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. 

I’ve had a lot of questions about whether or not this story is the second novel in the Ash and Sun series and it is not, you will unfortunately have to wait a little while longer to finish that series though I plan on having both book 2 and 3 out within the year.

Atlantis is a standalone novel set in a futuristic city floating in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I am excited to share this world with you and hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

All the best,

Jonny Thompson

Let me start by saying that I’m not great at creating social content but this is something I plan on working on as I progress further down this path and I truly appreciate anyone that is taking the time to read this post!

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my debut novel Ash and Sun, it means a lot to me that people have been enjoying it. That said, I have some things to announce, this past year has been busy and I finally get to announce some new projects I’ve been working on.

Currently, I’m in the final stages of editing for my next novel Atlantis. It is a speculative fiction thriller about JFT2 (Joint Task Force 2) operative, Clive Davie, who is sent to a mysterious, technologically advanced, floating city in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean built by a billionaire genius Grace Alice. His task is to discover what is happening in this city and if the rumours of a mysterious weapon, code-named Blue Crest, can topple the world as we know it. To make matters worse, he only has twenty-eight days to figure it out. As his time dwindles and Clive discovers more about the technological and societal advances of Atlantis, he is forced to consider whether he is on the right side, or if he is simply being lured into this new world’s false sense of security.

I am also thrilled to share with you the cover art for this project created by the brilliant and talented R. Whittwham who never ceases to amaze me with her creative prowess.

This book will be shortly followed up by a project that’s inspired by the time I recently spent back home in my hometown of St. Marys, ON. I thought it would be fun to write something that shared a little history of the town. Despite being set in 2012, this book is 100% fiction, all of the people in the story are fictional and although some of the locations are loosely based on some places in town, nothing is named directly.

The Limestone Manor is a cozy mystery about retired Toronto police detective Cliff Shaw as he reluctantly returns to his hometown of St. Marys, ON, after a fifty-year hiatus. Brought back under a very misleading promise of independence and cheap accommodations, Cliff steps off the train into a murder investigation. As old habits die hard, his keen observations and years of experience only succeed in dragging him further into a case and a town he immediately regrets returning to. Despite himself, Cliff discovers he has one week to save a town he’d long ago turned his back on, and possibly even worse, see if he wants to forgo his life of solitude to live instead with five other octogenarians who seem to have a knack for solving murders.

I look forward to sharing this book soon!

Lastly, I have finished early drafts of two more books and some of you may be excited to hear one of those books is Part 2 of the Ash and Sun series titled Firefly. The other is a Young Adult novel, temporarily titled Celestial Academy, a series I’ve been thinking about for over eight years. So I’m excited about that! With these completed, I’m planning to get started on Book 3 of the Ash and Sun trilogy with a tentative plan to release these books throughout 2024.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. I look forward to updating you again soon! Please, keep your eyes peeled for Atlantis and The Limestone Manor coming into your news feed soon!

Happy reading,

Jonny Thompson

P.s. I’ll try to be better at updates.

“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.”