursuing car gently nudges the rear bumper of his. He moves forward slightly in his seat, but his seat belt clicks and saves him from being hurt in any way. His foot is flat to the floor, but his vehicle continues to struggle to pull away from its pursuer. The boy grips the steering wheel as though he’s on a white-knuckle ride at the fairground. The road widens around the last bend and will start to drop downhill, towards Highway 87. He hopes the maniac following him will pass then.

    Both cars are now traveling at high speed and the awkward curves of the road are hard to negotiate. The inexperienced driver is finding the steering heavy and he knows he is being pulled closer and closer to the edge of the precipice. He’s finally approaching the last bend; he glances in his rear-view, but what he sees causes him to lose his concentration. Just for a moment, but a moment too long. The car leaves the road on the bend and the darkness swallows the teenager up like a whale consuming a minnow.

The tailing car doesn’t stop; it drives on, no looking back.

 

https://www.amazon.com/No-Kissing-Required-Salvation-Book-ebook/dp/B08GD315P1

Hyperlink to Lost Souls Chapter 2 (Second of two parts)

     

    I’ve just gargled with some peppermint mouthwash. My breath probably isn’t too fresh after eating an abundance of herring for breakfast and you never know who I might kiss. Ha, ha.

    Back to the herring, I’ve never eaten them before, but they were superb plus they’re good for you, all that oil. I’m going to enjoy eating Inuit style because I love fish.

    Now, let me catch you up with the gossip. When I went down to breakfast, the atmosphere amongst the family was more than a little frosty and that was with the central heating on.

     Charlie was going on about a lost soul and Stan was having none of it. When I joined them, Rachel told her pop to “leave it.” So from then on, all the old man did was eat and throat sing in between swallows. Therefore, I haven’t got to the root of what’s going on; I’m hoping to later.

     For now, I’m getting ready to venture outside; the kids have chores to do around the house and Stan mentioned he wanted to check out the engine of the Coronado. Just in case it needs any essential repairs done before he goes back out on the road.

     It all sounded a bit too technical for me; however, I may learn something that could be useful in the years to come, so I’m going to go out and see what’s going down. A guy needs as many strings to his harp as he can get. Do you think I can put socks on my hands instead of gloves to keep out the cold? Why? Because I have no idea what I’ve done with the gloves I had on yesterday. The glove gremlin must have sneaked in during the night and stole them.

    Because of the dense cloud cover today, daylight is rather shy. I’ve wrapped up well, and as I leave the heat of the cabin, I can see the truck is parked where Stan has some work lights set up, in the shelter of a large wooden outbuilding about one hundred yards from the house. As I walk over to join my amigo, every breath that leaves me forms into a small icy cloud that floats eerily in front of me. Strange, but true.

    Stan looks up from the inside of the hood of the truck when he hears me approach and says, “Hi, Dan. Are you out to give me some help?”
    “I’m hoping I’ll learn something because I know absolutely zilch about engines. I couldn’t help you even if it was the engine of a lawnmower,” I say.
    “Lawnmowers are not much use around here,” Stan laughs.

    He opens one of the drawers in the large red toolbox on the ground beside him and lifts out a large, oily-looking spanner. Well, I think it’s a spanner. Anyway, with the spanner thing, he starts to tinker inside the engine compartment.
    “Have you found anything that may cause you problems?” I ask.
    “No. This truck is reliable. I’ve never had any problems with it. My last truck was a different make. It used to give me problems all the time, especially when I drove through heavy snowstorms. The filter used to draw in the snow and well, that was that.” Stan stands back and looks at the engine as though to admire it. “I can see by the look on your face that I may as well be speaking double Dutch. You have no idea what I’m talking about, have you?”
    “In a one word answer, no.”
    “Like you and I, the motor of a truck needs air, otherwise they break down and that’s where the filter
comes into play.” Stan keeps looking at me.
    “That makes sense,” I say.
    “Dan, why do you have socks on your hands?” Stan scratches his head and laughs.
    “Couldn’t find the gloves I had on yesterday and I knew they were a necessity rather than a fashion statement around here. Socks are just gloves for your feet, so what’s the difference?”
    Stan is now laughing heartily and his already red face is getting redder and redder as he continues to laugh.
    “Hey, what’s going on here?” shouts Beth, who has just appeared from inside the house. She’s carrying a large green mug in each hand; she’s watching her footing as she makes her way across the slippery yard towards us.
    “Look at this guy’s hands.” Stan points at me, he can hardly speak.

    Beth’s face lights up and she says, “Here, this will heat your hands ups.” She hands me a cup of piping hot liquid. The contents of the other mug she’s holding is spilling all over the ground as she starts to laugh on seeing my make-shift mittens close-up.

    Stan grabs hold of the steaming mug before there is nothing left inside and to save Beth from burning herself. He dries his wet, gloved hands individually on his checked wool jacket and says, “I assume this is for me? Hot chocolate is just what I need.”

    Beth takes off her woolen mittens, rubs her hands with a napkin from her coat pocket, and she says,   “Yeah, Dad. I thought you both might welcome a warm drink.” Beth places her uncovered hands along with her wet mittens deep into her pockets. She giggles as she continues to look at my hands. “So, why on earth do you have bright red socks on your hands?”

    “Can’t find my gloves,” I say. 

     “Surely you could have chosen a different color. One that would have been a little more, let’s say, subtle.” Beth’s dark eyes sparkle mischievously.
    “I don’t like these ones much; so, I thought, if I lost them too, it wouldn’t matter.”
    “That sounds reasonable,” says Beth.   

