Featured post

I now have a website

I now have a website for my books http://www.hayzeebooks.co.uk

Friday, 10 November 2017

What Has He Done Now? - by David Hayes

My first book. It's all about growing up in a North West mining and cotton weaving town. It begine when I start school in 1960 and ends around 1971 - The golden years. A nice stocking-filler for Christmas

Here's the link to the book on Amazon. You can read the first story by using the 'Look Inside' facility

Monday, 18 September 2017

Sunday, 18 June 2017

My latest book - Mysteria

The book is now out on Amazon as a Kindle book. For those of you who do not have a Kindle, you can download the app free of charge to your smartphone, laptop or PC
It has guest stories by Bernie Morris, Ann Perry, David Clarke and Lesley Hanson. I hope you enjoy it.


Sunday, 12 March 2017

New Book Coming Soon

A new book is in preparation as we speak from Bronwyn Editions. It will be entitled Mysteria.

Here is a sample story from the above book:

Toy Soldier – A Ghost Story

Sue sat at the foot of her five year old daughter's bed. She happened to be reading her a bedtime story. She was almost at the 'And they all lived happily ever after' bit, when she heard a child's voice say 'Help me....please' The voice was right outside the bedroom door. Her daughter either hadn't heard it or was choosing to ignore it. Carry on mummy...how does it end?' her daughter said. Sue finished the story and tucked her in, then kissed her forehead.

Sue was about to put it all down to tiredness when she saw a small, plastic soldier by the bedroom door. She picked it up and recognised it as the sort that her brother had when he was a child. 'I wonder where she found this?' she thought to herself. She slipped it into her jeans pocket. Something niggled at her mind as if to say that something wasn't quite right. Once downstairs, she placed it on the fireplace to remind her to mention it to her daughter Poppy in the morning.

It played on her mind. She couldn't believe what she was doing, but she rang her brother Tony. 'Hiya kid, it's me' she said to her brother. 'Hello love, how are you?' he asked her. She told him that she was fine and then asked him if he still had his toy soldiers. 'Why?..does Poppy want them or something?' he asked her. She told him that she had found one at the house and wondered if he had let Poppy play with them when she was round at his house. 'Can't be mine' he said. 'Mum gave them to a kid down the street when I was about fifteen'. She thanked him and they exchanged a few more pleasantries, then she hung up.

When morning came she woke Poppy and gave her breakfast. She then started packing her lunch for school. 'Oh, Poppy, I found this toy soldier by your bedroom door. Is it yours?' she asked her. Her daughter chuckled and said 'Oh, that will be Alan's'. Sue was rocked by this. She knew about Alan, but he was her imaginary playmate when she was younger. She hadn't mentioned him in over a year. They were running slightly late, so there was no time to discuss it further, but Sue was definitely not happy.

All day Sue busied herself at work, but the toy soldier came into her mind constantly. During their break, Sue mentioned it to her workmate Janice. Janice had known her since they were at school together, and so knew her not to be the hysterical or fanciful type. 'Oh bugger off Sue, you are giving me the creeps' she said. 'She definitely meant her imaginary playmate, and not some boy at school?' Janice said. Sue grasped at this straw. That is what it had to be. She had misunderstood. She thanked Janice, and they carried on with their break.

Sue collected Poppy from school on her way home from work. As they were driving along, Sue asked Poppy about her friend Alan at the school, and whether she was going to give him back his toy soldier. Poppy answered her by saying 'I don't have a friend at school called Alan, mummy'. Sue almost swerved into a parked car. 'OK, get a grip girl' she said inside her mind.

Sue put this down to 'just one of those things' and left it at that. Once home they had dinner and Poppy sat to watch a little TV. Sue opened her laptop on the kitchen table to check her emails. As she was checking her emails, she knocked over a little sugar pot. She got up to fetch a sheet of paper to sweep it onto. When she got back to the kitchen table, she saw that someone had drawn a frowning face in the spilled sugar, like an upside-down smiley. She let out a small whoop of fear. She knew it couldn't have been Poppy, because she would have had to pass her to get into the kitchen.

