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Doctor Who and the Music of the Dolmen

Doctor Who: The Music of the Dolmen

A lonely Irish field. An ancient stone table the locals dare not cross after dusk. And music—sweet, wordless, and terrible—drifting over the hedgerows at twilight.

When the TARDIS sets down near Haroldstown Dolmen in nineteenth-century County Carlow, the Doctor dismisses it as a simple megalith. But the parish books tell another story: of vanished boys and broken fiddle-bows left upon the stone; of a lady in green velvet singing the living down into silence. Investigating beneath the dolmen, the Doctor discovers a chamber of whispering figures—neither alive nor dead—while the song coils tighter around his companions.

What lies under the stone is no tomb—but a trap still feeding. To save Ian, Barbara and Susan from the music’s call, the Doctor must confront the intelligence that plays human souls like strings… before the last note falls.


Contents

  1. A Harp in the Hedgerows – In which the travellers meet a worried historian, a superstitious farmer, and a song that is not a song.
  2. Parish Ink and Green Velvet – Testimonies, tokens on stone, and a vision upon the capstone that nearly claims Ian.
  3. What the Earth Remembered – The Doctor digs; a lantern shows too much; Susan hears her name from beneath.
  4. The Unplayed Note – A bargain, a breaking, and a silence that does not quite hold.

 Do you want to read more?

Click on the link – and enjoy.

 

 
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Posted by on September 30, 2025 in Uncategorized

 

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Fle, an ancient old elf

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fle, an elf so ancient he remembered when the stars were new, had dedicated his incredibly long life to a singular, earthly purpose: fertilizer. For over 1,700 years, his world had been the quiet, luminescent depths of his subterranean mine. His greatest achievement was the “Black Gold”, a powerful, slow-release compost brewed from a secret recipe of volcanic ash, enchanted mushroom spores, and the finest river silt. It was his masterpiece, stored in dozens of perfectly stacked bags.

One morning, the serene hum of his mine was replaced by a jarring, hollow silence. A large, clumsy wheelbarrow track led from the mine’s entrance, and the tell-tale scent of stolen goods hung in the air. A quick count confirmed the damage: twenty-three bags of his precious Black Gold were gone. Fle’s fury was a cold, quiet thing, a force that had been dormant for centuries.

Cursing in a dialect older than the mountains themselves, Fle dusted off his tracking cloak and followed the trail. The thief, a human, was leaving a trail of astonishing carelessness—a dropped coin, a ripped piece of burlap, and the occasional, rogue sprig of basil from the surface world. Fle expected a short pursuit, but the thief was surprisingly cunning, ducking through thickets and wading through streams to break the trail. This wasn’t a simple robbery; it was a determined escape.

The chase stretched across leagues, a game of cat-and-mouse between ancient wisdom and youthful desperation. Fle, unused to the chaos of the overworld, was bewildered by its noise and frantic pace. He navigated bustling market towns and sprawling farms, his frustration mounting. Finally, by the light of a pale moon, he cornered the thief in a field of withered, black stalks.

The thief, a young woman named Elara, was collapsed beside a makeshift cart. Her face was smudged with dirt and streaked with tears. Fle saw not defiance in her eyes, but a profound, bone-deep sorrow. “It was the only thing I could do,” she whispered, her voice raw. “The blight… it took everything. I just needed enough to save what’s left.”

Fle’s anger faltered. He saw the truth in her eyes. Her village was starving, and she, a thief driven by love, had taken the only thing that could save them. He looked at the twenty-three bags of Black Gold, now scattered around the barren field. The fertilizer’s magic was already weakening, its slow-release potency starting to leak into the polluted soil.

With a heavy sigh, Fle made a decision that astonished even himself. “The fertilizer is worthless to you now,” he said, his voice softer than she expected. “You handled it incorrectly. But… I can show you how to use it. And you can work to pay your debt.” He pointed at a few stalks that had resisted the blight. “I will teach you to tend the earth, but in return, you will help me tend my mine. From this day forward, you will be my apprentice.”

Elara’s tears flowed freely, not from sadness, but from overwhelming relief. Her gaze met the old elf’s, and for the first time, she saw not a terrifying creature of legend, but an unexpected, and incredibly grumpy, ally. Fle, for his part, looked at the ruined field and felt a twinge of something new: a purpose beyond his mine, a responsibility to a world he had long since left behind.

