Egypt Pharaoh Tutankhamen of Egypt sarcophagus found 1922

“Yes, wonderful things,” was the famous cry of Howard Carter after poking a hole through the seal of King Tutankhamun’s tomb in 1922. With his friend, George Herbert, the 5th Earl of Carnarvon, he had explored the Valley of the Kings in Egypt for 15 years before making the incredible discovery.

But ‘wonderful things’ turned out to be less wonderful and more devastating than anyone could have imagined.

In the antechamber a clay tablet was found.  Its inscription – Death will slay with his wings whoever disturbs the peace of the pharaoh – was to prophesize a grave future.

The archaeologists, however, paid little head and went on to take, and unfortunately break many of the items (including the actually mummy) left in King Tut’s tomb.

Soon after, on 5 April 1923, Lord Carnarvon died from a mosquito bite. At Carnarvon’s English estate, his three-legged dog, Susie, howled and dropped dead at the same time. It is said that at this moment, all the lights in the city of Cairo suddenly went out.

Five months after Carnarvon died, his younger brother also died suddenly. Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes and a believer in the occult, announced that Carnarvon’s death could have been the result of a “Pharaoh’s curse”.

And then others of Carter’s party began to die of mysterious causes. More than two dozen men fell to the curse. Carter had to watch all his friends and associates drop to their deaths. Even his beloved pet canary was killed by a cobra in a freak incident. The newspapers trumpeted the terrors of the mummy’s curse to the world. Carter bore these miseries until he finally died himself, sixteen years after unleashing the curse.

Dr. Caroline Stenger-Phillip suggested later that ancient mould in the tomb could have caused potentially fatal allergic reactions. Could mould have lasted through the millennia to cause so many deaths?

Or was there really a curse?


The New York Times 1927

“PARIS, FRANCE — Isadora Duncan (1877-1927), the famous American dancer, tonight met a tragic death at Nice on the Riviera. According to dispatches from Nice Miss Duncan was hurled in an extraordinary manner from an open automobile in which she was riding and instantly killed by the force of her fall to the stone pavement.

Affecting, as was her habit, an unusual costume, Miss Duncan was wearing an immese iridescent silk scarf wrapped about her neck and streaming in long folds, part of which was swathed about her body with part trailing behind. After an evening walk along the Promenade de Anglais about 10 o’clock, she entered and open rented car, directing the driver to take her to the hotel where she was staying.

As she took her seat in the car neither she nor the driver noticed that one of the loose ends fell outside over the side of the car and was caught in the rear wheel of the machine.

Dragged Bodily From the Car.
The automobile was going at full speed when the scarf of strong silk suddenly began winding around the wheel and with terrific force dragged Miss Duncan, around whom it was securely wrapped, bodily over the side of the car, precipitating her with violence against the cobblestone street. She was dragged for several yards before the chauffeur halted, attracted by her cries in the street.

Medical aid immediately was summoned, but it was stated that she had been strangled and killed instantly.

This end to a life full of many pathetic episodes was received as a great shock in France, where, despite her numerous eccentric traits, Miss Duncan was regarded as a great artist. Her great popularity in France was increased by the entire nation’s sympathy when in 1913 her two young children also perished in an automobile tragedy. The car in which they had been left seated started, driverless, down a hill and plunged over a bridge into the Seine River.”



When a luminous apparition of the Virgin Mary appeared to three peasant children, the prophecy she apparition she offered changed the world.

The three children – Lucia, Jacinta and Francisco had taken their flock of sheep just outside the town of Fatima, Portugal, to the Cova da Iria. While the sheep were grazing the children began to play. Suddenly there was a flash of lightening. Although the sky was clear and blue the bewildered children began gathering their sheep. When a second flash surged through the sky the children saw something incredible. Their eyes were unable to comprehend the brilliance and beauty of the vision: A few metres away stood a Lady of dazzling light. A distinct odour of rose filled the air.

