by steve higgs
Blue Moon Investigations:
An Urban Fantasy Boxed Set
Paranormal Nonsense
The Phantom of Barker Mill
Zombie Granny – A Short Story
Spooky Shopping Mall – The Harper Files Case 1
The Klowns of Kent
Note from the Author:
Hi there,
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Books by Steve Higgs
Click the links to find the books in your local Amazon store.
Blue Moon Investigations
A Typo, a Werewolf, and Two Dopey Dachshunds
Paranormal Nonsense
The Phantom of Barker Mill
Zombie Granny – a Short Story
The Klowns of Kent
Dead Pirates of Cawsand
The Witches of East Malling
Whispers in the Rigging
Bloodlust Blonde
A Typo, a Werewolf, and Two Dopey Dachshunds – An Origin Story
Paws of the Yeti – Book Moon Book 7
The Harper Files
Can I Kick a Ghost in the Nuts?
In the Doodoo With Voodoo with short story Guys and Dolls
Crop Circles, Cows and Crazy Aliens
Coming soon
Lord Hale’s Monster – The Harper Files Case 4
Paranormal Nonsense
Paranormal Nonsense
Blue Moon Investigations
Book 1
Steve Higgs
Text Copyright © 2017 Steven J Higgs
Publisher: Steve Higgs
The right of Steve Higgs to be identified as author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copywrite law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
‘Paranormal Nonsense’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
The Body of Victoria Turnbull. Thursday 23rd September 0500hrs
Rochester High Street. Thursday 23rd September 0830hrs
Poltergeist. Thursday 23rd September 0942hrs
Investigating the Vampire Murders. Thursday September 23rd 1237hrs
Cooper Estate Chatham. Thursday September 23rd 1552hrs
The Cranfield’s Poltergeist. Friday September 24th 0213hrs
Case solved. Friday September 24th 0245hrs
My House. Friday September 24th 0914hrs
Interviewing old ladies. Friday September 24th 1230hrs
Pub O’clock. Friday September 24th 1846hrs
Friday Night at the Pub. Friday September 24th 1937hrs
Call from Mrs Cambridge. Saturday September 25th 0730hrs
Outside the Cottage of Mrs Cambridge. Saturday September 25th 0825hrs
Inside the Cottage of Mrs Cambridge. Saturday September 25th 0832hrs
After Demedicus. Saturday September 25th 1257hrs
Mum and Dad. Saturday September 25th 1443hrs
Roast Dinner Ambush. Saturday September 25th 1500hrs
Late Night Cabbie. Sunday September 25th 0156hrs
Early Morning Surprise. Sunday September 26th 0817hrs
Crime Scene. Sunday September 26th 1000hrs
My House. Sunday September 26th 1215hrs
Movie Night at My House. 1926hrs Sunday 26th September
Bluebell Hill. Monday September 27th 0705hrs
Vampire killers. Monday September 27th 0936hrs
Mystery Men Bookshop. Monday September 27th 1124hrs
Mrs Sweeting Brand. Monday September 27th 1147hrs
Maidstone Hospital. Monday September 27th 1235hrs
Frank’s Theories. Monday September 27th 1315hrs
Investigating the Bluebell Big Foot. Monday September 27th 1432hrs
Hot Chocolate. Monday September 27th 1816hrs
Kent Vampire Nest (or is that Hive?). Monday September 27th 1930hrs
Death by Fire. Monday September 27th 1948hrs
Maidstone Police Station. Monday September 27th 2051hrs
Mum and Dad. Monday September 27th 2015hrs
Maidstone. Monday September 27th 2137hrs
My House. Monday September 27th 2151hrs
My House. Tuesday September 28th 0530hrs
Interview With a Vampire. Tuesday September 28th 0927hrs
Vampire Killer-Wannabes part 2. Tuesday September 28th 1122hrs
Where is Poison? Tuesday September 28th 1225hrs
The Horror of the Truth. Tuesday 28th September 1247hrs
My House. Tuesday September 28th 1342hrs
Chilwell Castle. Tuesday September 28th 1527hrs
Inside the Mausoleum. Tuesday September 28th 1607hrs
Outside the Mausoleum. Tuesday September 28th 1915hrs
Riverside Path. Tuesday September 28th 2001hrs
Solving the Blue Bell Big Foot Case. Wednesday 29th September 0347hrs
Lunch. Wednesday September 29th 1412hrs
Euphoria. Wednesday September 29th 1658hrs
Inside Mary’s House. Wednesday September 29th 1748hrs
Pub O’clock. Friday October 1st 1907hrs
The Body of Victoria Turnbull. Thursday, 23rd September 0500hrs
PC Amanda Harper checked her watch: 0513hrs. It was neither light nor dark, that time of the morning when the first rays of sun have begun to pierce the gloom yet hadn't really done anything to lighten the surroundings. She was standing on a narrow path that bordered the river Medway near to Maidstone. The path was tranquil, picturesque and thoroughly safe during daylight hours. She had walked along it many times, but in the dark, it was far less pleasant. Starkly, she found it was foreboding and anxiety-inducing and was telling herself to man-up and stop imagining that the things rustling in the undergrowth were coming to get her. Her shift had started at 1800hrs last night, a Wednesday, and she should be finishing her shift in less than an hour. Experience had taught her that it was not going to go like that though. After seven years on the beat, this was not her first murder scene and there was no way they were going to replace her this side of breakfast. If anything, they needed more people on the scene to manage human traffic, keep crowds back and assist SOCO to conduct their investigation. She would be swept up into the day of important tasks that needed doing fast.