Want to read more?

Click on the link, below, and enjoy.

The Origins of Black Gold

 
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Posted by on September 11, 2025 in Uncategorized

 

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Embracing the Chaos: A Writer’s Journey

Embracing the Chaos: A Writer’s Journey

The Crazymad Writer, that’s me, you see,

A brain in chaos, a wild decree.

My thoughts, a whirlwind, a tangled yarn,

A literary tempest in a barn.

The words they tumble, they leap, they fly,

A frantic stampede beneath the sky.

A comma here, a semi-colon there,

A frantic dance on the brink of despair.

I write of dragons with spectacles perched,

Of teacups singing, for them I’ve searched.

Of socks that vanish, a mystery grand,

Of polka-dot elephants in the land.

Why do I do it? The mad, mad scrawl?

It’s either that, or climb the wall!

The stories bubble, they must break free,

Lest I become a footnote in history.

So forgive the frenzy, the ink-stained hand,

The logic lost on this scribbling land.

It’s not a choice, it’s a desperate need,

To plant this crazy, literary seed.

 

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“The Old Lady and Her Pipe”

“The Old Lady and Her Pipe”

The Old Lady and Her Pipe
by the Hearthside Window

She sits by the window, pipe in her hand,
A curl of blue smoke like a silken strand.
The weather may bluster, the winds may bite,
But her old clay pipe is her one delight.

“A hundred,” she says, “and not a cough,
Still climb the stairs, still shake the frost off.
They warned me once—oh, they tried in vain—
But this little pipe keeps off the pain.”

She puffs with pride, her eyes aglow,
Recalling winters full of snow.
“When the frost would nip and the fire ran low,
This pipe would set my cheeks aglow.”

“And come the summer, sweltering heat,
When stockings stick to swollen feet—
A puff or two beneath the tree,
And suddenly I’m cool as can be.”

She taps the bowl, a rhythmic beat,
Her slippers scuff the ancient seat.
“They sell their lotions, teas, and pills—
I’ve only this and strong old will.”

“Doctors tut, and children frown,
But I’ve outlived half the town!
They’ll see me walking, cane in hand—
While they queue up for rubber bands.”

So puff she does, and smiles so wide,
The years have not slowed down her stride.
“Smoke?” she says, “Oh yes, I do—
And I’ll smoke ’til I’m a hundred and two!”

For warmth or chill, for joy or strife,
She’s smoked that pipe her entire life.
A tale of age, of stubborn cheer—
And a pipe that’s outlasted every year.

 
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Posted by on August 1, 2025 in poems, rhyme, Uncategorized

 

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Garlic and Stinkbomb

Garlic and Stinkbomb

Once upon a time, there lived a troll called Garlic. He was not a happy troll; in fact, he was the most dejected troll you could have the misfortune of meeting. How could he have been happy, when he had what he believed was the worst name in the entire troll world? Read this story and see what happened to him.

Click on the link below to download this free eBook – and enjoy.

https://payhip.com/b/hcPkz

 
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Posted by on July 1, 2025 in Uncategorized

 

I fell down a waterfall

I fell down a waterfall

I Fell Down a Waterfall

Oh, what a thrill, I took a dive,

With flailing arms, I came alive!

Down the waterfall, I took my flight,

Splashing and crashing, oh what a sight!

Like a wild fish in a jelly jar,

I soared like an eagle—well, not quite far.

The water roared as it twisted and turned,

While I flopped and flailed like a pancake burned.

“Geronimo!” I had yelled with glee,

Not knowing the plunge was a one-way spree.

I somersaulted through bubbles and foam,

In nature’s embrace—I felt right at home!

Each drop felt like a rollercoaster ride,

With giggles escaping—oh, what joy inside!

Lands of rainbow and glitters went past,

“Watch out for turtles!” I shouted at last.

Then plop! I landed with splashes galore;

My friends all burst out laughing—what more?

I stood drenched and dizzy but grinned wide and free,

For falling from heights is the best way to be!

waterfall

I fell down a waterfall

 
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Posted by on June 26, 2025 in Uncategorized

 

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Banana Dreams in Frosty Schemes

Banana Dreams in Frosty Schemes

In the land where snowflakes frolic and twirl,
I planted a dream with a leaf, quite a whirl!
My neighbors all chuckled, “You jest, you’re absurd!
Bananas don’t grow where the sun’s not preferred!”