Sue grabbed Poppy and said, 'It's Friday, let's go round to your granny's shall we?' Poppy was delighted at this sudden and impromptu adventure. She rang her mother and asked if they could stay there for the night, and that she would explain why when she got there. She then quickly gathered together a few belongings to last them the night, and then drove them both off to her mother's house.

Her mother welcomed them both with open arms, giving Poppy a big hug, and presenting her with a chocolate biscuit. 'Go and get my big button tin out of the pantry and play with it on the rug. Your mummy and I are going to have a chat and a cup of tea' she said to Poppy. Poppy was happy to do this, and a few moments later she was happily munching on her biscuit and playing with the buttons.

Her mother got as far as saying 'What on earth is....' before Sue stopped her and said 'Please mum, just listen to the full story, and please don't think I am mad'. Sue then told her the whole tale. Her mum then looked pensive, as if in thought. She then said 'You know that I gave birth to a baby boy, but he was stillborn?' Sue held her mother's hand and said 'Yes mum, you did tell me'. She then looked Sue right in the eyes and said 'I don't think I ever told you, but we were going to call him Alan'.

Sue was speechless at her mother's revelation. Her mother went on to tell her that when Sue told her that she had an imaginary playmate called Alan, it didn't surprise her. She went on to tell her that she had caught a glimpse from the corner of her eye of a little boy dressed in short trousers and school uniform. 'When did you see this, mum?' Sue asked her. Her mother told her that it was virtually every time that she babysat Poppy.

Sue slumped back into the kitchen chair, before saying 'And you didn't think it worth mentioning??' Her mother said 'What was I supposed to say. Oh Poppy has been a good little girl, she has been playing happily all day with a dead child?' 'Fair point' Sue said, before going on to say 'I would have thought you were going a bit senile if you had'. The joint laughter came as a blessed relief to both of them.

'Why does he want me to help him?' Sue said, before admonishing herself and saying 'Bloody hell, I am starting to believe this shite'. Her mother chuckled, and then told her that if it was indeed Alan, he wouldn't wish them any harm. 'I told you I see him out of the corner of my eye?' her mum said, before going on to say 'I sometimes see him standing behind me when I look in the bathroom mirror. It looks like he is trying to say something, but I can't hear him'. Sue never swore in front of her mother. Not the bad words anyway. This time she broke the habit of a lifetime. 'Fucking hell mum...firstly you are scaring me now...and secondly...how long has this been going on?' Her mother smiled and said 'About the same time that Poppy first mentioned him'.

'How do you know it's Alan. Your Alan?' Sue asked her mother. 'Do you think I wouldn't recognise my own child?' her mother answered, before continuing to say 'Anyway, he told Poppy that he was' Sue said 'OK I am furious about this. You should have told me' Her mother answered by saying that she thought Poppy had told her all about it, and that it never entered her head. 'Don't blame me if your own daughter doesn't tell you things' she snapped back at her, before grabbing Sue's hand and apologising profusely. Sue apologised as well, whilst saying that it was a very fair comment. 'I am always so busy since the divorce. She was only two when he left' she explained to her mother.

Both of them were unaware that Poppy was now standing and looking at them both. 'Are you talking about Alan?' she asked them. Neither of them answered. 'Well....are you?' she said. Sue said ' About this Alan...'. This was as far as she got. 'Don't call him that mummy, he is OUR Alan, not THIS Alan' Sue began to cry a little. Poppy came over and sat on her knee. 'Why are you both so frightened of him?' Poppy asked them. Sue's mother then asked Poppy what he wanted. She told them 'Alan says he tries to talk to you, but you can't hear him. He says you are too scared to hear him'. Her gran started to cry. She told Poppy that tonight, if he would show himself in the bathroom mirror, that she would listen. Poppy said 'He says he will talk to you right now if you like, but just you'. Sue grabbed her mothers hand but her mother said 'Tell Alan I am on my way'.

