Category: Creative Writing

“Call me!” – a short story

You know what it’s like on Monday morning, especially if it’s very cold and the double glazing is failing miserably to keep the cold out.

It was warm under three blankets, thick sheets and a doona, and I didn’t want to get up.

It doesn’t help if, in the last few months, the dream job you once had turned into a drudge, and there were any number of reasons to stay home rather than go into the office. Once, that was trying to find an excuse to stay home because you’d rather go to work.

That was a long time ago, or felt like it.

My cell phone vibrated; an incoming message, or more likely a reminder. I reached out into the icy wasteland that was the distance from under the covers to my phone on the bedside table. It was very cold out there, and for a moment, I regretted that impulse to check.

It was a reminder; I had a meeting at HR with the manager. I had thought I might be eligible for redundancy since the company was in the throes of a cost-cutting exercise. Once I might have been apprehensive, but now, given my recent change in department and responsibility, I was kind of hoping it was a possibility.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Time to get up, sleepy head. You have a meeting to go to, not one to be late.”

It felt strange to wake up with someone else in the bed. My luck in that department hadn’t been all that good lately, but something changed, and at the usual Friday night after-work drinks at the pub, I ran into one of the PAs I’d seen around, one who was curious to meet me as much as I was to meet her.

One thing had led to another, and when I asked her if she wanted to drop in on the way home for a coffee, she did.

“I’d prefer not to. I can think of better things to do.”

“So could I, but that’s not the point. Five more minutes, then I’m pushing you out.”

She snuggled into my back, and I could feel the warmth of her body, and it had the exact opposite effect than she intended. But she was right. It was important, and I had to go. But, in the meantime, it was four more minutes and counting.

…

When you get a call from the head of HR, it usually means one of two things: a promotion, or those two dreaded words, ‘you’re fired’, though not usually said with the same dramatic effect.

This year had already been calamitous enough, getting sidelined from Mergers and Acquisitions because I’d been usurped. That was the word I was going with, but it was, to a certain extent, my fault. I took my eye off the ball and allowed someone else to make their case.

Of course, it helped that the person was connected to all the right people in the company, and, with the change in Chairman, it was also a matter of removing some of the people who were appointed by the previous incumbent.

Four of my equivalent managers had also been usurped and moved to places where they would have less impact. I had finished up in sales and marketing, and to be quite honest, it was such a step-down that I had already decided to leave when the opportunity presented itself.

My assistant manager, who had already put in his resignation, was working out his final two weeks. I told him to take leave until the contract expired, but he was more dedicated than that. He had got in before me and was sitting at his desk, a cup of coffee in his hand and another on the desk.

“How many days?”

“Six and counting. What about you? You should be out canvassing. There are at least three other places I know would be waiting to hear from you.”

“It’s still in the consideration phase.”

“You’re likely to get the chop anyway, with this thing you have with Sharky.”

Sharky was the HR manager.

“You know something I don’t?” I picked up the coffee, removed the lid, and took in the aroma.

“They’re downsizing. Broadham had decided to go on a cost-cutting exercise, and instead of the suggested efficiencies we put up last year, they’re going with people. I don’t think he quite gets it.”

“You mean my replacement doesn’t know anything about efficiency. He makes a good yes man, though, telling Broadham exactly what he wants to hear.”

Broadham, the new Chairman, never did understand that people appointed to important positions needed to have the relevant qualifications and experience. My replacement had neither. That was when the employees loyal to the previous Chairman had started leaving.

We had called it death, whilst Broadham had called it natural attrition. He didn’t quite understand that so far, over 300 years of experience had left, and as much again was in the process of leaving.

“Are you going to tell Sharky you’re leaving?”

“I’ll wait and see what he has to say. I think he knows the ship is sinking.”

There wasn’t much I didn’t know about the current state of the company, and with the departures, I knew it was only a matter of time. Sharky was a good man, but he couldn’t stem the tide.

My departing 2IC also knew the vagaries of profits and share prices, and we had been watching the share price and the market itself. It was teetering, and in the last few months, parcels of shares were being unloaded, not a lot at one time, but a steady trickle.

That told me that Broadham and his cronies were cashing in while the going was good, and quite possibly were about to steer the ship onto the rocks. The question was who was buying, and, after some hard research, I found that it was certain board members. Why, I suspected, was to increase their holdings and leverage, but I don’t think they quite realised that there would be nothing left but worthless stock certificates.