“Where are you from?” Lucia asked.

“I am from Heaven,” the beautiful lady said.

“What do you want of us?” asked Lucia.

“I came to ask you to come here on the 13th day for six months at the same time, and then I will return here a seventh time.”

The children were amazed. How could they not agree to this?

After several other messages Mary finally asked them to recite the Rosary every day as she smiled upon them with gentle grandeur. Finally, she rose in a cloud of light and glided away into the eastern sky. Lucia warned her cousins to say nothing of what they had seen out of fear of disbelief, but Jacinta was too excited. When she told her parents about the Apparition there was a general reaction of disbelief. Lucia`s mother was convinced that her child was lying and punished her continually when she refused to deny her story.

Strangely enough and rarely discussed, this vision was proved to have been seen by at least 20 people over an area of 600 square miles.


How did Rasputin die?

Many attempts were made on Russian mystic Grigori Rasputin’s life (1869-1916).

He was first poisoned with enough cyanide to kill ten men, but he wasn’t affected. So his killers shot him in the back with a revolver. Rasputin fell but later revived.

He was shot again three more times, but still Rasputin lived. He was then clubbed, and for good measure thrown into the icy Neva River.

Finally, Rasputin was dead for good.



The legend of the Hound of Mons

It is 1917 and Captain FJ Newhouse, a returned Canad­ian veteran, announces that the gruesome legend of the ‘Hound of Mons’ has been proved throughout Europe as fact and not fiction.

For four years civilian sceptics laughed at the soldiers’ tale of a giant, skulking hound, which stalked among the corpses and shell holes of No Man’s Land and dragged down British soldiers to their death.

They said it was an apparition of fear-crazed minds. But to the soldiers it was a reality and one of the most fearful things of World War One.

“The death of Dr Gottlieb Hochmuller in the recent Spartacan riots in Berlin”, said Capt. Newhouse, “has brought to light facts concerning the fiendish application of this German scientist’s skill that have astounded Europe. For the Hound of Mons was not an accident, a phantom, or halluc­ination – it was the deliberate result of one of the strangest and most repulsive scientific experiments the world has ever known.

Captain Newhouse says that the papers show that this hound was the result after experiments by Dr Hochmuller. The Doctor hoped to end the war in Germany’s favour by creating this hideous beast.

After visiting the wards of German hospitals the scientist finally found a man gone mad from his insane hatred of England. Hochmuller, with the sanction of the German government, operated upon him and removed his brain, being particularly careful with the parts which dominated hatred and frenzy.

Simultaneously, an operat­ion was performed on a giant Siberian wolfhound. Its brain was taken out and the brain of the madman inserted. By careful nursing the dog lived. The man was permitted to die. The dog rapidly grew stronger and, after careful training in cruelty, was taken to the firing line and released into No Man’s Land. There for two years it became the terror of outposts and patrols, dragging soldiers to their deaths and putting the fear of god into the remaining men already fighting a devastating war.



How do you want to die? 1919 MOLASSES TRAGEDY

how do you want to die?

A horrible way to go: One minute you’re loitering on a North End Boston street at lunchtime, enjoying an unseasonably warm day, and the next you’re caught in a 40-ft. high tidal wave of sticky brown molasses.

The initial explosion of a molasses storage tank and subsequent deluge killed 21 Bostonians and injured 150, not to mention uncounted horses.

The 50-ft. tall tank held two million + gallons of the stuff. When the tank ruptured (fermentation, structural weakness, some even suggested it was an anarchist’s bomb), its 1/2 inch steel plates flew on trajectories that collapsed girders on an adjacent elevated railway. The wall of brown goo, moving ~35 mph, crushed houses and inundated everything in its path. The event has entered local folklore, and residents claim that on hot summer days, the area still smells of molasses.




