It’s been a wild couple of years, and I am excited to share a couple of updates about me and my projects.

First things first, NEW BOOK ALERT!

I have just released my sixth novel, “Christmas at The Old Mill.” It may not be obvious, but this is a Christmas book. I’m so excited to share it, since it came about very quickly and I was hoping to have it out in time for the holidays, which it looks like I have just managed to do! The Old Mill is not like my other books, no mysteries, no floating cities, or futuristic death parties. Just a family trying to reconnect and process grief during a season of joy. This book revolves around the perspectives of three characters—thirteen-year-old Noah, his mom Charlotte and his nana Dot. It was a challenge I wanted to take on, writing from different perspectives, and I have to say it was a lot of fun, though I’ll admit it was difficult for my brain at times. I feel so grateful to have done it because I really think it adds to the story. I hope you feel the same. Oh, and for those of you who may not love books, I am excited to say that this will be the first novel that I have released as an Audiobook—narrated by my partner, Hilary Adams. More on this to come!

I’m going to jump back now because I have failed to keep you up to date thus far. But, if you will, join me in travelling back to June of 2024, when I finally released Firefly, book two in the Ash and Sun Trilogy. I was so thrilled to share this book, not just because it is something I am ridiculously proud of, but also because it is one step closer to my goal of completing the Ash and Sun trilogy. Ash and Sun was the first novel I ever published, and I have been working toward finishing the series ever since. I personally love the world that Jens occupies. It is the brainchild of a young man who, at home and isolated during the pandemic, was trying to imagine what the world could look like in hundreds of years. Needless to say, there are many differences, though, as Hilary and I discussed the other day, a lot of similarities. After all, we have robots cutting our grass, we’re inching ever closer to the Jetsons, and some of that is scary, while other parts are thrilling. This series, I hope, is more exhilarating than anything. Though it may be different from our world, I hope not too different in that we are always human, and to be human is an exciting and challenging experience, no matter when we are born. I’m grateful to have completed this book and hope that book three, The Doctor, will bereleased in early 2026.

Fast forward a bit and ignore the gaps in writing—I had some adventures in the Kitchen, which I will be excited to write about later— and get to Fall of 2025. Again, I’m not great at sharing things, since my focus has been on the writing side and not so good at the sharing bits. But I’m continuously working on this, I promise! With that in mind, I have finally released the awaited book two of the Limestone Manor series titles, Murder at Winkleberry Farm. It was so incredible to get to build another story around these characters. I’m also thrilled to see the success of book one. People have really been resonating with the characters, which makes me happy cause it hopefully means people are as excited to find out what happens to Cliff and the gang, as I am to write it. This book steps away from St. Marys a little and explores farm life around the community. Growing up in a small rural community, there is no shortage of farms and farm culture, and I hope I was able to give it some justice. I have always admired the work and perseverance of farmers—it’s tireless and essential work. I hope it will come as no surprise that this is a series I will continue. I absolutely love these characters, and I have so many ideas about them and where they might go. So I hope you will be patient with me, and I promise there will be more to come!

I’m going to leave it all there, it’s been a busy year, and I didn’t even get the chance to talk about my cooking experiences—but I will. I also have some significant changes, hopefully with the website and how I sell my books. If I can organize my time well enough, 2026 will be a great year of change and, of course, some new books.

As always, thank you for reading!

Jonny Thompson

P.s. At the time of writing this I will be doing a book launch and signing on November 29^th, 2025 at The Flour Mill, in St. Marys, ON. Books will be available for purchase by Betty’s Bookshelf. If you’re in the area please stop in and say hello!

A friendly reminder that I do have an email list and I don’t use it often. Occasionally, I will reach out to people who have shown interest in being beta readers, but mostly I only update it with news about when a book will be coming out, along with some updates on other books. If you’re not on the email list and you want to keep up to date with different projects I’m working on then please sign up!

Story length: 3000 words

I hope you enjoy it.

Quinn waited impatiently by the base of a rather annoying and very chatty Oak tree. She’d been hoping for a moment to solidify her thoughts about… him. The one she’d been waiting for and the one, it would appear, cared little about being on time. Although Quinn wasn’t entirely sure what the ‘Sun’s highest point’ was. But she assumed it was midday, which it was, and still he’d not arrived.

            It had been a fortnight since they’d made these arrangements and Quinn had suspected that maybe, perhaps, he’d forgotten about it, or her or them for that matter.

            Human brains are like dried leaves in the wind. The oak wood had prattled on in the way only a tree who’d not moved for a millennium could. It hadn’t been Quinn’s idea to come to the woods, she hated the woods. Mostly since she could never meander through them without the thousands of tiny voices chattering in her ear as she walked. She’d longed to be one of those humans not cursed by the call of nature.

