Archive for December 5th, 2018

Powderfinger and Wyndwrayth

Sorry guys, I’m running late as usual.
Swann Investigates Book 1
Keller Yeats
is a present-day scary horror story set mainly on the decrepit,
abandoned but soon to be redeveloped, bank of an old canal between
two towns. It centres on an old tar works known as Raven’s Gate. Nick
Swann is a world weary mid-forties widower and Assistant Probation
Warden at St Joseph’s Hostel for young male criminals, situated
overlooking the canal and Raven’s Gate. A woman is brutally killed on
the bank opposite the Hostel on a night when Nick is on duty. Nick
believes his lads had nothing to do with it, though consequently Nick
is suspended for issuing too many late passes at once. Then another
woman is killed and Nick becomes drawn into discovering the culprit.
He works with DCI Findlay and DS Deacon as the murder toll rises.
Together with help from his old friends Alan and Hugo, Nick’s
research uncovers a long series of similar murders in the same area,
stretching back through the centuries. “Powderfinger” as
the killer is dubbed, appears to be some kind of ancient mellifluous,
malevolent, murderous being that attacks anyone it considers to be
disturbing its peace and quiet. Eventually, as the story climaxes,
Findlay, Deacon, Nick and Alan set a trap to lure “Powderfinger”
to his doom and rid the area of this beast once and for all. Yet,
traps can swing both ways.
My Review

4 stars

Nick Swann works at the St. Joseph’s Hostel. Some of the guys want out to celebrate a couple 21st birthdays. Nick has to write several late passes but doesn’t think too much about it. But when a girl is found murdered, his guys are blamed. He doesn’t think they had anything to do with it but then finds himself suspended for issuing too many late passes.

But when another woman is murdered he starts working with the detectives and doing some research. It seems there is a supernatural creature called Powderfinger that has been killing people for numerous years.

This was an interesting read. The story starts out like a regular thriller but takes a paranormal twist. It seems Powderfinger is a demon that has been killing those that disturb it. The group plans to stop it but it is quite powerful and they are going to have their hands full.

This was a good read that kept me interested the whole time. It had some good twists and turns and of course I was not expecting the ending. Definitely check out this book.

I received a complimentary copy of this book. I voluntarily chose to read and post an honest review.


Chapter 8

The Dutch Barn, was reasonably busy today and their B.B.’s, were served by the squeaky nineteen year old girl, in the ludicrously high heels, who didn’t even register their existence, as she doled out their orders. They thanked her and she moved over to the next table, which was frequented, by a group of, what appeared to be passing Rep’s. They came over, as a bunch, of excited schoolboys who had snuck out of class and had managed to lie successfully enough, to get themselves served at the bar, who were trying to order some food, whilst not blowing their cover and being turfed out, for being underage.

“What you doing after?” enquired Hugo, and he took a large bite of his Barn Burger. “Oh yeah, fucking magic,” he expounded as the taste hit the spot. “Tell you what, Man, if I had to request a last meal, I’d go for an Original B.B, with onion rings every time.” Silence reigned for a few minutes, as Nick left the question unanswered whilst they devoured their meals and sat at the table grinning. Hugo, was even contemplating the delicious concept of ordering another B.B, when the spell was broken by the ringing guitar of Greg Dharma and the sound of ‘Don’t fear the Reaper,’ by The Blue Oyster Cult, filled the bar.

“I love this thing,” said Nick as he rose to replenish their drinks. “Same again?”

“You bet,” responded Hugo, who was by this point, playing a small air guitar and rocking his head back and forth, in time to the music. The rest of the afternoon seemed to pass in a blur, which got more and more indistinct by the amount of drinks they imbibed. By the time that they left The Dutch Barn, they were both well-oiled and all seemed well with the world. Hugo, had decided that driving was out of the question, about three drinks ago and now was clumsily trying to find an alternate way back to his home in Nether Barton and it was apparent to Nick, that he was having little success in achieving his goal. Nick, had thought this one out previously and had Pronto Cabs on his speed dial, so he ordered two. Nick’s taxi arrived first and after a round of back slapping and arrangements for their next meeting, he reluctantly climbed into the waiting cab and with a two fingered peace sign, their normal farewell gesture, the Taxi drew away from The Dutch Barn. As it turned left at the junction and made its way towards Willowbank, Nick glanced back at Hugo propped up unsteadily, against the wall of The Barn.