Blackwater no longer exists… except in the icy wasteland of no-time…

Hello, my name is Oscar. I chose my name because it has the word ‘car’ in it. I don’t know how much the others have figured out but I am very worried for us. I know our time is running out. I don’t think we are supposed to stay here but we can’t leave or the Shadow will get us. None of us like the Shadow. I can tell that we are fading. When I look at everyone they are starting to look different and Bruises is almost gone. I know that if we fade before we are found we will never be able to go home. If we fade, we disappear forever as if we never existed. That is very dangerous for everyone, ghosted or not.



Do you want to know a secret? Secrets of Ghosts…

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune

Tuesday, September 5th, 1939 –One penny



At 11 O’clock, September 4th, Great Britain declares war on Germany. Six hours later France follows. Britain and France state their determination to fulfill to the uttermost, their obligations to Poland in this full scale attack. Page 3.



After the First Great War and terrible period of Depression we hoped there would be a long time of peace, but the fervent attacks do not augur well for any of us. Just days after the terrifying announcement that Germany has invaded Poland, Blackwater has made a discovery so unsettling that it brings the ghosts of suffering home to us again.

Our Herald Moon Tribune journalist, Mr. Henry Frienly, has discovered a rather strange mystery. With help from Miss Grace Durand of Marchenby Street, Mr. Frienly has uncovered a strange tale indeed.

According to his information, it is believed a group of nine children has been seen lingering around the town. They are very hard to keep track of, even disappearing whilst being followed! They tend to move as a group, which makes it even more remarkable that they have not been caught, and they do not appear to have any guardians present. This strange group appears to be unaware of the attention they are receiving. When Miss Durand calls out to them they are oblivious to her utterances and their immediate escape seems uncanny.

The children were noticed on September 1st, by a visitor to the area, Mrs. Agnes McReady of Bluberry Falls. Mrs. McReady immediately reported it to the police whereby Constable Macalister Glizsnort took all the details.

In a rather curious turn, Constable Glizsnort states to the Herald Moon Tribune, that after considerable research, he has discovered that similar sightings were reported in the area about 20 years prior. This just adds to the peculiarity of the situation. Constable Glizsnort also speculates that it is no coincidence that the sightings have begun again just as the Second Great War has been declared.

Even though the Constable is unsure whether these children are of an unearthly nature or not, he affirms that he will not give up trying to locate them despite the obvious difficulties. He also suggests there may be many a reason why these children have no homes. In such circumstances, he says, those being of the war and all, there are a variety of events that would allow these young people to find themselves in very difficult circumstances. “It is quite possible that these children are vagabonds or worse.” At this stage he is not prepared to commit either way. Constable Glizsnort insists that once the children are located they will be treated with kindness and compassion before being judged. “It is the Godly thing to do,” he said.

However, journalist, Henry Frienly, concedes that others in the community do not see it so simply. Many have expressed concerns regarding their own safety and it is believed that the kind of lenience the Constable affords will give the children open opportunity to commit crime.

Enid Highly of Plain Place Road suggests: “They may try coercion or even thievery; or they may attempt to inflict physical harm on the people of the town – the population should be afraid!”

Even more negative correspondence includes alarming implications that these children may be creating some kind of gang and that they plan to steal the offspring of the neighborhood to expand their group.

“It all reeks of sinister undertones!” Miss Maimsbun of Hawkesmeade Avenue cried when interviewed.

But Mrs. Lightbottom of January Court, believes, “We should take them in and care for them as a community. Obviously no one else is concerned about their whereabouts.”

Miss Maimsbun replied with a curt retort about Mrs. Lightbottom being unable to have children of her own and added, “Mrs. Lightbottom’s opinion should be ignored as she has obviously displeased the Lord for she has been rendered barren.”

Mrs. Lightbottom refused to reply to these allegations.

However, as Constable Glizsnort reminds us, until we actually catch these children, it is all speculation. Miss Durand would like any person aware of their whereabouts to pass the information on to her at 132 Marchenby Street (call exchange B243).

And a very interesting story it is.