She checked her watch again and shifted her feet a little. Trying not to look like she was dancing, she moved her arms about a bit to keep the stiffness out and the cold away. The warmth of August was long forgotten, rep
laced by the coolness of autumn. Amanda was thankful that this September morning was dry. However, the early morning mist forming on the river was still damp and the cool air had penetrated her layers of uniform a good half hour ago.
Sgt Dave Barnet appeared out of the gloom a few yards away from where he had undoubtedly been involved in something far more interesting than perimeter security. Dave fancied her, she knew it, although he had never said anything and was quite polite and avoided flirting in general. She could tell though when she caught him glancing away when she turned, when he smiled at her and gave one too many work-related compliments. She was attractive. She accepted that as one accepts that your hair is brown, or your eyes are blue. She understood that genetics had given her an athletic figure, high cheekbones, flowing hair and a strong jawline that could have led to modelling. It was not a career choice that had interested her, although right now the thought of a bikini shoot in the Bahamas for some new swimwear firm sounded like a vast improvement. Come to think of it, topless glamour modelling sounded good about now when compared to freezing her nipples off next to a river in the middle of the night, guarding a murder scene in Maidstone.
Dave looked over, caught her eye and began walking towards her. Emerging from the gloom, his face was grim. ‘What have we got?’ she asked.
‘Nasty and weird murder, that’s what,’ he answered, ‘Another bitten throat. Poor girl would have bled to death and it was clearly quite violent.’ Neither said anything for a moment while the river mist swirled about them.
‘Is it like the others? Same MO?’
‘I wouldn't go on record with that, but yes essentially it appears to be the same.' Even up close it was difficult to see his features in the dark, but he sounded weary and stressed. Amanda had seen a few bodies. Murder in Kent was relatively rare but she had been around long enough to have attended a fair number of murder scenes. The recent series, if they could call it that, were something else though. Each of the three victims, assuming this was number three, had been alone when attacked at night and were found with a wound to their throat. The press had gotten hold of it almost two weeks ago, two days after the second murder and were already calling it the vampire attacks, or other such crude but catchy names. The term The Vampire had been coined immediately by The Weald Word, a local paper more used to reporting jumble sale successes and prize-winning turnips. Their lead reporter led with the legend, "Vampire killer loose in Maidstone." It was published the morning following the second murder. This had been seized upon by the National press in what was a slow news week and now it was hard to think of the perpetrator by another term.
Amanda squinted at her Sergeant's face, trying to get a read of his expression in the gloom. ‘So, what is the scene like? Likelihood of usable evidence? she asked.
‘Just like the last two, I think. Not much of anything to help us,' he replied, his tone carrying little inflection, ‘There will be saliva around the wound, but that has already been checked and lead us nowhere. Other than that, this guy does not leave anything we can use. The SOCO chaps will be thorough, but whether they are able to find anything helpful…' he trailed off just as his radio squawked, the sound cutting through the quiet stillness of the dawn in a shocking burst of noise. The call was for him, so he left her there with a brief nod as he went.
Another forty-five minutes passed as the sun struggled lazily upwards. It lit the sky, making it feel like morning by the time PC Brad Hardacre emerged from the trees surrounding the tented crime scene. She spotted him because she was looking the wrong way again, thoroughly bored with watching the ducks sleep on the bank next to her. Just before 0600hrs, she had actually performed her function and turned away two joggers as they ran down the path towards her, presumably on their usual route. Other than that, she had done nothing for the last two hours.
She checked her watch: 0602hrs. ‘Good morning, Amanda, how has your day been so far?’ hallooed Brad as he approached. Brad was an okay guy, most of them were with the odd exception, but she quite liked him and might have been interested if they did not work together.
‘It has been sucky mostly, Brad, but nowhere near as bad as the girl lying over there had it,’ she gestured with her head to the tents.
‘Another Vampire victim?’ Brad asked while making his canines stick out below his top lip.
‘Didn't you check in with control when you arrived?' she asked with exasperation, ‘You know the protocols, Brad. How can you know what is happening if you avoid getting a brief?'