With gloves made of mittens and scarves around me,
I watered my seedlings with hope and some glee.
“Just wait!” I would chirp as I fashioned my plan,
“To harvest sweet bananas like no other man!”

They laughed as I mulled over compost and peat,
Ignoring the frosties that nipped at my feet.
Each morning I’d venture through layers of chill,
To greet all my saplings with laughter and will.

“Come on little buddies! Just blossom and thrive!
A fruit salad waiting—let’s take a dive!”
But what popped up first? A rather odd sight—
A banana-shaped carrot! Oh what a fright!

Yet joy filled the air with each whimsical deed,
From frosted despair sprouted laughter’s sweet seed.
For who needs ripe fruit when your heart gives off light?
In this chilly banana land—everything’s right!

So here’s to those dreams that defy every norm,
To bananas in winter—a radical form!
With humor as warmth in the cold icy breath,
Let’s dance with our veggies—a triumph o’er death!

 
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Posted by on June 26, 2025 in Uncategorized

 

Zombie Apocalypse

The noise was barely audible above the sound of pouring rain. It came from outside, some distant part of the night. To Mike, it sounded like a distant drumming, or maybe just the low rumble of thunder. He had heard it before, on storms like this one, but never for so long.

He stood in his bedroom, watching the rain roll down the windowpane. He was alone, as he had been for weeks, living alone in this old farmhouse in rural America. The sound of the rain was soothing, and Mike was almost lulled to sleep until the noise returned, louder now. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and he shivered despite the warmth of the night.

Something was out there, something dangerous. He was sure of it.

He grabbed his flashlight from the bedside table, the only weapon he had in the house. He hurried to the door, his heart racing in his chest. He had to find out what was out there. He had to know.

He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. The rain was coming down hard, drenching him in an instant. He shielded his eyes and scanned the yard, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He took another few steps and the noise got louder, like a deep humming. He stopped in his tracks and listened, his heart pounding in his ears.

There, in the shadows, he saw something. It was too far away to make out, but it seemed to be coming closer. He held his breath and waited, his flashlight ready in his trembling hand.

The creature stepped into the light of the porch. It was tall and thin, with long, thin limbs. Its flesh was a pale grey, its eyes dark and empty. It was a zombie.

Mike stumbled backward, the flashlight falling from his grip. He had always known the zombie apocalypse was coming, but he had never expected to confront one of them in his own backyard. He ran back into the house, fear coursing through his veins. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, panting.

He was safe, for the moment. But he knew he couldn’t stay here forever. He had to find a way to survive the zombie apocalypse. He just had to.

He did what he always did when he was feeling scared and helpless: he opened his laptop and started researching. He read articles on survival tactics, zombie anatomy, weaponry, and more. He read stories of other survivors, and their tales of courage and hope in the face of the undead. He read until the dawn came, and the rain stopped.

When the light of day finally came, Mike had a plan. He had his own way to survive the zombie apocalypse, and he was ready to put it into action. He just had to survive long enough to do it.

CONTD

zombies
 
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Posted by on September 19, 2023 in Uncategorized

 

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Old Ireland

Old Ireland

………………….

[Stanza 1]

In the land of old Ireland, where legends reside,

Where ancient tales and myths coincide,

A place of beauty, both wild and serene,

With rolling green hills and valleys so keen.

[Stanza 2]

From Dublin’s bustling streets to Galway’s shores,

The Irish spirit, it forever soars,

With charming pubs and Guinness galore,

Where leprechauns dance and legends explore.

[Stanza 3]

The music rings out, a lively reel,

As fiddles and flutes make hearts truly feel,

The craic is mighty, laughter fills the air,

With Irish wit and banter beyond compare.

[Stanza 4]

From Blarney Castle to the Cliffs of Moher,

The landscapes enchant, leaving you in awe,

With castles and ruins steeped in history’s lore,

Old Ireland beckons, forevermore.

[Stanza 5]

So raise a glass to this Emerald Isle,

Where magic and merriment go on for miles,

Old Ireland, a place like no other,

Where charm and laughter reign supreme, brother!

 
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Posted by on September 15, 2023 in Uncategorized

 

32nd December.