‘Well, that was fun,’ Nick said to himself, as he looked out of the cab window, at the world outside, drifting slowly past. ‘I enjoyed that’ he thought. ‘But I wouldn’t want to do it too often and certainly not tomorrow. God, I’m getting old!’ During the journey home, other options started to appear in his thoughts and after much internal consideration, he decided that getting back into one of his boyhood fascinations, was the best bet. Perhaps re-engaging with the fine art of fishing. He worked by a canal, he lived not too far away from a canal, so this was a no brainer and after all, fishing was not something that you ever grew too old to participate in.

His head started to thump a little, as the Pronto cab made its way back along the road towards Lilac Cottage and Nick realised that drinking, was another of his vices, which needed a review. Once, he was able to down them all night, pint after pint and still stand upright, but nowadays he was drinking cognac and his legs seemed to have grown a little wobbly. ‘Must be your age, man,’ he thought, as a feeble amelioration but he knew that being twenty-five and drinking pints, was a lot easier, than being forty-five and drinking cognacs, his body knew it too. The accompanying thought, that sat in the same box, with this revelation, was also quite disturbing. ‘Nineteen, bloody hell, she could have been my fucking daughter and how would you have liked that, eh? Some old letch like Hugo, checking her out.’

Nick, was beating himself up again and he needed to find a visual distraction. It was the vision of the canal, with its watery path, starkly picked out by the sunlight, as it headed off towards the city that lay around four miles beyond the horizon, that caught his eye. Nick, cast his gaze through the glass, of the passenger window, Iggy Pop’s ‘Passenger’ now playing in his mind.  His view was out over the modern face of Barton Basin, which presented itself before him, as the Taxi turned onto the road leading to Willowbank. Nick, felt a certain empathy towards the men who had worked on the waterway and he could easily appreciate the trials and tribulations, that they had endured every day, whilst pursuing their livelihoods.

“Yes,” squeaked Nick. “Fishing.” Now, the lingering effects from any lunchtime excesses disappeared as he sat bolt upright in his velour seat. “That’ll get me out in the fresh air, it’s quiet and that will give me time to think, bingo.” After Joanne had died, he had been thankful for his busy, hectic life in the Probation Service, the endless changing conditions and the unpredictability, had prevented him from obsessing about some aspects of those heartbreaking events. However, nowadays, a few doubts, were occasionally creeping in and were causing ripples in his psyche. These negative thoughts, had only just started to invade his mind and they weren’t related to Joanne’s demise all those years ago. No, these were new, they were about his mother, they were about himself and where he was heading, and they were proving uncomfortable, particularly when they sprang up out of nowhere to trouble his thoughts.

Swann Investigates Book 2
is the second horror novel in the Nick Swann series. This scary story
finds Nick now living in an old stone farmhouse on the lonely and
mysterious shores of Llyn Isaf, in Wales. He becomes intrigued by its
mist-covered lake island, Ynys Y Niwl and its dark, ancient and long
deserted mansion, Wyndwrayth.
moldering edifice holds many secrets and treasures, some of which
draw Nick and his old friend Alan, into dangerous realms. Death
stalks the island and as the dangerous spectral figures of The Millar
of Souls, The Paladin and Gideon reveal themselves, it becomes
increasingly difficult to discern between reality and dreams. 
the death toll rises, Nick finds himself, along with his new partner,
Wendy and her Wolf, Mir embroiled in a struggle not just to maintain
sanity but to stay alive.
My Review

4 stars

It is three years after Nick’s adventure with Powderfinger and two years since his mother has passed. He now lives on the shore of Llyn Isaf in Wales. But he finds himself curious about the island in the middle of the lake, Ynys Y Niwl. He has researched it and makes plans to explore it and the crumbling mansion on it called Wyndwrayth. But Nick is going to find himself wrapped up with the supernatural once again.

We also follow a man that accepted a god’s offer at a better afterlife as long as he was the guardian to the god’s troubled son for a thousand years. Gideon soon finds himself on an island with a hate filled being that is intent on escaping and getting revenge on his father.

This was a great sequel to Powderfinger. I felt for Nick with the move to the country and the loss of his mother. It seems to be a habit of him to get himself neck deep in trouble. Of course his friends are there to help him but things don’t always turn out like he would like.