Blackout time tonight is 6.57pm.


Due to the declaration of war, our standard edition will now be an evening publication only. Therefore, the paper has changed its name from the Herald Tribune to the Herald Moon Tribune.



Warsaw and many other Polish towns bombed by German warplanes on September 1st. As troops march into Poland, Hitler, in an address to the Reichstag, says: ‘From now on bomb after bomb is falling.’ He continued with: ‘The German Army today is better than that of 1914!’ Hitler finished his speech with ‘Sieg Heil’ (Hail Victory).

The Poles latest estimate of casualties in the German air raids on local towns and villages on Friday and Saturday is 1,500 people – a considerable proportion were woman and children. (Page 3.)


Australia declares war on Germany September 3rd. New Zealand has cabled her full support to Britain. Rush of recruits in Canada. Over 2000 men lined up outside the Recruiting Office yesterday.


Brought to you by Cadbury’s Bournville chocolate – Every man’s secret vice!

~Present day~

~A Fast Bus to Nowhere~

~Santu of Visions~

~Daffodil of Diamonds~

There was something very wrong with this whole venture.

Santu was woken from his insipid sleep by the hammering rain, only to find himself back in the stormy night on the same lurching bus, going nowhere, fast. The vehicle was rattling violently in the torrential downpour, hurtling at an alarming speed. Every now and then, its wheels would slide on the the slick road making Santu’s stomach twist. Musty dank air filled his nostrils and the freezing cold air was making it difficult to think – but it didn’t stop the visions.

Outside, past the clammy windows, the highway was dark and empty save for the black silhouettes of leafless trees ebbing from a low eerie mist. Thunder ached in the deadened gloom like a far-off warning, and lightning flashed in bursts across the sodden, starless sky. Why hadn’t they told him he was going somewhere this damn cold?

Santu’s gaze slid up to the full moon – he could swear it had a face. Its distant light shone on his dark Spanish skin and shoulder length black curls. Shivering, he huddled into his leather jacket to keep in whatever warmth he could and tried to concentrate on the visions. They had been growing stronger and more controlling since he had agreed to this ‘research mission’ but in his heart, he knew the truth had already been seized and locked away.

Santu skimmed a look at the others on board: Six other duped kids that had somehow managed to abandon their lives to attend a Secret Society Program – all of them masters of their own secrets; all of them masters of a skill unusual enough to be accepted by the clandestine group.

None of them seemed to be interested in making eye contact or conversation. If his visions were anything to go by, they’d have to talk eventually.

He wondered if any of them could match his skills: Santu was an anomaly; a glitch in the human strain; a genetic aberration that had already seen his mother die. The reminder forced his anger to surface so he tried to bend his thoughts back to the unacceptable cold.

As he rose to complain to the uninterested and apparently unaffected bus driver, the vehicle abruptly lurched to a halt. The unexpected shift threw Santu forward, smashing his face into the back of the seat in front of him. As his face struck the metal railing he heard a horrible crack: His nose had broken. As blood trickled from his nostrils the horrible stench of mould and death filled his mind before a shrill voice erupted from the front of the bus.

“I am Madame Glizsnort,” screeched the woman who had just alighted. Dressed in a long, gray, woolen skirt, short high-heeled boots and a gray jacket which displayed two looping ‘G’s’ on its lapel, she exuded cold indifference. “For your stay on this trip you will be under my guidance.” The woman’s piercing gaze regarded everyone from the front of the bus.

With her pale eyes, gray complexion and high silver bun, Santu thought she could have been an ice-sculpture hung with clothes and a wig. Motioning to complain, he felt himself being forced back into the seat.

“Sit down!” Madame Glizsnort shrieked. “I will not have insolence in my presence!”

And probably for the first time in his life, Santu felt uncertain. Apparently he was not alone. Furtive glances darted from one to the other across the bus – eye-contact finally, mused Santu to himself. But the worry was creeping around him, icy fingers curling across his skin. He was not getting any visions from this strange woman and that scared him more than he cared to admit.