Sue's mother stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hardly daring to open her eyes. When she did, she saw Alan standing beside her, his hand in hers. 'Hello mummy' he said. She heard him as clear as day, then she dissolved into tears. 'Please dont cry mummy' Alan said. She composed herself and apologised. 'I'm listening now darling. What is it that you want to tell me?'

'I saw how unhappy you were when I didn't take my earthly form. I have tried for so long to talk to you. When Poppy could see me I was so pleased'. Alan told her. 'I left that toy soldier for my sister to find, because she couldn't hear me either' He then went on to tell her that he knew it would frighten her into talking to someone, and that he and Poppy had planned it together. 'What is it that you are so desperate to tell me my darling?' she asked. Alan replied 'I just wanted to tell you that I am OK and this is just my little boy shadow. Look again mummy' When she looked into the mirror again she saw a tall, handsome and athletic man in his prime. He smiled the broadest and happiest grin and said to her 'I just wanted to tell you that I am fine and that I love you mum' He then faded away.

Sue, her mother and Poppy never saw Alan again after that day. He became far more subtle. When Sue worried over the bills, she would feel her big brothers arm around her shoulder. Poppy walked with an air of confidence, knowing that her Uncle had her back at all times. Alan's mum felt him around at all times. Sometimes she would find a little heart drawn into the dust, and beside it a kiss.

© David Hayes

Saturday, 4 March 2017

A Love Story

Winter's Tale in Summer Told

A sanguine moon hangs o'er all
and paints the leaves with dark intent.
The trees they shake and bow their heads
in supplication, once again.
Their boughs they stretch to hide us all
from our own shame and scarlet deeds.
But wait, all is not as it seems
For there within the glade so pure
there shines a light to guide the soul,
and lead us through the sorrowed times.

The creatures bay and lap the dew
Atop the grass and mellow ferns,
and snuffling like truffle pigs
they hunt to stave off hunger's teeth.
Their time upon this earth so short
and then their passing goes unmourned
Their body once again returns
to soil that welcomes every drop
of their own wild and deep decay
that seeps into that ground.

The light it moves with sure intent
towards the dwelling by the woods.
It's essence drawn by candle-light
that shines through windows specked with dust
Festooned with spiders webs that gleam
Reflections from the stars that shine
in majesty and glories told
by each small shaft and peck of light
The spirit has so little time
it's message to convey.

Open up your rusting heart
and throw the door asunder now
Embrace the light that stands before
your countenance and calls to you.
Oh, when it filters through your eyes
and seeps into your tender heart
The tears will fall like summer rain
as soft as thistledown upon
your rosy cheeks so fair with grace
and you will be complete.

The light it comes but once - no more!
Miss it, and the greed inside
your bleeding heart will eat you up
and leave you dry and hollowed out
Like the husks from summer's corn
The winds of winter's dark despair
will scatter all you hold so dear
to those four howling deathly winds
and all that will be left inside
is bitter, sore regret.

DH 2017

Friday, 10 February 2017

What Has He Done Now? - My Book

You can purchase copies of my book from any bookseller by quoting the ISBN number, but you can buy the book direct on Amazon by clicking on the link below. You have a choice of paperback or digital book from Kindle Books.


Wednesday, 8 February 2017

Another story from the forthcoming book

The Sickness

He was tired. That unbelievable, bone-aching tiredness that you sometimes get. He decided a good round tumblerful of single malt scotch was just what was needed. A benediction for a tired mind, and a kiss for a wearied soul. The gentle glug as the scotch poured into the welcoming glass was like music.

People just didn't believe him. They didn't believe that he was actually fighting for his soul. 'It's all in your mind Roger old mate' his friends said to him. Some had stayed overnight with him, but of course it didn't show then did it? This snide, sinister, energy-sapping spirit was like some kind of torturer. It deprived him of sleep. It hid in the shadows and showed itself to no one else. He never quite got used to that creepy sight. Just as he was falling asleep he would see the eyes floating in the darkness, close by his bed, then the sickly grimace. A row of closely packed together teeth. Almost needle-like. This would lurch him back into a terrified, sweat-soaked wakefulness.

