Visit Alan Place’s new blog, all the way from the UK

Visit Alan Place’s new blog from the UK and see The Sacred Band there and other books Alan is reading…


11 comments on “Visit Alan Place’s new blog, all the way from the UK

  1. alanplace says:

    Thank you JEM for the honour of using such a lovely site to help me. The bookcase is full of Indie authors who are friends of mine,please feel free to browse.


  2. alanplace says:

    This is the start of my new time travel story. The diary item mentioned “Did we see him?” is a reference to a previous story on sale at Amazon

    Did we see them?


    As previously mentioned in my journal entry marked “Did we see him?” Things have happened in recent months that have questioned my sanity.
    After returning from an experience that I find hard to come to terms with. I saw things no person should have seen. To give you some ideas, we were sent by an organisation called “The Glove” to try and find out what information Sir Percy Fawcett had obtained on his last trip up the Amazon.
    What we saw. Or did we? Has haunted me since our return. Things that were neither man nor animal, beings that lived in neither the living world, nor were they dead. They worshipped a white man, who could have been Fawcett. As we we left, at Fawcett’s bequest, we witnessed the true horrors of this life as he was beaten, close to death before being eaten by ants, while the tribe devoured a person’s body. The poor soul was still alive as they tore him apart, the screams of agony, just helping their enjoyment.
    Then, the horror of holding my best friend Tommy Curridge as he died in my arms with a spear in his chest. All the time praying we could get out of that hell yet fearing we too were doomed to a life as tormented souls.
    On arriving back at the Bell club, here in Belgravia, London. After telling my story to my good friends Anthony Harkley, Christopher Jackman and Harrison Merrill, I went out to partake of some air and have a pipe to calm my shattered nerves.


    I was only out of the club a few minutes, during which time a strange fog appeared. On my return I found I could not open the doors and had to be admitted by a fellow member. Up on entering I was told I may hold the answer to a mystery.
    “What mystery could my return solve?” I pondered as I climbed the stairs of my old club, so changed I hardly knew it.
    The mystery was a locked door, to which nobody in the club could open. As I looked at the lock, I fumbled in my coat pocket and found my old room key, this key did open the locks to my astonishment. I found myself standing in front of a swirling energy mass focussed to a series of light bulbs. On my bedside table lay an envelope marked “Did we see them?” Beside it was a note I had written, my hand clearly legible despite the obvious shaking. The note said “If you are reading this, you have passed through a temporal energy mass. The mist you were in has transported you, ten years forward, signed Charles Q .”
    Even though being an adveturer and having an enquiring mind after years of seeing srange lands. I find this hard to believe. Yet, here I stand as evidence in my own equation, my keys opened a door locked for ten years. In part, therefore at least some of it was true. Which parts I have yet to find?
    I stood transfixed by the beauty of the colours before me, as the machinery whirred away and energy mass throbbed and hummed, we stood looking at this for some minutes in total awe of its powers before my new found friend commented.
    “What is that?”
    “That is a time mass. The clours you see are all the ages flying through the air like bubbles.”
    “Are you serious?” my friend queried me, looking very much as though he thought this was some wild ruse.
    “Totally serious, I stand here as the proof myself. Your keys could not open these locks as they are linked to the mass. If you had opened them, there would have been a time paradox of enormous dimensions.”
    “Now you are joking! A time paradox. What in the good Queen’s name is that?”
    “No, I am deadly serious. A paradox is when something happens that should not. Like you meeting yourself.”
    “Or killing a relative, so I wont be born, you mean?”
    “Exactly, this one would have involved people from all ages meeting people they would not have met and taking back all kinds of things to their time.”
    “That would have catastrophic effects on the world we know.”
    “Far worse than that, this world would not exist, as we know it. If at all.”
    “So.How did your keys worked after all this time?”
    “The only reason, I can think of is that they must have absorbed some of the energy. When my keys are placed in the locks, sensing the energy signature-time keeps in its place.”
    “Sounds a bit far fetched to me!”
    “I admit, it does to me as well. Yet, here I am ten years on from when I walked out of the doors only minutes ago. I am sorry I haven’t got to introduce myself yet I am…”
    “Charles Palmerston,” my friend answered before I could finish. “I had an idea, when we met outside, when your keys opened this door I was certain. My name is Jeffrey Hollings, sir.”
    “Nice to meet you Jeffrey, no need for the sir though, just Charles or Charlie is fine.”
    “I cannot do that, sir.”
    “Why not for heavens sake, Jeffrey?”
    Still looking at me in awe, Jeffrey said,“Your theories on time travel, have become essential reading for scientists, philosophers and theologians.”