It was evidence, when I finally left, that I would pass on to the relevant authorities.

In the meantime, I had a meeting to go to.

“Best of luck,” my assistant muttered as I passed his desk.

“If I don’t return, I will have been escorted from the building. If that happens, call me.”

It had happened before. When people were sacked, they were escorted to their office, allowed to pack their belongings, and then escorted to the front door. It would be an ignominious end to an illustrious career, or so I’d been told by the girl who was no doubt still asleep in my bed.

She had heard the whispers.

The walk to the lift, the traversing of the four floors to the executive level, and then to the outer office where Sharky’s PA sat took all of three minutes. I had hoped it would be longer.

“He’s waiting for you,” she said, “go on in.”

I knocked on the door, then went in, closing it behind me. “Now, sir, what on earth could you want to see me about?”

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2025

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 79

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some years ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

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This is Chester.  Now we’ve cleaned up the room there’s nowhere to hide.

That might just become a real problem for our furry friend.

The girls are on a mission, as we’ve set them a series of tasks in order to earn some pocket money during the school holidays.  And keep them out of mischief.

But, what does Chester think of all of this?

Not happy at all.

He was apprehensive at their arrival as he always is, and tries to hide away while they are here, but all that rummaging and boxes moving hither and thither, it’s not long before he comes out to see what’s happening.

The office is clean, the hiding spots are gone.  I watch him slink from spot to spot, the look of dismay lengthening.

This is wrong, he says, coming up and sitting at my feet.  You know I need to get away from time to time, spend some alone time to contemplate new ways to catch mice.

Right.

There were seven different spots where I know Chester hides away, and these are spots in cupboards and under beds, places that need cleaning and we can’t get to.

His ears prick up, hearing a noise from the other end of the house, and he’s off like the flash.  A few minutes later he’s back.  Another hiding spot is gone.

Absolutely not happy now.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 45

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Chasing leads, maybe

“Silly question, what were you doing in the hotel with this ‘operative’?”

Yes, it sounded odd the moment I said it, and, if it was the other way around, I’d be thinking the same.

“We joined forces, thinking we were in danger, at the time, not knowing that she was working with Dobbin.  I discovered that later, by chance.  She doesn’t know I know.”

“And she’ll be waiting at the hotel?”

“Dobbin wants the USB.  She believes we’re collaborating, after telling me she works for MI5, on a different mission involving O’Connell.  She had apparently been undercover as a fellow resident at the block where O’Connell had a flat, and a cat.  The cat, of course, had no idea his owner was a secret agent.  The flat was sparsely furnished and didn’t look lived in, so it may have been a safe house.”

“Wheels within wheels.”

“That’s the nature of the job.  Lies, lies, and more lies, nothing is as it seems, and trust no one.”

“Including you?”

“Including me, but keep an open mind, and try not to shoot me.  I’m as all at sea as you are.  And, just to be clear, I’m not sure I believe Quigley that the information is lost.  People like him, and especially his contact, if he was a journalist, tend to have two copies, just in case.  And the explosion might have killed the messenger, but not the information.  Lesson number one, anything is possible, nothing is impossible, and the truth, it really is stranger than fiction.”

“Great.”

A half-hour later I’d parked the car in a parking lot near Charing Cross station.  The plan, if it could be called that, was for me to go back to the room, and for Jennifer to remain in the foyer, and wait.  If anything went wrong she was to leave and wait for a call.  For all intents and purposes, no one knew of her, except perhaps for Severin and Maury, but I wasn’t expecting them to be lurking in the hotel foyer, waiting for me.

As for Dobbin, that was a different story.  It would depend on how impatient he was in getting information on the whereabouts of the USB, and whether he trusted Jan to find out.

I’d soon find out.

The elevator had three others in it, all of who had disembarked floors below mine.   As the last stepped out and the doors closed, it allayed fears of being attacked before I reached the room.

As the doors closed behind me, the silence of the hallway was working on my nerves, until a few steps towards my room I could hear the hissing of an air conditioning intake, and suddenly the starting up of a vacuum cleaner back in the direction I’d just come.

 A cleaner or….