Tonight he would face this. Tonight he would face it down – or die trying. He had no idea how to do it, or indeed what would happen; but this stopped right now. He didn't believe in crucifixes or the bible. He called the bible 'A book of fairy tales'. He knew that this was real though. He had seen it move things and damage things. He also knew that it was in some way part of himself. That night though, he had a bible beneath his pillow, and alongside it a kitchen knife and a small bottle of holy water that he had taken from the font of a local church. Well, in truth he had no idea whether it was holy or not, but it was a weapon. The irony hadn't gone unnoticed to him that the bottle he used had once contained whisky. 'Spirits for a spirit' he said to himself as he filled the half pint whisky bottle. What he was going to do with the kitchen knife he had no idea. It just looked violent and impressive!

That night he went to bed 'tooled up' with all his bits of kit. Right on time, just as he was dropping off, he saw the sickly white grin in front of him. Roger grasped the bible in both hands and in a flash, he screamed like a soldier on bayonet practice, and venomously shouted 'God is going to kill you' and lunged towards the face and thrust the bible into it. He heard a whine that sounded like someone standing on a poodle's paw. He heard something scurry behind an easy chair in the bedroom. Roger was onto it and had ripped the top off the whisky bottle and was throwing the water around in gay abandon. He saw it knock aside a small table and disappear into a built-in wardrobe. This was a part of the old house he had kept as an original feature. 'So that's where you live is it you cowardly, squirming little shit?' He had never felt quite as alive in years. He was fighting back. Now it was this squirming piece of darkness that was scared. Roger pushed the easy chair against the wardrobe door and soaked it with the remains of the holy water.

Roger left the house and booked into a hotel for the night to regroup. He got his first good night's sleep in weeks. The next day he rang in sick and took the day off work. He set out to find someone in one of the several churches in the district. Someone who wouldn't just tell him that he had been working too hard, or that it was all in his mind. This proved to be quite difficult! He had gone into the fourth church that day and had become a little bit impatient. Yet again he was hearing the same old questions and hackneyed litany. 'Are you a member of this church? Have you been baptised? Have you tried praying? Now this one was asking him if he had a history of psychiatric problems in his family!! Roger just let it all pour out. 'I always wondered what it meant to be a christian' he told the now, wide eyed cleric. 'I now realize it means taking round the collection plate and visiting old ladies, but the first time someone needs a spiritual defender YOU ARE A SHIT SCARED LITTLE COWARD' Roger flung the door open and was about to walk out of the vicar's office when he called him back. 'Meet me back here in two hours' he heard the vicar say.

Roger did as he was asked. He knocked on the vicar's door. The vicar opened the door and handed Roger a couple of aluminium flight cases. 'Here, carry these for me. We will go in my car' the vicar said. Roger didn't ask any questions and followed the vicar to his car. The vicar asked Roger for his address, and so he told him. 'It's 82 Fordham Street' Roger said. The vicar looked at Roger for a few seconds, before closing his eyes and quietly swearing under his breath. 'You do actually know what happened there don't you?' the vicar asked. Roger said that he hadn't a clue.

The vicar went on to tell him that Mrs Rogers had lived there. She was a parishioner of his. He then went on to tell him that Mrs Rogers had come to him and told him of the exact same happenings. 'And what did you do for her?' Roger asked. The vicar didn't answer. 'I said – what did you do to help. What did you do for her?' Roger repeated himself. Still the vicar said nothing. Then Roger saw that he was weeping. 'Oh don't tell me you did nothing...please don't tell me that' Roger said. The vicar told him 'We believed that she was going senile. Seeing things'. Roger asked him what had happened to her. Between sobs, the vicar told him that she had hanged herself in the little built-in wardrobe. Roger's blood ran cold. 'You do know that's where the sly little bastard lives don't you? He said. The vicar just nodded.