  3. sacredbander says:

    Thanks, Alan, for posting this. We enjoyed it.


  4. alanplace says:

    The following are a few excerpts from books on sale both Pat Canella and Holding Richmond are going well on Amazon.–ebook/dp/B0078VZREI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1338204811&sr=1-1–ebook/dp/B0078VZREI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1338204811&sr=1-

    Pat Canella ( the dockland murders)
    I stood there, the gun still warm in my hand, barrel smoking from the gun battle.
    “Why did he do that, Sarge? I tried my best to talk him out of it.”
    “Living with the guilt finally got to him, Patti.”
    “Couldn’t he have talked it over?”
    “No, the only thing worse than being a dirty cop, is being the son of a loose cannon, and none came looser than Bill Chart, Patti.”
    I looked around. There lay the body of Bill’s son, my ex-partner, Adrian Chart.
    “I had no choice, he pulled first, Sarge,” I said through my tears.
    “I know, Patti, we all saw it. Nobody blames you. It was his way out.”
    The last thing I remember was the Sarge saying in a soft tone, “Take a week off Patti, something like this will haunt you. I know. I have been there myself.” Dazed, I stood there, trying to remember how it had all started . . .
    * * *
    I’d wanted an office and had pestered the sergeant for months for a place to work. For my sins, I’d got this dark and dingy office with paperwork piled high of old, unsolved murders. The air was dank with the musty smell of old paper, a place where light had long gone missing. This was Middleton Detective Agency. Even hardened drunks avoided this run down area of town. Sitting at the back of the office, I looked in desolation at the pile of old cases, Sgt. Pug Phillips had recently dumped on me.
    “Why don’t I get anything good?” I muttered, knowing nobody was listening, or if they were, they didn’t care. Cold coffee was still on the table from last night, the ring marks showing how I had spent the long, hot and humid days at Middleton going over old and long-forgotten cases which had been given to me just so I’d have something to do
    “A young girl, trying to do a man’s job” is what the crew said on that first day months ago.”
    Here I was, stuck at the back end of nowhere, in a dark office so lonely I had to get my own coffee and doughnuts. The guys never took any notice. I often wondered if they would notice if I just didn’t turn up.
    I’d never been a girlie girl. I was always looking for a mystery to solve rather than play with dolls or admire film stars. And this was my reward! A deadbeat job, in a run-down office, in the worst part of town.
    Sometimes, I wish I’d just got married like the others; had a nice cosy life and a good husband, I muttered to myself – then, ‘Hell, no! Patti, where did that come from, gal?” The drudgery and boredom were getting to me. All these cases! Some go back to the ’20’s. Most of the witnesses are dead now, I mumbled under my breath. Trust me to get cases that are not only cold, but deader than the dodo.
    Sitting there alone, I was surprised to hear a knock on the door. I was more surprised that anyone knew where I was. Standing in the doorway was an old man, leaning on his cane.
    “Please come in and sit down.”
    “Thank you, young lady,” he said. “I have information on an old case, you might like to re-open.”
    “Why not ask at the desk?”
    “They closed the book years ago, and don’t want old wounds re-opened, that is why.”
    “Which case is this ?”
    “It’s one from the ’20s. The Morrissey/Jeffries case.”
    “What can you tell me about it and why should we re-open it now?”
    “I am telling you about it because I’m dying and I want to clear this case up. You get it re-opened, and I will let you know what I know.”
    ‘How can I trust you?’
    “Just tell Pug, that Dennis spoke to you.”
    The man got up and walked back down the corridor. When I got up to see which way he went, all I saw was a whiff of smoke. Looking through the case files I was totally disheartened to see how many had just been left open, with no closure for the families. Back then, the force could not spare the manpower to chase up leads, what with all the gangsters and bootlegging.
    With Mayor Johnson going for a second term, he needed to show power to the mobs, so all the force was put on alert, and other crimes became second rate.
    “So sad,” I thought. “These poor people never had closure.”
    One thing about the Morrissey/Jeffries killing back in 1926 really caught my eye. Link Morrissey and his girl, Darlene Jeffries went for a drive, but never arrived at her parents’ house, even though it was only twenty minutes across town.