Remember the training for going into confined spaces…

The room was at the end of the passage, a corner room, with two exits after exiting the front door.  I thought about knocking, but, it was my room too, so I used the key and went in.

Lying tied up on the bed was a very dead Maury, three shots to the heart.

And, over the sound of my heart beating very loudly, I could hear the sound of people out in the corridor, followed by pounding on the door.

Then, “Police.”

A second or two after that the door crashed open and six men came into the room, brandishing weapons and shouting for me to get on the floor and show my hands or I would be shot,”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Writing a book in 365 days – My Story 36

More about my story

Visiting the catacombs of the world to get background for a location in my story

…

Beyond the Grave: A Guide to the World’s Fascinating Catacombs

Beneath the bustling streets of some of the world’s most vibrant cities lie silent cities of the dead – the catacombs. These ancient burial grounds, often labyrinthine and filled with the echoes of centuries past, offer a unique and often profound glimpse into history, culture, and humanity’s relationship with mortality.

Far from being merely macabre, touring a catacomb is an opportunity to connect with the lives (and deaths) of those who came before us, to marvel at ancient engineering, and to contemplate the passage of time. If you’re ready to step into the cool, quiet depths below, here are some of the world’s most incredible catacombs open to visitors, and what you can expect to find.

Catacombs You Can Tour Around the World:

  1. The Catacombs of Paris, France
    • What it is: Arguably the most famous catacomb, this massive underground ossuary holds the remains of an estimated six million Parisians. It was created in the late 18th century to alleviate overcrowded cemeteries.
    • What to expect: Prepare for long queues (booking in advance is essential!). Once inside, you’ll descend 130 steps into a cool, damp, and dimly lit world. The main attraction is the “Empire of Death,” where neatly stacked femurs and skulls line miles of passages, often arranged in decorative patterns. It’s incredibly atmospheric, overwhelming in scale, and offers a powerful reflection on human mortality.
  2. The Catacombs of Rome, Italy
    • What it is: Rome boasts multiple catacomb systems, primarily early Christian burial sites dating from the 2nd to 5th centuries AD. The most famous include the Catacombs of St. Callixtus, Catacombs of Priscilla, and Catacombs of Domitilla.
    • What to expect: These are less about decorative bone arrangements and more about exploring ancient, hand-dug underground cemeteries. You’ll navigate narrow, winding passages often stretching for miles. Expect to see:
      • Loculi: Simple niches carved into the walls where bodies were placed, then sealed with tiles or marble slabs.
      • Cubicula: Small chambers, often family tombs, sometimes decorated with frescoes depicting biblical scenes or everyday life.
      • Crypts: Larger, more significant burial areas for martyrs or early popes.
    • Note: Guided tours are mandatory and highly informative, covering the history of early Christianity and burial practices.
  3. The Capuchin Crypt (Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini), Rome, Italy
    • What it is: Not a catacomb in the traditional sense, but a series of small chapels beneath a church, decorated with the skeletal remains of over 3,700 Capuchin friars.
    • What to expect: An incredibly unique and artistic display. The bones (skulls, vertebrae, femurs, etc.) are meticulously arranged to form intricate patterns, chandeliers, and even full skeletal figures dressed in friar habits. It’s a “memento mori” – a reminder of the inevitability of death – designed to inspire reflection rather than fear. Photography is strictly prohibited.
  4. The Capuchin Catacombs of Palermo, Sicily, Italy
    • What it is: A truly astonishing and somewhat eerie catacomb containing the remarkably preserved bodies of thousands of Sicilians, dating from the 17th to 19th centuries.
    • What to expect: Unlike Rome’s catacombs or Paris’s ossuary, here you’ll find mummified, embalmed, and sometimes naturally desiccated bodies, often dressed in their finest clothes, standing or lying in open coffins. They are divided into sections for friars, men, women, virgins, professors, and children. The most famous resident is Rosalia Lombardo, a perfectly preserved two-year-old. It’s a poignant, sometimes unsettling, but always fascinating window into past lives and burial customs.
  5. The Catacombs of San Francisco Convent, Lima, Peru
    • What it is: Beneath one of Lima’s most beautiful and historic churches lies a vast catacomb housing the remains of an estimated 25,000 people.
    • What to expect: As part of a guided tour of the stunning convent and library above, you’ll descend into underground passages. The highlight is a series of large, circular ossuaries where bones (skulls, femurs) are meticulously organized and arranged in decorative patterns, creating a striking visual impact. It’s a blend of historical context, architectural beauty, and a powerful sense of the past.
  6. The Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Italy
    • What it is: Naples’ most extensive and ancient Christian catacomb, spanning two levels and featuring grander spaces than some of Rome’s smaller catacombs.
    • What to expect: Wide tunnels, high ceilings, and an impressive sense of scale. You’ll see beautiful early Christian frescoes, mosaics, and intricate burial niches. It’s less crowded than Rome’s catacombs, offering a more intimate experience with ancient art and history. The unique two-level structure and the grandeur of some of the burial chambers are particularly striking.