It was a term often misused by those who felt the woods spoke to them in some way, as if nowhere else on earth could put them more at ease. Not Quinn. Quinn truly possessed the call of the nature and with that the never-ending streams of consciousness that sprouted from the earth in the forms of trees, grass, vines, flowers even the supressed microfibers of mycelium whose chorus of trillions of muted voices, were muffled by the earth itself. Only tips of tiny fungal finger breaking free to share their stories in the fresh air.

            “I don’t find you very helpful.” Quinn said kicking the heel of her foot into the trunk of the tree, regretting it immediately, as she tried to mask the pain she felt from her now throbbing foot.

            Who said anything about being helpful? The tree replied as Quinn ignored the smattering of rustled leaves.

            “Funny.” Quinn said as she began pacing back and forth a long the small stretch of grass that had long since been trotted down.

            To be still is to be stable. The tree said.

            “Are you implying that I’m unstable?” Quinn asked her eyes narrowing as she tilted her head to look up at the tree’s canopy. But the tree remained silent. “Smart tree.” Quinn’s attention pulled away by a twig snapping nearby, only to be disappointed as a tiny chipmunk ran out from the woods its mouth bursting was tiny nuts as it stopped to peer up at Quinn briefly before running off into the woods.

            “Why would he insist on making plans only to not show up? Does he think I don’t have better things I could be doing? I do by the way.” Quinn said rolling her eyes at the still silent tree. “He was charming, very charming. He was the apprentice at the potters where I’d been sent to collect jars for my mother’s remedies, for her apothecary. It was the first time I’d ever offered to go because I despised leaving anywhere that forced me to trudge through the woods. You all can be very… incessant you know.”

Can we now.

“Yes. You can.” Quinn said shooing away the trees jest. At least it had felt like a jest, though Quinn wondered if trees could jest. They appeared a little to two ridged for something like that. “But I conceded, mainly to rid myself of the perpetual boredom that was Thicket River. A poor name for a town that isn’t anywhere near a river. I know,” Quinn said shaking her head as she slumped down on the ground and rested against the trunk of the tree. “How can it be called Thicket River? I have no idea.”

Time destroys meaning until all that’s left is truth. The tree said, its trunk groaning as it swayed in the wind.

“What?” Quinn asked, breaking a stick she picked up from the ground and was now snapping pieces off mindlessly as she tossed the tiny remains into the woods. She paused briefly looking at the stick then at the tree and feeling an ounce of guilt as she did so. “Sorry, does this… bother you?”

Does loose hair swept up by the wind and pushed swiftly into a nearby fire bother you?  The tree offered which cause Quinn to merely shrug as she continued breaking away the stick.

“Anyways, his name is Aiden he was quiet, at first he appeared to despise eye contact and was covered from head to foot in clay. I would not have thought twice about him had he not informed me that the pots I was scheduled to pick up were not ready and they would likely be another two days.” Quinn said shaking her head at the tree. “Two days I would be stuck in the town, not enough time to return home, and I lacked the means to stay any longer. That might have been the end of it had it not been for Aiden’s suggestion I stay with his family while I waited.”

            Rain is but a thousand single drops until it meets the ground. The Oak said and Quinn thought maybe she sensed something akin to joy, or a smile, but was unsure if trees smiled.

            “Sure. But Aiden, for reason undenounced to me at the time, was reluctant to go home and so he offered first took me to the river at the heart of town where he’d suggested a personal guided tour. Not that I’d really wanted a tour, I was tried and been travelling all day, but the offer came with a boat, one with a plush seat I’d felt inadequate to sit on with my traveling clothes. Nor did I think the owner would be to please with a two-day stench of ragged clothes on their nice fabric. But Aiden insisted and using a long stick he began ushering the two of us upriver without a single person pressing him about the boat or its owner despite lots passing by, and many even stopping to wave. Aiden appeared to know everyone. I found this odd.” Quinn said as she picked a leaf from out of her hair and placed it on the ground.

“Aiden, as it would happen, was a marvellous host. His calm and quiet demeanour disappeared, his true personality lighting up as we drifted down the river taking great care in describing landmarks and stories in great detail for me. I’ll be the first to admit how surprised I was to find myself having fun. I was even more surprised when Aiden moored the boat along the river of a large estate hopping off first before offering me a hand to assist me. I’d asked where we were and he’d said his house, though I didn’t believe it at the time that the clay covered boy in ragged clothes lived in an estate home. Impossible.” Quinn said chuckling and shaking her head as if even remembering it, didn’t make it real.