    Getting up from the desk, I walked back down the dark corridor to the elevator shaft. Pushing the button to call the aged machine into action, all I could hear was the grinding of gears, as the cable span on the wheel.
    “Shit. Not again. When are they going to fix this damn thing?”
    Setting off up the ten flights of stairs to the main office, I was already imagining the calls from the men, “Here comes Nancy Drew, lads.”
    Leading the barrage, as always, would be Adrian Chart. The man was as roughneck as they came. If he did not draw blood, then it was a lousy fight. Seven years ago his old man, Bill Chart, had passed away, and Adrian was just like his dad. His wife had left him six years ago, and then he hit the bottle hard.
    A common theory as to why Chart kept his job was that the bosses needed his street knowledge to track the mobs. As a cop, he was one of the worst on the force – but for cracking the heads of gangsters, he had no equal. They said he lost it all when Maggie left him. After that, he didn’t care what happened. He’d go in first and take as many down as he could, before a proper enquiry began.
    The only trouble was, Chart was as much a threat to his colleagues as he was to the mobs. He was often so out of control that a situation that could have possibly been resolved, often ended up almost as a gun battle.
    Every day for the last month, when I’ve logged in, I’ve had to cope with Chart and his cronies jeering and cat calling. Chart, and about eight other old-school cops, call ladies ‘doll’, and they should stay at home and tend to the men folk.
    As I walked in, Chart swung around in his chair, “Well look who…”
    As he spoke, I realized I had had enough. I felt the need to be recognized for what I do – now!
    Before he could finish his sentence, I swung a left and hit him on the jaw. The force rocked him in his chair so violently that he banged his head on the desk.
    “Any one else fancy taking on Nancy Drew? You over there – you look tough!
    Chart’s friends gaped, taken aback to see how easily he had been taken.
    “Let me just inform you all – I might be female and ladylike most of the time, but you rile this gal, and she’ll turn wildcat on you – so feel free fellows.”The squad room remained quiet as I walked to the sergeant’s desk, my hips swinging with the grace of a gazelle. I gave them a smile and a wink.
    I approached the desk with grace and poise, not letting the pain of the blow show, as I gritted teeth.
    “Finally got what he deserved there, Patti,” the Sarge said. “Saw it building last week. I was halfway to telling him to back off ya, but knew the only way he would, is if you slugged him. Remind me not to get on your bad side. That was one hell of a left you packed, gal,” he said with a wink.
    “That’s nothing Sarge, you oughta see my right.”
    “Where did you get those moves?”
    “Wrong side of the wrong town; living hand to mouth; when you’re fighting for anything, you learn not to back down. I don’t look for fights, but I never back down.”
    “I don’t think he’ll bother you none now, Patti.”
    “Well not for a week or two. I know his sort, Sarge. He just festers away, waiting for a chance to get even. Sarge, can I ask you something ?”
    “Sure, Patti, what’s on your mind?”
    “Sarge, do you remember the Morrissey/Jeffries case?”
    “Of course. I was in my first year on the streets, and we never figured it out. It’s bugged me ever since.”
    “I’ve been looking it over, and was wondering if you could you give me the background, as the notes are sketchy.”
    “No problem. It was towards the end of Mayor Johnson’s first term in office. The mobs were running us ragged. Everywhere we turned, they had us outgunned, out manned and seemed to know our every move.”
    “Leak from this side?”
    “Looked like it, but we couldn’t find out who it was.”
    “What was going on at the time?”
    “Morrissey and the Jeffries families were two of the biggest families in Midtown. Duke Jeffries was the boss of the largest fleet of trucks in the area, and Mal Morrissey was the biggest maker of hooch. We got wind they were going to link up for a talk somewhere, but it never happened in the end.”
    “Why not?”
    “When the shooting came, both families blamed each other, and never got to the table.”
    “So who took over then?”
    “That is the strange thing. Nobody stepped up to the plate. A power vacuum was created. Anyone could have taken charge and joined them as a neutral, but nobody did.”