What to Expect to Find & Feel When Visiting Catacombs:

  • Bones, Bones, and More Bones: This is the obvious. Skeletons, skulls, femurs, and other human remains are the primary “exhibit.” How they are presented varies wildly – from neatly stacked walls to artful arrangements, to individual mummified bodies.
  • Cool, Damp, and Dimly Lit Environments: Catacombs are underground, so expect cooler temperatures (even on a hot day) and a constant, slightly earthy dampness. Lighting is typically subdued for preservation and atmosphere, so your eyes will need time to adjust.
  • Narrow and Uneven Passages: Many catacombs feature tight, winding corridors. If you have claustrophobia, this is something to consider. Wear sturdy, comfortable shoes as the ground can be uneven.
  • A Tangible Sense of History: You are walking through spaces where people were laid to rest centuries ago. The air itself seems to carry the weight of memory. It’s a profoundly immersive historical experience.
  • Art and Architecture: Beyond the bones, look for ancient frescoes, carvings, mosaics, and ingenious engineering that allowed for the creation of these vast underground networks.
  • A Sense of Reverence and Reflection: These are sacred burial sites. Visitors are generally expected to be respectful, quiet, and reflective. Many people find catacombs to be powerful spaces for contemplating life, death, and human existence.
  • Guided Tours: For most major catacombs, especially in Rome and Naples, a guided tour is mandatory. These are invaluable for understanding the history, significance, and often intricate stories behind the bones and structures.
  • Limited Photography: Many catacombs restrict or prohibit photography to preserve the sites and maintain a respectful atmosphere. Always check the rules before you go.

Visiting catacombs is a journey into the past, a unique blend of history, archaeology, and human spirituality. While they might seem daunting, the experience is often described as awe-inspiring and deeply thought-provoking, leaving visitors with a truly unforgettable perspective on our shared human story.

Searching For Locations: Disneyland, Paris, France

Whilst I found this tree house to be interesting, it seems to be far from practical because there was little to keep the wind and rain out, though I suppose, in the book, that might not be such a problem.

Be that as it may, and if it was relatively waterproof, then the furnishings would probably survive, and one had to also assume that much of the furnishings, such as the writing desk below, would have washed up as debris from the shipwreck.

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The stove and oven would have to be built by hand, and it is ‘remarkable’ such well-fitting stones were available.  It doesn’t look like it’s been used for a while judging by the amount of gree on it.  Perhaps it is not in a waterproof area.

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The dining table and the shelf in the background have that rough-hewn look about them

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A bit of man-made equipment here for drawing water from the stream

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And though not made in the era of electricity, there is an opportunity to use the water wheel to do more than it appears to be doing

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And tucked away in a corner the all-important study where one can read, or play a little music on the organ.  One could say, for the period, one had all the comforts of home.

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An excerpt from “The Things We Do for Love”; In love, Henry was all at sea!

In the distance, he could hear the dinner bell ringing and roused himself.  Feeling the dampness of the pillow, and fearing the ravages of pent-up emotion, he considered not going down but thought it best not to upset Mrs. Mac, especially after he said he would be dining.

In the event, he wished he had reneged, especially when he discovered he was not the only guest staying at the hotel.

Whilst he’d been reminiscing, another guest, a young lady, had arrived.  He’d heard her and Mrs. Mac coming up the stairs and then shown to a room on the same floor, perhaps at the other end of the passage.

Henry caught his first glimpse of her when she appeared at the door to the dining room, waiting for Mrs. Mac to show her to a table.