The canopy of the tree may block the sun, but this does not mean the sun is not there. The tree said thoughtfully, and Quinn glared up at its towering branches over her head.

“Do you ever speak plainly?” She asked shoving her hands in the dirt and pushing herself up to her feet.

Yes. The tree said brightly, and Quinn scoffed as she kicked off the dirt.

“So just not to me?” She said her brows raised accusingly, but the tree remained silent once again. Quinn’s bottom lip stuck out as she lazily skipped around the tree finally stopping with a heavy sigh. “Do you think he is coming?”

What I think means little to what you feel.

“I dislike you, Oak.” Quinn said as she dusted the dirt from the palms of her hands.  “As it would happen the house was, in fact, his. Or rather his families, Viscount Aiden Townsend the youngest and so I would later find out, oddest, son of Countess Lady Townsend and the Earl of Townsend. Needless to say the Countess was less than thrilled to have a poor apothecary apprentice in her home, though her stubborn pride was only marginally outmatched by the naive optimism of Aiden who somehow managed to convince his mother – though I take pride in the fact that I did manage, once, to remind them both that although I was not of noble birth I was still, in fact, standing in front of them. I’m unclear if this helped or hurt my cause but I’m not one for staying quiet.”

You are not.  The Oak replied, sounding rather amused by themselves.

“As I was saying.” Quinn said pacing slowly around the tree, hating herself for engaging with such a stubborn relic. Quinn’s mother had told her that her skills were a gift and perhaps it was if you wished to be an Apothecary, like her mother and father. At least the former was, and the latter had been, before he’d managed to get himself killed in battle. ‘He’d been courageous.’ Quinn’s mother used tell her. But the reality was he’d been naive and he’d died for nothing, at least nothing that Quinn could see, simply lines on a map she would never read.

Luckily for them Quinn’s mother had been smart enough to understand her father’s profession and had a knack for it. It also helped significantly when Quinn’s… talents had manifested and her mother had coming up with the brilliant idea to not register her talents with the registry in case they were seeking more bodies for their war.

Quinn was happy not to2 be at war though she admitted that not being in her village would also be nice.

The villagers were skeptical at first when Quinn’s mother had reopened the apothecary, but with Quinn’s deeper understanding of the earth combined with her mother’s knowledge the two eventually created a thriving business. People from all over travelled for their ointments, balms and elixirs.

Footsteps approach.  The Oak said, and Quinn felt a surge of hope, although there was no hiding the wary quality in the tress voice.

“Ouch!” Cried a voice in the distance. “Stop struggling.” Said another, neither of who sounded like Aiden. Quinn tucked herself behind the large Oak putting its massive trunk between her and the newcomers.

“I told you it would have been easier to not bring him, Gant.” Said the one who’d sounded like he’d been kicked, and Quinn thought maybe she’d heard the name before but couldn’t picture where.

“Mother told us to bring him, so we bring him.”

“You’re not the one carrying him.” Said a low rumbling second voice.

Quickly to the bush. Said the Oak as Quinn spotted the waving Downy Arrowwood bush a short skip away.

Not hesitating, Quinn leaped across tucking herself in behind the bush just in time to see the three figures step out from the bushes. One was a stalky fellow much older than Quinn, mid-twenties though he appeared older with the thinning hair he’s kept combed to one side. The other appeared slightly younger but his physical prowess was clearly visible to Quinn as he stood more than a head taller than the other men with broad shoulders and thick beard. He was holding up the only figure Quinn could recognize.

Aiden squirmed thrashing around as he tried and failed to wiggle free, but even this did little to bother the larger one who easily gripped the cords binding Aiden’s hands behind his back.

The smaller one held up a hand to stop them as he peered around the woods cautiously. He turned towards Aiden.

“Where is she? We’ve been waking around these bloody woods for hours.” He said as he flicked some dirt from under his nails. Aiden’s voice made a muffled sound with the cloth that had been tied in his mouth.

“I don’t understand? What was that?” The small man laughed at his own joke before pulling down the cloth in Aiden’s mouth.

“Quinn Run!” Aiden shouted as he received a slap across the face for his efforts.

“Aw. Aw. Aw. You said you’d play nice Aiden.”

“I’ll kill you Gant.” Aiden spat.

“Not a pleasant way to talk to your brother.”

“Go to Hell!” Aiden said stomping on the larger one’s foot causing him to cry out in pain as he hopped backwards and Quinn couldn’t help but noticed the thin root sprout up behind the man’s leg causing him to trip and fall backwards as he smashed into the forest floor.

“Ouch!”

“Get up Finn.” Gant shouted as Aiden began creating some distance between the two men.

“Did you do that?” Quinn whispered to the bush.

