Here is a snippet of a short story of mine that is available on for $2.16. As I think about it, it may be steep for a single short story…oh what the heck, it’s only two bucks and change… Anyway,  I plan to start marketing my shorts online as self-published ebooks in order to generate a following. I’ve written several, with several more in the tank (think-tank) just waiting to spill out onto paper…

I’ll give you a taste of this one, called The Banshee of the Rannoch Moor, and perhaps you can comment on whether it piques your interest…


I believe it was the Bard himself who wrote, “there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” and I am here to tell you it’s a fact. The story I’m about to tell is true, I swear it by all that is holy, and all that is unholy for that matter, for this isn’t a tale for the faint of heart. Be warned, for if you hear the cry of the Banshee…but wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Here, sit down, let me start from the beginning, so you can judge for yourself. I may not tell it well, but then who’s to say what’s worth the telling, eh? Sit. It’ll only take a little while. There, that’s better.

It happened quite a spell ago, not before the time I was born, you understand, but perhaps a good span of time before you. Anyway, I heard the story direct from one who would know it, you can be sure of that, and a more honest person you’d never want to meet. Wouldn’t tell a lie to save his soul, he wouldn’t. I can vouch for that.

Anyway, the way he tells it, Lonnie and Rachel McAnderson lived out on the Rannoch Moor, not far from Loch Rannoch. Rachel McAnderson was fair and beautiful, while her husband was coarse of manner and ill tempered. In fact, it was said that he was a brute of a husband and Rachel grew most unhappy with her lot, so much so that she began spending more and more time at the little country church of St. Elban’s.

What started out as an earnest desire to find peace in her soul grew quickly into an affair of the heart between her and the church’s pastor, Reverend McBride. Rachel found the Reverend to be a sympathetic ear to her woes and the Reverend, who at first sought only to comfort the poor woman, soon fell in love with her, so beautiful and gentle were her ways.

Rachel, who’d married Lonnie McAnderson at an early age, had never known anyone as kind and loving as the Reverend, and it wasn’t long before she returned his love in kind. Rachel attended services religiously, if you’ll pardon the pun, in an effort to spend more time with the Reverend. She volunteered for any affair that would get her out of her house and to the Lord’s, collecting clothes for the poor, cleaning the church and rectory, providing religious instruction to the children. She was always the first to arrive and the last to leave and gained a reputation as a godly woman of the church.

She’d have gained a reputation of a very different sort, mind you, had the wags at that church seen what went on after she and the Reverend were alone. Once left to their own devices, the Rachel and the Reverend enjoyed each other’s company in a most unholy way, if you don’t mind me saying so. They made love right there in the church, God forgive them. And although the Reverend had long been a missionary, that wasn’t the only position he assumed, if you catch my drift. They frolicked together in the most diverse and varied fashion from one end of the church to the other. Not even the choir loft was safe from their doings. It was on those long buggy rides to and from the church that Rachel hatched a plan to set her free of her uncaring husband and let her fly to her lover’s arms for once and for all.