She was in her mid-twenties, slim, with long brown hair, and the grace and elegance of a woman associated with countless fashion magazines.  She was, he thought, stunningly beautiful with not a hair out of place, and make-up flawlessly applied.  Her clothes were black, simple, elegant, and expensive, the sort an heiress or wife of a millionaire might condescend to wear to a lesser occasion than dinner.

Then there was her expression; cold, forbidding, almost frightening in its intensity.  And her eyes, piercingly blue and yet laced with pain.  Dracula’s daughter was his immediate description of her.

All in all, he considered, the only thing they had in common was, like him, she seemed totally out of place.

Mrs. Mac came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.  She was, she informed him earlier, chef, waitress, hotelier, barmaid, and cleaner all rolled into one.  Coming up to the new arrival she said, “Ah, Miss Andrews, I’m glad you decided to have dinner.  Would you like to sit with Mr. Henshaw, or would you like to have a table of your own?”

Henry could feel her icy stare as she sized up his appeal as a dining companion, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  He purposely didn’t look back.  In his estimation, his appeal rating was minus six.  Out of a thousand!

“If Mr. Henshaw doesn’t mind….”  She looked at him, leaving the query in mid-air.

He didn’t mind and said so.  Perhaps he’d underestimated his rating.

“Good.”  Mrs. Mac promptly ushered her over.  Henry stood, made sure she was seated properly and sat.

“Thank you.  You are most kind.”  The way she said it suggested snobbish overtones.

“I try to be when I can.”  It was supposed to nullify her sarcastic tone but made him sound a little silly, and when she gave him another of her icy glares, he regretted it.

Mrs. Mac quickly intervened, asking, “Would you care for the soup?”

They did, and, after writing the order on her pad, she gave them each a look, imperceptibly shook her head, and returned to the kitchen.

Before Michelle spoke to him again, she had another quick look at him, trying to fathom who and what he might be.  There was something about him.

His eyes, they mirrored the same sadness she felt, and, yes, there was something else, that it looked like he had been crying?  There was a tinge of redness.

Perhaps, she thought, he was here for the same reason she was.

No.  That wasn’t possible.

Then she said, without thinking, “Do you have any particular reason for coming here?”  Seconds later she realized she’d spoken it out loud, had hadn’t meant to actually ask, it just came out.

It took him by surprise, obviously not the first question he was expecting her to ask of him.

“No, other than it is as far from civilization, and home, as I could get.”

At least we agree on that, she thought.

It was obvious he was running away from something as well.

Given the isolation of the village and lack of geographic hospitality, it was, from her point of view, ideal.  All she had to do was avoid him, and that wouldn’t be difficult.

After getting through this evening first.

“Yes,” she agreed.  “It is that.”

A few seconds passed, and she thought she could feel his eyes on her and wasn’t going to look up.

Until he asked, “What’s your reason?”

Slightly abrupt in manner, perhaps, because of her question and how she asked it.

She looked up.  “Rest.  And have some time to myself.”

She hoped he would notice the emphasis she had placed on the word ‘herself’ and take due note.  No doubt, she thought, she had completely different ideas of what constituted a holiday than he, not that she had said she was here for a holiday.

Mrs. Mac arrived at a fortuitous moment to save them from further conversation.

Over the entree, she wondered if she had made a mistake coming to the hotel.  Of course, there had been no conceivable way she could know that anyone else might have booked the same hotel, but realized it was foolish to think she might end up in it by herself.

Was that what she was expecting?

Not a mistake then, but an unfortunate set of circumstances, which could be overcome by being sensible.

Yet, there he was, and it made her curious, not that he was a man, by himself, in the middle of nowhere, hiding like she was, but for quite varied reasons.

On discreet observance, whilst they ate, she gained the impression his air of light-heartedness was forced, and he had no sense of humour.

This feeling was engendered by his looks, unruly dark hair, and permanent frown.  And then there was his abysmal taste in clothes on a tall, lanky frame.  They were quality but totally unsuited to the wearer.

Rebellion was written all over him.

The only other thought crossing her mind, and incongruously, was he could do with a decent feed.  In that respect, she knew now from the mountain of food in front of her, he had come to the right place.

“Mr. Henshaw?”

He looked up.  “Henshaw is too formal.  Henry sounds much better,” he said, with a slight hint of gruffness.

“Then my name is Michelle.”

Mrs. Mac came in to take their order for the only main course, gather up the entree dishes, and then return to the kitchen.