We did. The bush said as it’s leaves rustled. Funny, yes?

Quinn did think it was funny but the rustling caused Gant to look in her directions. She quickly ducked behind the bush.

“What do I do?” Quinn whispered and she could feel her heart thumping in her ears.

The lowest vine sometime needs the tree to access the light. The Oak said and although she’d wished the tree could speak plainly, she believed she understood it correctly. Thinking for a moment she managed to come up with a brilliant or possibly stupid idea.

“Follow my lead.” Quinn said to the plants and before she could second guess herself, Quinn stepped out from the bush to a very shocked looking Aiden.

“Quinn, I said run. My mother, she knows what you can —”

“Shut up brother.” Gant said gesturing the back of his hand towards Aiden before turning to face Quinn as Finn climbed back up to his feet both men looking a little smug. “I suggest you make this easy and come with us.” Gant said hooking his thumb between himself and Finn.

“I suggest you leave Aiden and go home.” Quinn said with as much bravado as she could muster.

“Do you now.” Gant said giving her an evil grin.

“I do. Before anyone gets hurt.” She said, as Gant began to laugh followed by Finn.

“You hear that Finn before anyone gets hurt. And I suppose you’re the one who is going to do the hurting then girl?”

“You could say that.” Quinn said.

“Quinn, you need to run.” Aiden said pleading with her.

“Too late for that little brother.” Gant said sounds pleased with himself as Gant and Flinn began to circle. “You don’t know our mother. But once she wants something she gets it. And an unregistered mage in her position would be… well priceless. You can come with us and you’ll live a good life, our mother is a sensible women.”

“He’s lying Quinn my mother would sell you to the highest bidder, you can’t go with them.”  Aiden said as he charged at Gant, but his tied hands were still behind his back and Gant simply rolled to one said sticking a leg under Aiden causing him to wipe out along the earth.

“Stay down brother and make this easy on both of you. Now come girl.” He said curling a finger in Quinn’s direction.

“You want me? Come get me?” Quinn said putting her hands up in front of her like a boxer. Gant simple laughed and nodded towards Finn.

“Grab her so we can get out of here.” Gant said with calm assurance of a man taking a toy away for a small child.

Finn made to walk towards Quinn but when he got within arm’s length away and reached out to grab her, he stopped suddenly his legs firmly planted to the ground as thin wiry threads of roots rose up and snatched his legs.

“What the?” He began as Quinn stepped in and kicked him square in the groin.

Flinn cried out in pain and fell back against the ground, as more roots shot out from the woods and wrapped around the large man’s body and dragged him off into the woods.

“Your turn.” Quinn said a little surprised that the bushes had agreed to help so easily but tried to mask it in her newfound confidence.

“I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot.” Gant said eyes widening as he back up slowly.

“Do you now?” Quinn said. “Untie him.” She growled then smiled as Gant ran off and quickly untied Aiden who ran over beside Quinn, and she was excited when he reached for her hand. The same one she’d been waiting to hold for the past two week since she’d left him.

“I’m sorry.” Aiden said shaking his head like he planned to say more but she stopped him.

“I knew you’d come.” She said softly as she suppressed the urge to embrace him, not while his brothers were still there. “You.” She said turning her head to face Gant. “Leave now. And tell your mother to leave us alone.”

“I can’t. She won’t Aiden knows what she’s like we can’t.”

“Leave.” Quinn said and as if to help emphasize her powers the vines began to grow behind her threateningly and she could feel Aiden’s hands grip hers tighter.

“Fine. I will but Flinn.”

“Will catch up soon I promise.” Quinn said with a grin as she watched Gant try and figure out what he should do before finally turning on his heels and dashing off into the woods.

“You’re really just going to let him get leave?” Aiden asked, and as if Quinn could have planned it better the branch of a nearby Elm swung low and hard knocking Gant to the ground with a heavy thud.

“Now. I’ll let him go.” Quinn said with a chuckle as she turned to face Aiden. “It’s good to see you again.            

“It’s good to see you too.” He said with a grin. “I had no idea you could do that.” He said looking back at his groaning brother on the ground. “To be honest, neither did I.” Quinn laughed.

So one of the things I started with my partner Hilary is for her to provide me with a Theme/Location/Genre and I give myself 24 hours to write and edit it. They are by no means perfect, but I think they are fun. This is the first one in the series I guess. Some of you might have already read this if you are on my email list. If you’re not on the email list and you want access to some more stories early on or would like to keep up to date with different projects I’m working on then please sign up!

I hope you enjoy it.