    Stan ejects a mouthful of the chocolate into the air as he starts to laugh raucously. He lifts a handful of snow and rubs it into my face and he says, “A good enough reason, Dan. Any sensible human being will understand your explanation.”
    “We better try to find you a pair before we go snowmobiling with Si tomorrow,” says Beth. She giggles uncontrollably as she leaves us to head back to the house.

    Can you tell me what they find so funny? After all, what is a guy to do when he’s lost his gloves?

 

 (REMEMBER YOU CAN READ CHAPTER ONE AND FIRST PART OF THIS EXTRACT IN PREVIOUS POSTS) Thank you

https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/

Hyperlink to Lost Souls Chapter 2 (First of two parts)

  

 

Chapter Two

 
Day Two: Welcome to Tuk

Brrrrr, I’m going to have to put on another jumper or pull my beanie down further over my ears. My buzz cut isn’t practical here. I might need to grow my hair and have it restyled. It’s freeezing in Tuk; today, it’s minus twenty-six degrees outside. At the risk of repeating myself, brrrr. Back to cool hairstyles; do you think ‘surfer’ style would suit me? Think about it and get back to me. Remember though, I won’t actually be surfing. Snowboarding maybe, but not surfing.   

Moving on; I arrived late last night and wow what a welcome. Caribou stew and walrus meat. Yum, yum. Now, don’t screw your nose up until you’ve tried it. Really, what are you like? Were you a picky child?   

After our little adventure yesterday, Stan was rather subdued for the rest of the evening. He didn’t eat much, which puzzled the rest of his family. He also asked that I keep the incident to ourselves, he said that it would just worry Rachel.   

That was fine by me because this morning his mind should be virtually wiped clean of our ordeal. If his brain cells have decided to store any of the details, he’ll think it was just a vivid nightmare and it certainly was that. Oh, and one of the elders confirmed by e-mail that Snowy is in cahoots with the Red Rider, aka Satan.   

I’m sharing a real nice bedroom with Stan’s son, Simon Tuligag. He’s a real cool dude and has no objection to me calling him Si. Thank goodness because Simon Tuligag would be a lot to say each time I wanted to tell you about him. I had to get my head around it at first, never mind my tongue. Stan explained to me on the way here that he’s originally from Detroit. But, twenty years ago on his first trip to Tuk, he fell in love with the most beautiful
Inuit woman, they married one year later and he’s lived here ever since. When the kids came along, he said his wife wanted the kids’ names to be in keeping with Inuit tradition. He was happy with that and, as tradition goes, they were given a Christian first name and an Inuit second. That’s what love is all about, compromise. Yeah, I’m being soppy.                                   

Back to Si, there’s something kind of sad about him and his sister, Beth Amaruk, though. Sorry, I forgot to tell you about Beth. She’s hot, hot, hot. The kind of sight that warms a guy up on these cold Tuk days, and looong nights. 

Whoa, do you hear me? I’m talking as though I’m human again. Danger zone, danger zone. It’s a good job I’m not sharing a bedroom with her. Forget I said that. Sorry, God. As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by wayward thoughts, these kids’ eyes are full of sadness. I can only hope and of course pray they’ll share whatever is troubling them with me real soon. 

Stan and his wife Rachel Nauja also share their home with Rachel’s father, Charlie Angakkuq. He doesn’t say much, he just throat sings most of the time. He’s a real old guy and he’s been looking at me rather suspiciously since I arrived. Now, why would anyone be suspicious of me? Cheeky. I don’t need your impudent little retorts.

Charlie definitely isn’t convinced of my cover story. Did I tell you my cover story? No, I didn’t, I must have forgot. Hanging on to an uvula for grim death and smashing through a cougar’s teeth kind of put me off.

FYI, I was to meet up with my father here. He’s been working offshore and he’s hoping we can settle down here. It seems I’ve been living with my guardian since my Mom died. But on my way here, I found out that,  due to work commitments, he isn’t going to be here for another few weeks. Blah, blah. I’m not going to bore you with the whole story because, in fact, it’s a teeny wee bit lame.

As you know, I’m not good at lying. It’s not an angelic thing to do, but needs must. The truth is, I was supposed to meet up with a guardian angel here, but it seems he has been unexpectedly held up. No need to worry because I know for a fact that he isn’t in any kind of trouble. It’s just his last assignment is taking longer than planned. So, you see, he was held up due to work commitments!

Back to the old man, his surname Angakkuq translated from Inuit to English, means wise person. He’s the local Shaman, a well-respected figure amongst the aboriginals here in Tuk.

It’s believed he has powers to communicate with gods, spirits and talk to the souls of the dead. One thing for sure, we’ll soon find out if he’s tapped into my world, won’t we? Now, Stan thinks its all bunkum, he says that, while he loves everything Inuit, he draws the line at believing in myths. However, his family believes undoubtedly in the old guy’s powers.

On the odd occasion he actually speaks, they hang on to every word he says. Its different strokes for different folks that make the world go round. That’s one thing I’ve found out since I arrived on Earth. There’s one thing we all have in common, we’re all born and we’ll all die. Do I sound philosophical? Okay, I sound like a nerd, I know.

If I’m still here when new term starts, I’ll be attending Boreas College along with Simon and Beth. My mind’s not made up as to whether that’s where all the celestial action is going to go down. Who knows? If you do, e-mail or send me the answer on a postcard c/o TUK. E-mail Mikey if that’s easier and he’ll download it on my app.

Listen, I’m going to sign off for now. Rachel’s calling  me and I can smell food. Whatever it is for eats has a very fishy smell. Yum, yum. I wonder what Inuit’s have for breakfast. No need to e-mail me with the answer because I’ll have already eaten it before you even get round to logging on.

  https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/2023/02/hyperlink-to-lost-souls-book-extract.html?m=1