32nd December.

If you liked Harry Potter you will love this story
As I sat uneasily atop my hound-horse, a large and fast animal as much greyhound as horse, I slipped my left hand into my jacket pocket and felt the cold steel of my trusty old lighter. Grasping tightly securing it in my sweating palm I carefully removed it from my suit pocket exposing the shiny metal to the bright rays of sunlight. My eyes, looking down onto my now open hand, squinted as the reflected rays tore away in several distinct directions, and my fingers clutched its familiar presence ever tighter. It was only a common and ever so ordinary cigarette lighter, but I felt an affinity with it; like that of an old friend. I ran my fingers along it, like petting an dog, then suddenly an almighty crack of thunder exploding directly overhead, in a tempestuous fury, brought my attention back to the task in hand the outcome of which promised life or death to each and everyone of us. So, without further ado, I cleared my mind and began speaking. I began reciting words, words which had only seconds earlier entered my tired brain, I said…”

“I hold this item in this my hand
To act as a bridge in these our plans
We need a distraction, a disturbance right now
To help Kakuri and the HU BA HOU.”

“No sooner had I finished speaking, and the last word left my lips, the sky began to darken. The dark clouds, appearing from nowhere, grew larger and larger and blacker and blacker until they had joined together in one congealed mass of undiluted anger. In a few short minutes the sky had changed from a deep summer blue to a black so dark day had turned into night.
Some of the assembled hound-horses sidestepped nervously, their handlers struggling to calm them. The wind began to blow, soft at first, but increasingly stronger. Then the heavens, opening in a deluge of rain, spewed thunder and lightning the likes of which I had never before seen; a storm, a full-blown storm was upon us.”
“And a storm was exactly what Kakuri needed. Through the driving rain, speaking directly to the HU BA HOU, she said, ‘Now my friend, it’s up to you – do your best.’ And with those words still lingering in its cavernous ears the huge animal took off at full-gallop heading straight for the Timeless Gates guarding the walled city of Onisha. The animal, sensing this was the final offensive, kept its large heavyset and armour-plated head well down. The storm now so intense Kakuri had, after only a few seconds, lost all sense of direction. She had no way of knowing if she was still on course, all she could do was trust the HU BA HOU, and hold on for dear life.”
“As if that were not enough for me to be worried about Kiliki had, meanwhile, given the order to the impatient, assembled Onishians to attack. And who could blame their impatience? It was their land, and they wanted revenge! The entire rag-tag collection of Onishians and their assorted animals plus the Orlu (a separate race of small ever obliging speedy people) were now hot on Kakuri’s heels with no intention of being left behind in the middle of nowhere, and in such a terrible storm. Soaked to the skin they all rushed headlong into the unknown. Some shouted, others roared and still others screamed with the delight they felt rising up against the man who had promised so much, who had given so little and who taken everything.”
“I could see the huge beast’s armour-plated defences, which had, only hours earlier, been carefully crafted by the ingenious Orlu, sparkling brilliantly in the reflected lightning flashes. The plates, of every conceivable shape and size, colliding with one another clanged loudly in a surreal musical tempo, and if there was anybody, within the walled city, still capable of seeing through the blinding, driving rain they would have been filled with the fear of God.
Suddenly, just short of the still-defiant gates, the HU BA HOU stopped. We all stopped dead in our tracks, wondering just what could be the problem. Then the tank, the ugly humpy-tank of an animal, clawing at the ground (like a bull), rising on its hind legs (like a horse) while roaring its own unique ear-shattering cry lifted its large, ugly head one last time before hurling itself forward with the gates set firmly in its sights, nothing could stop it now…”

“Watching, from the relative safety of a short distance behind, my mind wandered trying to remember how this had all come about. Why, only a few days earlier I had been all set for Christmas. I remembered sitting comfortably in front on the TV, looking forward to a well-earned rest. And now, here I was in an alien land about to follow a fair maiden atop an abomination of a creature called a HU BA HOU in an assault on a walled city, searching for a man called Miafra – for a man who would be a god. Searching for a man who had stopped time, stolen the chi (the free will) of the people and drained the powers of the most revered Mystic in the entire land. My thoughts, racing, drifted back to Christmas Eve those few short days ago…”

fantasy story

eBooks for children; fantasy stories.

 

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