George Weatherspoon III brooded on the top of a sandhill just 500 feet away from his 1.4 million dollar pit he’d had dug beneath the desert floor. He’d never intended to let the project go this far, though intent, rarely mattered when it came to discovering what he’d hoped would be the lost Cave of Enlightenment, though now be best described as a tomb he’d be better off burying himself in. 

            George thrust his hand into the sand and its billions of rounded golden granules of quartz, pulling it out only to watch as tiny rivers of gold slipped through his fingers as quickly as his dreams had. A truck engine fired up in the distance and George didn’t even bother to turn back to look, he knew it was the last of the workers, unhappy with being sent home early though nowhere near as angry as they were sure to become when news spread that George couldn’t pay them for their last week of work. 

Another problem for another day. George thought bitterly as he threw his head back, letting the last rays of sunshine warm his face. It was almost pleasant had it not been for the persistent torment and constant re-enactment of his personal failures. 

He would have screamed into the darkening void had it not been for his tailored upbringing to never show any signs of emotions save for the pleasant smile offered to distinguished members of his family and the occasional guest. The Weatherspoon name was rooted deep in high noses, silent judgment, and deep pockets. Not nearly as deep as I needed. 

The sun sank low towards the horizon setting the world before him into an explosion of fiery reds, incandescent yellows and opulent purples as the setting sun clashed against the birthing night sky. No stars were visible yet though it was only a matter of time before darkness shrouded George’s world and speckled his vision with countless stars depicting tiny visions of universal history.

George pushed himself to his feet and watched the miniature avalanche of sand cascade down the hill in front of him, suddenly aware he was too proud to take that first step towards the distant sun and endless horizon, to end his current misery. With a heavy sigh, he turned around and trudged along the sandy hills back towards his empty hole ignoring the shadowy creatures rosing from their homes beneath the sand. 

He’d nearly covered the distance to camp when he noticed a flickering pale green hue illuminating from inside his pit. Now in the near complete darkness, George could only just make out enough to know that not a single soul had stayed behind, save maybe for someone naïvely searching for justice with George Weatherspoon, third of his name. A welcomed idea?

Shaking the weakened thought from his mind, George understood to his core he was not ready to end it all, that surely a man of his stature and prowess could always find a way to recoup his losses and perhaps turn this around. All he needed to do was insist he’d not been wrong and spin his failure into a narrative better suited for a man of his stature. He would, could never hang his head in shame. I’m a bloody Weatherspoon for Christ’s sake!

Possessed with a new vigour George approached the hole ready to stand his ground, but before his bravado had a chance to carry his intent over the side towards whomever was prodding around his hole, he halted, marking the figure below him. 

They appeared short or hunched perhaps and from George’s positioning and distance, there was no way to tell the sex of the intruder nor make out their body, face, legs or any real recognizable features at all. What George could see was a thick archway protruding out of the sandstone in every green light. Enclosing the archway, embedded into its surface were glowing green runes which appeared slowly as the hooded figure spoke and pressed a narrow gaunt hand against an inverted double-lined triangle. 

“I know what it is you seek.” Said a voice, though George was unsure if the voice was heard aloud or in his head, given its clarity in his mind. 

“What are you doing in my pit?” George called out, very much aloud as he heard his words echo off the far wall where the stranger stood. 

“You will not find it.” The Stanger said, its voice was clear despite its raspy and thin quality, like some aged voice whispering on a foggy night.  

George leaned in to take a better look at the runes around the edge of the archway and though he couldn’t make them all out there was a familiar quality about them and enough he could decipher from his position the word Enlightenment, which was enough to perk him up if only a little. 

“Perhaps you can show me, how to find it?” George said taking a tiny step towards the rim of the pit, peering ever closer though careful not to step over the edge. 

“Why should I help you?” The face turned back to peer back at George though he saw nothing more than a glint from their eyes beneath their hood. 

“I can make it worth your while.” George lied, knowing full well he had nothing left to give, apparently not even his word was worth much. 

“Only one can enter.” The voice rasped just as George felt something crawl across the top of his foot and he glanced down spotting a dozen or scorpions scurrying out from the depths of the pit and over his feet. Shocked, George kicked the arachnid off his foot, losing his balance in the process as he slipped sending both sand and the venomous creatures soaring through the air as his body plummeted down the fifteen feet towards the hard sandstone floor. 

With an agonizing crunch, George Weatherspoon III felt his ankle snap before his tailbone smashed against the hardened surface sending a surge of pain rushing up his spine and into the back of his neck before spreading tiny tendrils of pain throughout his body. He lurched side to side in agony his brain unable to process the spasms of hurt coursing through his body. He might have lived in this misery a moment longer had it not been for the touch of a cold hand against his forehead and when he opened his eyes to examine the fresh soothing sensation, he caught, for the first time, the sight of the withered and frail face before him. They appeared to be a walking mummified corps with thin dry lips and cracked flat nose. Had their beady black eye not been staring at him, George might have assumed they were dead. Perhaps they are?