“Staying long?” she asked.

“About three weeks.  Yourself?”

“About the same.”

The conversation dried up.

Neither looked at the other, rather at the walls, out the window, towards the kitchen, anywhere.  It was, she thought, unbearably awkward.

Mrs. Mac returned with a large tray with dishes on it, setting it down on the table next to theirs.

“Not as good as the usual cook,” she said, serving up the dinner expertly, “but it comes a good second, even if I do say so myself.  Care for some wine?”

Henry looked at Michelle.  “What do you think?”

“I’m used to my dining companions making the decision.”

You would, he thought.  He couldn’t help but notice the cutting edge of her tone.  Then, to Mrs. Mac, he named a particular White Burgundy he liked, and she bustled off.

“I hope you like it,” he said, acknowledging her previous comment with a smile that had nothing to do with humour.

“Yes, so do I.”

Both made a start on the main course, a concoction of chicken and vegetables that were delicious, Henry thought when compared to the bland food he received at home and sometimes aboard my ship.

It was five minutes before Mrs Mac returned with the bottle and two glasses.  After opening it and pouring the drinks, she left them alone again.

Henry resumed the conversation.  “How did you arrive?  I came by train.”

“By car.”

“Did you drive yourself?”

And he thought, a few seconds later, that was a silly question, otherwise she would not be alone, and certainly not sitting at this table. With him.

“After a fashion.”

He could see that she was formulating a retort in her mind, then changed it, instead, smiling for the first time, and it served to lighten the atmosphere.

And in doing so, it showed him she had another more pleasant side despite the fact she was trying not to look happy.

“My father reckons I’m just another of ‘those’ women drivers,” she added.

“Whatever for?”

“The first and only time he came with me I had an accident.  I ran up the back of another car.  Of course, it didn’t matter to him the other driver was driving like a startled rabbit.”

“It doesn’t help,” he agreed.

“Do you drive?”

“Mostly people up the wall.”  His attempt at humour failed.  “Actually,” he added quickly, “I’ve got a very old Morris that manages to get me where I’m going.”

The apple pie and cream for dessert came and went and the rapport between them improved as the wine disappeared and the coffee came.  Both had found, after getting to know each other better, their first impressions were not necessarily correct.

“Enjoy the food?” Mrs. Mac asked, suddenly reappearing.

“Beautifully cooked and delicious to eat,” Michelle said, and Henry endorsed her remarks.

“Ah, it does my heart good to hear such genuine compliments,” she said, smiling.  She collected the last of the dishes and disappeared yet again.

“What do you do for a living,” Michelle asked in an off-hand manner.

He had a feeling she was not particularly interested, and it was just making conversation.

“I’m a purser.”

“A what?”

“A purser.  I work on a ship doing the paperwork, that sort of thing.”

“I see.”

“And you?”

“I was a model.”

“Was?”

“Until I had an accident, a rather bad one.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

So that explained the odd feeling he had about her.

As the evening wore on, he began to think there might be something wrong, seriously wrong with her because she didn’t look too well.  Even the carefully applied makeup, from close, didn’t hide the very pale, and tired look, or the sunken, dark-ringed eyes.

“I try not to think about it, but it doesn’t necessarily work.  I’ve come here for peace and quiet, away from doctors and parents.”

“Then you will not have to worry about me annoying you.  I’m one of those fall-asleep-reading-a-book types.”

Perhaps it would be like ships passing in the night and then smiled to himself about the analogy.

Dinner over, they separated.

Henry went back to the lounge to read a few pages of his book before going to bed, and Michelle went up to her room to retire for the night.

But try as he might, he was unable to read, his mind dwelling on the unusual, yet compellingly mysterious person he would be sharing the hotel with.

Overlaying that original blurred image of her standing in the doorway was another of her haunting expressions that had, he finally conceded, taken his breath away, and a look that had sent more than one tingle down his spine.

She may not have thought much of him, but she had certainly made an impression on him.

…

© Charles Heath 2015-2024

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Searching for Locations: The Eiffel Tower, Paris, France

Sorry, reminiscing again…

It was a cold but far from a miserable day.  We were taking our grandchildren on a tour of the most interesting sites in Paris, the first of which was the Eiffel Tower.

We took the overground train, which had double-decker carriages, a first for the girls, to get to the tower.