They both arrived at Roger's place. The vicar laid the cases down on Roger's bed and opened them. 'What's all this?' Roger said, as he surveyed the case full of electronic gadgets. 'Just because I am a vicar, it doesn't mean I live in the dark ages. These are the tools that I use to hunt ghosts with'. The vicar said. Roger didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Who was this person that he had invited back to his place? The vicar took out an EMF meter and started walking around the room. Roger just let him get on with it.

'How did you drive it back and into here?' the vicar asked whilst looking at the chair that was still jammed against the wardrobe door. It was now Roger's turn to feel embarrassed. 'I shoved a bible into it's face and screamed at it that God was going to kill it'. Both men looked at each other and fell into nervous but uproarious laughter. Their laughing was stopped immediately when they heard a regular thud, thud, thud noise coming from the wardrobe. 'It doesn't like laughter, does it?' Roger said. The vicar appeared deep in thought. After a little while the vicar spoke. 'I think we are dealing with a demon of some kind' he said.

Roger was now at the very ragged edge of his beliefs. Well to be honest he was way, way past the edge and into totally new territory. A year ago he would have been rolling around laughing – but not any more! The vicar went on to explain his theory. 'It is my belief that evil is a real force, and that evil can attract evil. If enough evil collects, it can turn into an existence. An entity if you will. A sentient being'. Roger was in no mood to argue. 'What do we do with it then?' Roger asked. The vicar told him that they had to try and break it back down into it's constituent components and banish it.

'Switch all the lights on and draw back the curtains. This thing hates the light' the vicar said. Roger did as he was asked. Roger laughed a forced laugh and said 'Not so tough now are you – bastard?' This brought forth another series of thuds from the wardrobe. 'Let's have a sing-song too' Roger said, whilst turning on the radio. It was tuned to his favourite channel of Radio 2. The thuds became louder. 'At least keep in time to the music you piece of nothing'. The entity sensed that this was it's requiem. It was it's funeral music.

It was then that Roger heard a voice in the room. 'Don't do this son. This isn't right' it said. He turned and saw his father standing there. Oh how he missed his father. Roger was about to move towards him when the vicar stood between them and blocked his path. 'What is your name then?' the vicar asked him. The ghost merely glowered back at him. 'That isn't your father, Roger' the vicar told him. When Roger looked again, he could see his father's face morphing into the needle toothed entity before finally dissipating. 'He is on the run. He will try these tricks. Believe nothing it says' the vicar said.

The vicar opened another case and took out a bible, some incense, two crucifixes, and a bottle of holy water. 'Wear this' the vicar said. Roger did as he was told. The vicar lit the incense and began incanting prayers. The thudding noise from the wardrobe had now been joined by the sound of dozens of voices. Each voice issuing forth screams and filthy words. 'Help me move this chair and then stand behind me' the vicar said. The chair was moved and the dorr was opened. There in the corner it sat. It was in some distress. There appeared to be something oozing from it. It looked like black blood. The vicar carried on incanting prayers and spraying the area liberally with holy water. The entity seemed to sort of implode, and make a noise a little like the squealing of brakes on a car. 'It's gone' the vicar said. The whole room seemed lighter. It was as if the room was filled with sunshine. Roger and the vicar hugged each other. 'I owed that bastard one' the vicar said, then laughed. Roger nodded and said 'We put a wrong to rights didn't we?' The vicar said 'God's peace be with you Roger'. He packed away his equipment and left.

Roger felt weary and emotional with the whole thing. He also felt elated. They had beaten it. It was gone. He took down a tumbler from the kitchen shelf and poured himself a good measure of single malt from a bottle he had been saving for a special occasion. 'If ever there was one this must be it' he thought to himself. He walked back into the living room and the glass fell from his hand. There in the corner he espied the gleaming, needle-like teeth. They were tinged with blood. On the floor beside it were pieces of the vicars bloodied clothing. 'Now it's my turn to play' the demon said.

© David Hayes

Monday, 6 February 2017

Here we are at last!

At last I have decided to put together a small repository for all my scribblings, adventures and any other business. I cannot say how often I will be updating this, but hopefully quite often