“I need help,” George whispered holding his leg. The corps stared at him for a long moment before moving away slowly and George glanced back at the door fading away in the distance since the stranger’s hand was no longer pressed against its walls. “The Door!” George screamed watching as all his dreams vanished with its pale emerald glow. 

“Only one may enter. Only one can see what lies beyond the doorway.” 

“I need to know,” George said wincing as he struggled to his feet. The stranger put out a hand for him to take, and he eyed the stranger warily wondering how this frail creature might support him in any way. 

“The choice is yours.” They said quietly and once again George wondered if they’d moved their lips at all. Feeling the pain not just from his fall but from losing all he’d been working towards. To be so close to the Cave of Enlightenment only to give up now. Should I be so weak as to let fear take me now? What more do I have to lose?

Wincing as he took a step closer George clasped the withered hand of the stranger feeling an immediate warmth wash over his body as his pain subsided and was replaced with something akin to hope.

With easy stripes now, George walked alongside the stranger towards the fading door desperately trying to peer into the dark void beyond but seeing nothing but absolute darkness. 

“If you wish to see the truth, willingly be the key and let the truth set you free.” The stranger said taking a step back and waiting patiently for George to decide. 

“It’s the only way to see inside?” He asked his hand hovering over the double-lined triangle now fading into the night. 

“Yes.” The stranger nodded. 

George clenched his hand repeatedly feeling the tightness firm up and fade away with each repetition. He could feel his heart throbbing against his chest and pumping away within his ears until the steady beat threatened to deafen him. Stealing a deep breath George pressed his palm against the surface stone face and its symbol.

The rock was still warmed from the daylight, though that was not what he’d been expecting. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, would happen but surely there must be more than… nothing. He waited, annoyed, for a moment looking into the void darkness feeling a surge of uneasiness rising within him. 

But just as he was prepared to chide the stranger for their lies a faint glimmer of light shone out from the void, at first he thought maybe it was a trick of his eyes, But then it was quickly followed by another, then another before a cravenness space appeared before him filled with uncountable books, treasures stacked up into tiny dunes of gold, glimmering diamonds and gemstones larger than Georges fists. He tried to speak but all that came out was choked laughter feeling satisfied in his knowledge he’d been right and no longer would his name be dragged through the mud. He made to say as much, turning back to speak to the stranger. But they were no longer there. The withered mummified corpse shrouded in a black cloak was no longer present but replaced by a woman not much younger than himself her dark hair and eyes sparkled with golden threads and he smile shone brightly with the moonlight as she turned and walked away. 

            “Where are you going?” 

            “I told you. Only one may see what’s inside the cave of enlightenment.” She smiled thinly, and although he looked for it, he found no hint of malice in her stare. Just the wariness of someone freed from confinement after so many years exiled. 

George pulled his hand away and chased after the woman who was already up her first flight of stairs and as George made his way up the stairs, he felt the pull of some invisible force dragging him back towards the door. 

            “You tricked me!” George shouted as anger boiled within him. 

            “No. I did not.” The woman said calmly. “Only one may see within the cave.” And without another word, she stepped over the edge leaving George Weatherspoon III staring up at the night sky in his tomb beneath the stars. 

“Honeybee”

Thriller

            “Claire?” said a low muffled voice over a loudspeaker.

            Claire struggled to open her eyes to the searing light that threatened to burn them with each miserable blink. She tried shielding the light with her hands but found them bound tightly around a chair, the cords burrowing into her wrists as she began fighting against her restraints.

            “Good of you to join us Claire.” Said the ominous voice.

            “Where am I.” the words feeling like sandpaper in her throat.

            “You’ve been a bad girl, Claire.”

            “Who are you? Why can’t I move?” Claire said, kicking her feet and finding the same tight cords holding them in place.

            “All in good time.”

            “LET ME OUT OF HERE!” she screamed, thrashing about in the metal chair, pulling so aggressively on her restraints they threatened to tear through her skin.

            “Careful Claire.” The voice spoke calmly as her chair rocked so far, its legs slid out from under her. She crashed to the ground, her body and head slamming hard against the cold concrete floor causing an immense amount of pain in both.

            Her vision filled with tiny bursting stars scattered throughout a black backdrop. Heavy footsteps sounded from somewhere beside her and stopped. A set of firm hands reached down and gripped her shoulders as both she and the chair were hauled upright.

            “Help me.” She offered weakly, but if she was heard, it was ignored.