We took the underground, or Metro, back, and they were fascinated with the fact the train carriages ran on road tires.

Because it was so cold, and windy, the tower was only open to the second level. It was a disappointment to us, but the girls were content to stay on the second level.

There they had the French version of chips.

It was a dull day, but the views were magnificent.

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A view of the Seine

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Sacre Coeur church at Montmartre in the distance.

Another view along the river Seine

Overlooking the tightly packed apartment buildings

Looking along the opposite end of the river Seine

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

It is available on Amazon here:  http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz

Writing a book in 365 days – My Story 36

More about my story

Visiting the catacombs of the world to get background for a location in my story

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Beyond the Grave: A Guide to the World’s Fascinating Catacombs

Beneath the bustling streets of some of the world’s most vibrant cities lie silent cities of the dead – the catacombs. These ancient burial grounds, often labyrinthine and filled with the echoes of centuries past, offer a unique and often profound glimpse into history, culture, and humanity’s relationship with mortality.

Far from being merely macabre, touring a catacomb is an opportunity to connect with the lives (and deaths) of those who came before us, to marvel at ancient engineering, and to contemplate the passage of time. If you’re ready to step into the cool, quiet depths below, here are some of the world’s most incredible catacombs open to visitors, and what you can expect to find.

Catacombs You Can Tour Around the World:

  1. The Catacombs of Paris, France
    • What it is: Arguably the most famous catacomb, this massive underground ossuary holds the remains of an estimated six million Parisians. It was created in the late 18th century to alleviate overcrowded cemeteries.
    • What to expect: Prepare for long queues (booking in advance is essential!). Once inside, you’ll descend 130 steps into a cool, damp, and dimly lit world. The main attraction is the “Empire of Death,” where neatly stacked femurs and skulls line miles of passages, often arranged in decorative patterns. It’s incredibly atmospheric, overwhelming in scale, and offers a powerful reflection on human mortality.
  2. The Catacombs of Rome, Italy
    • What it is: Rome boasts multiple catacomb systems, primarily early Christian burial sites dating from the 2nd to 5th centuries AD. The most famous include the Catacombs of St. Callixtus, Catacombs of Priscilla, and Catacombs of Domitilla.
    • What to expect: These are less about decorative bone arrangements and more about exploring ancient, hand-dug underground cemeteries. You’ll navigate narrow, winding passages often stretching for miles. Expect to see:
      • Loculi: Simple niches carved into the walls where bodies were placed, then sealed with tiles or marble slabs.
      • Cubicula: Small chambers, often family tombs, sometimes decorated with frescoes depicting biblical scenes or everyday life.
      • Crypts: Larger, more significant burial areas for martyrs or early popes.
    • Note: Guided tours are mandatory and highly informative, covering the history of early Christianity and burial practices.
  3. The Capuchin Crypt (Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini), Rome, Italy
    • What it is: Not a catacomb in the traditional sense, but a series of small chapels beneath a church, decorated with the skeletal remains of over 3,700 Capuchin friars.
    • What to expect: An incredibly unique and artistic display. The bones (skulls, vertebrae, femurs, etc.) are meticulously arranged to form intricate patterns, chandeliers, and even full skeletal figures dressed in friar habits. It’s a “memento mori” – a reminder of the inevitability of death – designed to inspire reflection rather than fear. Photography is strictly prohibited.
  4. The Capuchin Catacombs of Palermo, Sicily, Italy
    • What it is: A truly astonishing and somewhat eerie catacomb containing the remarkably preserved bodies of thousands of Sicilians, dating from the 17th to 19th centuries.
    • What to expect: Unlike Rome’s catacombs or Paris’s ossuary, here you’ll find mummified, embalmed, and sometimes naturally desiccated bodies, often dressed in their finest clothes, standing or lying in open coffins. They are divided into sections for friars, men, women, virgins, professors, and children. The most famous resident is Rosalia Lombardo, a perfectly preserved two-year-old. It’s a poignant, sometimes unsettling, but always fascinating window into past lives and burial customs.
  5. The Catacombs of San Francisco Convent, Lima, Peru
    • What it is: Beneath one of Lima’s most beautiful and historic churches lies a vast catacomb housing the remains of an estimated 25,000 people.
    • What to expect: As part of a guided tour of the stunning convent and library above, you’ll descend into underground passages. The highlight is a series of large, circular ossuaries where bones (skulls, femurs) are meticulously organized and arranged in decorative patterns, creating a striking visual impact. It’s a blend of historical context, architectural beauty, and a powerful sense of the past.
  6. The Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Italy
    • What it is: Naples’ most extensive and ancient Christian catacomb, spanning two levels and featuring grander spaces than some of Rome’s smaller catacombs.
    • What to expect: Wide tunnels, high ceilings, and an impressive sense of scale. You’ll see beautiful early Christian frescoes, mosaics, and intricate burial niches. It’s less crowded than Rome’s catacombs, offering a more intimate experience with ancient art and history. The unique two-level structure and the grandeur of some of the burial chambers are particularly striking.