He smiled and waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially, ‘I quite like the idea of a vampire in Maidstone. It adds a bit of badly needed cool and hipness to the dreary landscape. Vampires are cool, right? Besides, the Chief can eat my pants.’
‘If you are a teenage girl and a virgin and have watched too much Twilight then maybe vampires are cool. Otherwise, they are for geeks with Buffy the Vampire Slayer fantasies.' She looked him dead in the face, ‘I doubt the victim will agree that vampires are cool.' This was a little hard on him, a little banter around horrible events is completely normal, a coping mechanism, but he needed to reel it in for his own good.
‘Well, now that you are here, you can stand watch on this lonely, boring path while I get warm, get some blood back into my limbs and get a cup of tea. I'm off to see what is going on.' With that, she headed over to the tents covering the body.
Rochester High Street. Thursday 23rd September 0830hrs
I was oblivious to the latest murder at this point and was sitting in a coffee shop opposite my office in Rochester High Street sipping a fresh, strong coffee while reading the papers. I should probably introduce myself though since this story is largely about me. My name is Tempest Danger Michaels. You are probably thinking that I have a ridiculous name. Most people do.
It was not of my choosing, of course, you understand how it works. As a child, I thought nothing of it until I started school and the reactions began. Of course, I introduce myself as Tempest, which raises an eyebrow occasionally but little more than that. It is not until my middle name is discovered that real comments begin.
My Father explained that he had wanted me to have a memorable name that would assist me in life. Personally, I think he watched too many adventure films and got carried away with romantic notions of heroes saving the day. I admit that I have used the line "Danger really is my middle name" and proceeded to prove it a few times as an adult by producing my driving license, and that once or twice it has resulted, part way at least, in getting me laid. So, I guess there are advantages and disadvantages to my name as much as there are to any other. The problem generally, is that people assume I have changed my name, that I chose it myself because I wanted to say, "Danger is my middle name" before diving out of a window or something equally moronic.
Now that I have explained the name, I am still faced with the unfortunate task of telling you what I do for a living. I have my own business and that of course always sounds good, but when you are on the second date and the lady wants to hear more about you, there is simply no good way of telling her that you are a paranormal investigator. The reactions have been entertaining I suppose. Some freeze and ask me to repeat myself, some laugh and ask me what I really do. One called me a total loser and walked straight out of the restaurant. However, not one lady has ever been impressed with my current job. Doubtless, you are on their side but let me explain how it came about and let me first reassure you that I in no way believe that the paranormal exists.
My two-room office sits above a cheap, and by all accounts crap, travel agent in Rochester High Street. The location is fantastic though, sitting in the shadow of the Cathedral and surrounded by amazing architecture. Outside my door are myriad public houses, restaurants, and shops selling baked wares, the smells from which combine to assail the nostrils and imbue hunger. The pavements are cobbled, the mere fact that it is a tourist location means it is always clean and litter free, and at different times of the year, such as Christmas, it is delightfully decorated and ch
eer-inducing.
The office is rented from the owner of the travel agent, a chap that appeared to have been boil washed. Tony Jarvis Travel was a sorry little place which might have been a booming business twenty years ago but had the appearance of a shop lost in time and purpose. The décor and displays were at least a decade old and poor Tony had the haunted look of a man that had already given up. Mousy, thinning ginger hair and a very pale complexion on a tiny frame led to my boil washed analogy. I had heard his wife, had to be a wife because no one else would speak so harshly to a person, berate him for not trying hard enough to bring in customers. Despite her feelings on the matter, a slow, but steady stream of pensionable age citizens shuffled in and out.
Anyway, I lost the point there. I joined the British Army as a young man and made a good career of it. However, they very generously offered me a substantial sum of money to leave during one of their drawdown periods and I took it. I was mid-thirties by then and was due to end my contracted twenty-two-year career at forty anyway. The pay-out from the voluntary redundancy combined with my gratuity and immediate pension benefits made my bank account look quite healthy, so I felt no desperate rush to move into my next career. I had no idea what I wanted to do after the army anyway, so for a period I bummed around walking my dogs, visiting places I had only seen on TV and doing a bit of DIY to the house I had bought as an investment a few years ago. This went on for a few months until my mother asked if I was ever planning to work again.
My mother generally didn't leave much wriggle room, so I set about finding a job. Disinterested in virtually everything that was on offer to me, it was only when a friend enquired whether I had considered setting up my own business that I hit upon the idea of being a private investigator. I didn't come up with the idea all by myself. I happened to be leafing through a magazine designed for forces personnel leaving the services and looking for new careers. There, I found a half-page advert for starting your own investigation business. Curious, I grabbed the yellow pages and discovered that in my local area, which had several million people in it, there was not one private investigator advertised. This, I considered meant there was a niche market, a gap, an opportunity and thus I applied to take the course and buy the equipment.