            “Now, now Claire, we wouldn’t want you to…” The voice paused as Claire began to cough incessantly. “hurt yourself.”

            “Water. Please.” Claire fought to get the words out. A moment later the heavy footsteps returned holding a bottle of water up to her mouth. She guzzled the cool liquid down with a ferocity she never knew she had.

            “What am I doing here?” she asked as the bottle was pulled away from her face, spilling its contents over her.

            “Retribution. Justice. Call it what you will.”

            “I don’t understand,” Claire said, her voice trembling as a heavy sigh poured out from the loudspeaker.

            “Let’s not pretend I don’t already know you. Claire Knapp. Born February 12^th, 1982. Married to Teresa Knapp. You live at…”

            “Don’t you talk about my wife!”

            “563 Everglen Crescent.”

            “So, you read my Facebook?” Claire hissed.

            “Teresa makes you a soymilk latte every morning.”

            “Stop!”

            “She adds cinnamon to the top and hands it to you as you walk out the door on your way to Navinto Pharmaceuticals.”

            “STOP!”

            “When she hands you the coffee, she gives you a kiss on the cheek and tells you to be cheeky, and” The voice holds for a moment.

            “Stay sweet,” Claire whispered.

            “Let’s agree I know more. Dr. Claire Knapp.”

            “What do you want?” Claire asked, as she rubbed her forefinger and thumb together softly, a technique that normally would help to steady her nerves.

            “We want you to help us.”

            “Help you to what? Who’s we?”

            “Unimportant. And it’s easy, just be honest.” The voice said steadily as Claire’s palms began to sweat causing her fingers to stick uncomfortably as they rubbed. “Come clean about what it is you’ve been doing.”  Her body was stiff as a board, and her heart pounded in her chest. “And then, destroy all of your research on project Honeybee.” Her left eye twitched insistently now, causing an irritable itch she wished she could scratch.

            The voice’s words hung uncomfortably in the air threatening to make her vomit.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Claire’s voice trembling. She tried to squint through the cruel lights that felt like they would boil her. The silence that followed, did little to ease her nerves, her chest felt tight, suddenly feeling like a surfer trapped beneath the waves, gasping for air.

            “Wrong answer.” said the voice, drenching each word in pity.

            From the corner of her eye, she caught a hint of movement, but as quickly as it had appeared it was gone, replaced by the sharpened edge of a butcher’s blade which chopped down violently against her wrist slicing through the skin, tendons and bones like butter. Claire watched the hand fall lifelessly to the ground her mind weakly catching a glimmer of light bouncing off the diamonds of her wedding band. 

            A rush of emptiness filled her body at the shock of losing her limb, but the void filled quickly with a torrent of pain as blood leaked out from the missing appendage, the tight bands limiting the potential current of red gore.  

            Claire let out a guttural cry of shock and horror as her head, drained of all functionalities, collapsed into her chest and her world turned black.

            Claire woke to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, her eyes blinked in rapid succession as they tried to adjust to the florescent white lights of a hospital room. She lifted her hand to shield them, which offered only brief respite from the harsh lights.

            Her mind felt foggy as she scrambled to grasp what little memories she could. She pressed her hands against the cot to sit up, shooting an excruciating pain up her arm into her neck. In a frenzy, she gaped at the thick blanket of white gauze where her hand used to be.

            Claire screamed as visions of her bondage rushed back, but this time, without restraints, she thrashed around violently in nothing but a hospital gown. She scrambled off the bed, her bare feet landing with a thud against the tiled floor.

            “Where are you!” Claire screamed as her legs wobbled. Though each step landed marginally less awkwardly than its predecessor. She tripped into a steel dolly, scattering its contents of bloodied wraps and used medical equipment across the floor.

            She attempted to steady herself in vain as another round of punishing spasms tore through her body. Her childlike legs were unable to catch themselves as she hurdled into the ground. The pain and agony filled her with the insatiable urge to curl up into a ball and cry.

            Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew she had to get out. Whoever had done this would come back, prepared to tear her apart piece by piece until they got what they wanted.

            Spotting one of the dispersed scalpels across the room, Claire crawled to it wrapping her good hand tightly around the weapon before driving her fist into the tiled floor and pushing herself first to her knees, then slowly to her feet. Each movement was a battle between excruciating pain and the will to survive.

            She slowly found her footing as she stumbled towards a set of swinging doors. Peering through one of their rounded windows she saw a dark and grimy hallway, in stark contrast to the clean antiseptic room she currently found herself in.

            Pressing her back against the doors they swung freely as she ventured out. Her feet peeled themselves of the filthy, once-white tiles with each new step.