“Now,” Madame Glizsnort continued, trying to sound just a little less harsh. “I am to be your guardian and tutor for this undertaking.” Her tone was practiced, almost calculated. “I know you have all come from far away, some further than others.” Her icy stare focused on the girl with the messy blond hair and patchwork clothes: There was something about her.

Daffodil thought her heart may freeze instantly with the intensity of Madame Glizsnort’s gaze. In fact, Daffodil was from a very long way away and had a history of secrets that would make the discovery of the Holy Grail seem mundane. As far as Daffodil knew, absolutely no one had a clue about her past – except her parents, and they couldn’t tell anyone, obviously. But right now it felt like this strange woman with the cold silver eyes was staring into her brain, reading her very thoughts, seeing into her memories and exhuming her life; bit by bit.

“Your name girl?! What’s your name?!”

“D..Daffodil, Madame,” she replied, her Australian twang sounding broken in the silence.

“Try to remember it then!” The ice-sculpture shook her head.

Daffodil nodded, her big, brown eyes, wide and unblinking. If Madame Glizsnort hadn’t finally moved her stare to the back of the bus Daffodil would have vomited. Not a good start to her first Secret Society mission. Had her escape from The Institution been a foolish decision? Was the whole research thing real? Had her grueling admission been a sham? Blinking a few times, she let salty tears wash back over her burning eyes.

Madame Glizsnort seemed disgusted with them all. “There will be an introduction ceremony once we reach our destination,” she continued determinedly, “and then we have a very demanding schedule of advanced research. After this, you will put your abilities into action.” She paused for a moment as she eyed each of them. “And remember, I am not interested in cry babies! The quicker you follow the imperative and perform, the quicker you will be finished!”

Santu didn’t like the way she emphasized the word ‘finished’. If his nose hadn’t throbbed so badly, he may have tried to focus on his visions, but the pain was making it impossible for him to judge just how serious this situation was.

And then a flood of arctic water rushed through Santu’s brain. It felt like time had stopped, as if all the knowledge he had ever accumulated was suddenly dissolving into nothingness. Just before everything began to fade, a few thoughts pushed themselves to the frosty surface of his mind: In the freezing cold midnight hours of this strange rain-soaked night, how had this gaunt, shrew woman managed to stop a speeding bus and alight without a single droplet marking her clothes?

As this thought formed, another whole, and completely overwhelming notion, swelled in his mind. And that’s when Santu noticed Madame Glizsnort was staring straight at him.

And a small trickle of blood oozed from his damaged nose.


Secrets of Ghosts

‘Secrets of Ghosts’ – Available NOW!

– For those who like to seek amongst the shadows.

The mission is simple: Confess your secrets, free the ghosts and try not to die.

Blackwater no longer exists, well, except in the icy wasteland of no-time, where seven mysteriously gifted teenagers have been left stranded by their secret society. Led by Madame Glisznort, a woman obsessed in both life and death with her Lost Children – the ghosted orphans first sighted in Blackwater during WW1 – she manipulates the teenagers’ fears so that they will use their gifts and do what she has been unable to: save these ghosts souls – after all she has more than a vested interest in the outcome. If only the Shadow wasn’t threatening to destroy them all.

When sixteen year old Daffodil, who has escaped The Institution, and carries with her a history of secrets that would make the discovery of the Holy Grail seem mundane, finds a gathering of ghosts in the abandoned church, she realizes that to free these spirits, all that has been forgotten will need to be recovered and to do that, this group of misfits will need to face the secrets that have tragically haunted their own lives. It is the only way they will source their gifts. It is the only way they can escape the Shadow. It is the only way they will survive. And time is running out.

Secrets of Ghosts is a haunting fantasy for young adults.

Available at Amazon, The Book Depository, Barnes & Noble and many more online sites.