Medallion of Evil:
Working title of next novel.
Not sure yet about the front cover.
Framework for story in place.
Staying with the WWII theme.
This time with more German POV.
Written about 4,000 words so far.
Some more research needed.
Working to complete by end of year.
Hoping to publish before Xmas.
Short extract below.
Monique stared at the accumulation of junk—memories of past
generations. Why do families hoard such stuff? The aged ochre shell of a low
wattage light bulb dangled from a frayed cord like an over-ripe pear. Drapes of
dust-laden cobwebs shimmered in this paltry light source, casting grotesque shadows
across the attic. The cramped roof space contained a clutter of cardboard
cartons, wooden crates and stored luggage that tottered precariously upwards
towards oak beams encrusted with years of grime. Finding her grandmother’s old
battered trunk had seemed an impossible task but within minutes, she spotted
the tarnished brass handles protruding from the mass of lumber as though
begging discovery.
She remembered the first time she had encountered grandma’s
souvenirs and personal belongings. One month after the old woman’s death,
mother considered that the family had allowed sufficient time for respectful
mourning. Armed with an assortment of cleaning materials, Monique had
accompanied her mother and elder sister, Elodie to ‘spring-clean’ the property
by the lake prior to moving in. Though they had spent many happy hours as
youngsters at the house, on this occasion the atmosphere was goose-pimplingly
scary, contrasting starkly with summertime visits picking strawberries in the
extensive gardens. Now, with grandma’s death—apparently, grandpa had died
during the Second World War when still a young man—the emptiness conveyed a
palpable sadness. Bare oak floors resonated to their footsteps like never
before; windows no longer sparkled in the sunshine. Yet it had seemed that, no
matter how much effort they employed in dusting and polishing, a musty ‘old
person’ smell lingered, especially in the rooms upstairs. After two more days
tidying and separating the items they wished to sacrifice to the real world by
retaining, destroying, selling or donating to charitable organisations, the
property stood ready for its new occupants. In later years, the girls compared
the general clear out to a sorting room at the local Red Cross offices before
they restored decades of family memorabilia to the attic.
On the day that Lady Diana Spencer married Prince Charles, the
Arnaud family—mother Bernadette, father Edouard and their two daughters— became
the new residents of grandma’s house. The imposing three-storey property stood
overlooking the lake at Cieux, a small town northwest of Limoges
in south central France
Once again, that odour of decay wafted over Monique as she pulled
the trunk from its storage where it had rested since that unforgettable
housekeeping exercise twelve years previously. Delighted with such a rapid
detection of her prize—the attic still gave her the creeps—with some relief, she
descended to the warmth and comfort of the living room. She dumped the rescued
heirloom at her sister’s feet.
“This is it,” she gasped, still breathless from the ordeal of
clambering down from the attic with the weighty baggage. “I’m certain that it
will contain what we need.”
Elodie was quiet and extremely shy, in stark contrast to her lively
sister; she eyed it with little enthusiasm. The trunk looked shabby and emitted
a nasty smell; it reminded her of their deceased grandmother.
Copyright © 2013 by James R. Vance
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