            “I’m sorry about the hand. I would have preferred not to, but you left little choice.” Said a voice from inside her head Claire flinched at its abruptness  

            “Where the fuck are you, you bastard?” Claire said swinging the scalpel carelessly around her.

            “If you’d only listened to me this would’ve been easier.”

            “Fuck you.” The bodiless voice laughed.

            “I see you.”

            Claire spun around frantically, until she spotted a camera light, in the corner of the hall pointing directly at her.

            “I’m in your head.” It whispered.

            Claire rubbed her finger behind her ear feeling the bandage and the stitches it covered.

            “Ding, ding, ding.” The voice laughed, “I wouldn’t do that.” The voice said as Claire held the scalpel up examining it as if she might cut out whatever they’d put in. “Not if you want to Find Teresa.” 

            “If you hurt her!” Teresa’s name flared up Claires anger. 

            “I can confidently say that I will not touch her.” The voice replied enjoying whatever game they thought this was.

            “She’s in the room at the end of the hall. Though she may be a bit sleepy still.” It said as Claire hobbled down the hall glancing into the various side room along the way, stopping at one.

            Like everywhere else so far, this room was empty save for a gun resting on a desk. Disregarding her common sense, she ducked inside and grabbed it. It felt cold and heavy in her palm though it seemed to offer her a confidence she lacked before.

            “A gun is a better weapon.” The voice whispered. “Less intimate than the scalpel.”

            Claire ignored it, eyes focused on the swinging door at the end of the hall. She dropped her shoulder into it and barged through, her gun raised in anticipation, but she saw nothing except for Teresa who lay prone on a hospital cot, the room spotless except for the greasy footprints tracked in by Claire.

            “Teresa?” Claire said moving to her side, she looked unharmed still wearing the jeans and green shirt Claire had seen her in before this entire nightmare.  “Teresa, wake up!” she shouted, patting her cheeks which seemed damp and clammy and a little redder then normal. Seeing some movement under her eyes Claire assumed whatever sedative they’d used was wearing off.

            “Claire? What’s going on?” She asked groggily as she sat up clocking the gun, then the bandages, “Holy shit! Your hand—”

            “You need to listen to me love; you need to get up we need to leave here now. Okay?  Can you do that? Can you walk?” Claire asked ignoring Teresa’s obvious horror at seeing Claires’ missing hand. “Please love we need to move now!”

            “You need a doctor,” Teresa fussed as she slid off the cot, gripping the rail to catch herself from falling.

            “I’m fine.” Claire lied, turning to help Teresa but stopping when she caught sight of the bloodied gauze.

            “I’m okay.” Teresa said, as Claire moved back towards the swinging doors. “Where is everyone? Why are we here?”

            “We were taken. I’m not sure why.”

            “Lies.” Said the voice.

            “Shut up!” Claire snapped.

            “What?”  Teresa asked.

            “Nothing. We have to keep moving.” As Claire moved back into the hallway.

            “Lies are the reason you’re here. The reason she’s here.”

            “Teresa’s a good person!”

            “Claire?” Teresa said propping the doors open, her body silhouetted by the bright florescent lights of the operating room.

            “We need to move!” Claire shouted but Teresa didn’t budge.

            “She is great. I suspect better than you or me. But you need to learn. What you’re doing has consequences. You could be home, having dinner. Instead, you’re here.”

            “Not until you tell me what’s going on?” Teresa demanded.

            “You, and the people you work for. Act without consequence, thinking you’re above reproach.”

            “We help people!”

            “Is that what Honeybee is doing?”

            “It could save millions!”

            “More lies! Generating a virus so your company could cure it? Please, you have no interest in saving people Claire.”

            “I do!”

            “Then prove it.”

            “Claire, you’re scaring me.”

            “How?”

            “Save millions, by killing 1.” Claire’s face drained of what little colour remained. “Clammy skin, discolouration of the skin, tightening pupils?”

            “How?” But the question seemed hollow as she glanced down at her missing hand.

            “We have all your files.” The voice said quietly as Claire beat her fist against her the side of her head.

            “Get out!” Claire whispered as tears streamed down her face.

            “Do you think you find a cure before she kills millions?”

            “Claire, talk to me.” Teresa said, stumbling back into the operating room.

            “You say you help people Claire? What are you willing to do to help them?” The voice’s words lingered heavily as Claire walked slowly back to her wife.

            “What’s wrong with me?” Teresa said weakly.

            “You’re sick.” Claire said wiping the tears from her eyes, her gun now weak in her grip. Her body, void of all her pain as she suddenly felt empty.

            “You can help me, right?” Teresa coughed violently as blood speckled her hands. Claire shrank into herself.

            “Yes.”