This is a good series and I’m curious to see that Nick is going to get himself into with the next book.

I received a complimentary copy of this book. I voluntarily chose to read and post an honest review.


Chapter Three Excerpt

At first, Stuart thought he saw something move in the mirk below but he couldn’t be sure at this distance. He stood there frozen to the spot, as he peered into the shadows, senses on alert, trying to verify his perceived vision. ‘Did I imagine that, or is there really something down there,’ he mused and exhaled. He was about to give up and move along the landing, to the next room, when something caught his eye in the corner, by the bottom of the staircase. ‘It’s a dog, or something,’ his mind said to him but it inconveniently added a rider. ‘Yes, fine but whose dog would that be, on a deserted island?’ Now his imagination went into overdrive for a moment, running every unlikely scenario it could conjure: ‘It’s a Werewolf, a Morlock, or the Devil himself,’ his racing mind suggested before he regained control of its wilder flights of fancy. ‘Get a fucking grip Stuart, it’s most likely just the wind, blowing loose leaves around, or a rat….. most likely. So, let’s get on with it and get back to the tent, for something to eat and stick a plaster on this thumb.’
The thought of food seemed to have the desired effect. He moved on down the landing, checking door handles and giving doors a swift kick. The third door remained the only one to open as he approached a small wooden door unlike the rest. ‘Hmm maybe to the tower? Bet it’s locked.’ Despite the threat of an imaginary Werewolf, Stuart was finding this investigation of the old house, quite exciting and secretly hoped this one would open, so he could climb up to the top of the tower.
“Now let’s see what secrets lie beyond that final door,” he impatiently grunted. ‘There must be something in the air, a spore, or something like that but my imagination’s just running riot in this place,’ Stuart thought, as he slowly reached down for the final handle, which looked well worn. Then, he noticed an old key in its lock. It moved smoothly, releasing the levers with a barely perceptible ‘clunk.’ He grasped the well-used brass door knob and turned it.
“Open Sesame Bun,” he demanded as he turned it. Surprisingly, the door slid smoothly open, as if it had been well oiled, for many years. As it opened a wave of warm humid air rushed eagerly over him. Suddenly, Stuart felt he was doing something wrong by entering the tower uninvited. He quickly scanned the area to make sure that nobody was watching, before he took the first step inside.
He stood, transfixed by the sight of a spiralling stairway, ascending into the semi darkness. For a moment a faint green glow emanated from above, then was extinguished. ‘What….!?’ He clicked his torch on and shone it upwards….. ‘Nothing. I must have imagined it….. this place is getting to me,’ he thought.
He only had two choices, go upwards, or leave, re-locking the door, hoping against hope that it would be enough to keep a pack of inquisitive Scouts out. He wavered, ‘You’re here now, so don’t hang around, just get on with it and climb, unless you want to come back tomorrow?’ He looked at the cold dark grey steps, as they made their way up the tower. ‘You could always go and have a look at Room 3 and knock it on the head until tomorrow, it’s not like you’re camped miles away.’ He looked at his watch, it was later than he thought. The time seemed to have raced while he’d stood still and it was already becoming gloomy. There’s no rush, Stu,’ he interceded forcefully, ‘time to retire to the tent and return in the morning, after breakfast, all bright eyed and bushy tailed. After all, you’ve got the downstairs to check out yet…’
Argument over, Stuart turned, stepped out onto the landing, closed and locked the door behind him. By the time he reached outside, night was almost upon him and he struggled to find his way along the path to his tent, getting snagged by several brambles along the way. Then he emerged into the frosty light of the rising moon, which lay upon the glade, illuminating his tent.
“Full tonight,” he stated and turned to have one final look at tomorrow’s target, the tower, which was now bathed in a cold silvery light of gossamer mists, ascending into the crisp dark blue air of another clear, moonlit night sky.

Yeats is a writer with a love of history and music. He has written
several published articles about rock music and several unpublished
short stories. He drew upon his years of experience working as a
Probation Warden, for his first published novel, “Powderfinger.”
A horror story with a supernatural twist. “Wyndwrayth” is
his second novel in this Nick Swann researches and investigates
series, with more to come. In addition, he is a published graphic
artist and a qualified, though no longer practicing, jewellery maker
and designer. He now lives together with his wife, a Siberian Husky,
a Welsh Collie and three cats, in a cottage by the sea in Anglesey.

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