What to Expect to Find & Feel When Visiting Catacombs:

  • Bones, Bones, and More Bones: This is the obvious. Skeletons, skulls, femurs, and other human remains are the primary “exhibit.” How they are presented varies wildly – from neatly stacked walls to artful arrangements, to individual mummified bodies.
  • Cool, Damp, and Dimly Lit Environments: Catacombs are underground, so expect cooler temperatures (even on a hot day) and a constant, slightly earthy dampness. Lighting is typically subdued for preservation and atmosphere, so your eyes will need time to adjust.
  • Narrow and Uneven Passages: Many catacombs feature tight, winding corridors. If you have claustrophobia, this is something to consider. Wear sturdy, comfortable shoes as the ground can be uneven.
  • A Tangible Sense of History: You are walking through spaces where people were laid to rest centuries ago. The air itself seems to carry the weight of memory. It’s a profoundly immersive historical experience.
  • Art and Architecture: Beyond the bones, look for ancient frescoes, carvings, mosaics, and ingenious engineering that allowed for the creation of these vast underground networks.
  • A Sense of Reverence and Reflection: These are sacred burial sites. Visitors are generally expected to be respectful, quiet, and reflective. Many people find catacombs to be powerful spaces for contemplating life, death, and human existence.
  • Guided Tours: For most major catacombs, especially in Rome and Naples, a guided tour is mandatory. These are invaluable for understanding the history, significance, and often intricate stories behind the bones and structures.
  • Limited Photography: Many catacombs restrict or prohibit photography to preserve the sites and maintain a respectful atmosphere. Always check the rules before you go.

Visiting catacombs is a journey into the past, a unique blend of history, archaeology, and human spirituality. While they might seem daunting, the experience is often described as awe-inspiring and deeply thought-provoking, leaving visitors with a truly unforgettable perspective on our shared human story.

In a word: Ghost

Have you seen one?  I haven’t.  Yet.

I’ve stayed in a few places where ghosts were purported to be roaming the passages at night, but apparently not the night I was staying.

And that’s something else that I have a problem with, why is it ghosts only come out at night, or is that just the perception I have got from reading up on the subject.

Maybe my view of ghosts is somewhat stilted, after all, I think my first introduction to ghosts was watching The Centerville Ghost, a movie I saw on t.v. when I was very young.

You have to admit Hollywood’s perception of ghosts is quite interesting.

But…

Do you think they are real?  Do I think they are real?

I think I would have to be presented with some fairly solid evidence they exist, but perhaps not to the point of meeting one.

There are, it seems countless examples of ethereal forces, you know, wind blowing where there’s no wind or draught outside, room temperatures dropping for no apparent reason, knocking, rattling of chains, strange noises like low moaning.

And yet…

There are hotels you can stay in such as the Chelsea Hotel in New York, where it’s possible to run into Sid Vicious.

Sorry, not staying there any time soon.

Then there’s the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel in Los Angeles where it’s possible to run into Marylin Monroe, who lived in room 229.

That could be an interesting encounter.

Another is the Westin St Francis in San Francisco where the actress Virginia Rappe died while attending a party held in Fatty Arbuckle’s room, Arbuckle’s room, who was later accused of assaulting and murdering her, and whose career tanked after the incident.

Her ghost is seen moving about the hotel tearing her hair out.  It seems all of the spectral activity occurs on the 12th floor.

Good to know if I decide to stay there.  I wonder if they have a 13th floor?

Perhaps in too old to be running the gamut of paranormal experiences, the old heart is not as strong as it used to be.