    Holding Richmond

    August 29th – 30th 1862, Richmond, Kentucky,the day the tide was turned..

    Sitting alone in his tent, Major-General William ‘Bull’ Nelson surveyed the battlefield below from his viewpoint on the surrounding hills Nelson could see all that was happening.
    Having taken over from the wounded Mahlon Dickerson Manson, with troops fighting themselves to a standstill neither side having a tactical or numerical advantage. Nelson’s command looked tenuous at best. His orders were plain enough “Hold Richmond at al costs.”

    “Mahlon, how we can we hold this position?” he asked the former commander. “Damn those Yankee sharpshooters, picking us off at will. We daren’t move out and yet here we are trapped and getting picked off. They cut the supplies, the men are dropping with hunger and thirst in this heat.”

    Mahlon looked at the man who was replacing him. The large form blocking the tent flaps.
    “Grant’s” orders are clear Bull, hold Richmond, he did not say how!”

    “Sure! They are getting supplied as we starve and run out of ammunition. Sooner or later we will be overrun.”

    “This is not the Bull Nelson, everyone fears.”

    “Usually I can see a way forward and rush to take the advantage. Here it is stalemate or a slow death!”

    At the edge of his vision Nelson saw a dark shadowy figure, ashen complexion thin body with spindly fingers and long thick nails twisted and gnarled.

    “Did you see that Mahlon?” Bull asked.

    “Sure I did, Bull. Been seeing him and his like all day around the bodies, taking a sip from their necks, just don’t know what in the name of God they are.”

    “Damn well gives me the creeps it did there.”

    “Can we hold the town Bull, so can outlast those Yankees?”

    “Reckon we can, Mahlon.”

    The grey figured approached the 2 men and said “I am afraid, you are both wrong gentlemen.”

    “And just who are you, and how the blazes do you know that.”

    “Although of no importance my name is Nosferatu. For how I know we have many names, but all cultures know of us, some call us vampire, others the undead. But all know we are timeless and I have travelled back from your future to this day.”

    “Saying we believe you, which we don’t,” Bull said. “How can you help turn this stalemate?”

    “Before I tell you. There is a price and you might not like it.So before I tell you my plans, I will tell you what will happen if you don’t accept.”

    “This ought to be a darn good tale,” Mahlon chided.”Coming from the future to tell us what will happen now, next thing he will say is we will lose this battle.”

    “Exactly, my friend, that is what will happen.”

    “And just how is that going to happen, both sides are matched equally, so nobody has a larger army to move?” Bull remarked

    “You may hold the town, but you are cut off. With your back to the river, this is a very good defensive position. But you are still trapped,” the grey figure pointed out.


  5. alanplace says:

    The story of Pat Canella continues on from this two story opener in “Ghosts of your past,” I am writing a fourth story “Hunted down” as Pat has great on line presence. Holding Richmond started out as a contest entry, as it wasn’t long enough the story failed to get in. It tells the story of a famous American Civil war battle. This version has an alternate history theme involving vampires but is NOT for fans of Twilight. My vampires are based on the early German movie Nosferatu.


  6. alanplace says:

    New venue for promotional works


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