As I was scouting around the internet, I came across a blog called Lurking Musings by David Lascelles. As part of Vampire Month as he calls it, he invites writers who have written about the paranormal to share their ideas. So I shot across a short story called Beginnings.

David is a former clinical scientist turned teacher. He is the author of ‘Gods of the Sea’, a short story in the Pirates and Swashbucklers Anthology by Pulp Empire ( and ‘Transitions’ from Mundania Press (


I haven’t talked much about the short story format at the blog as the blog has centred primarily on poetry and poet interviews, but I think it is a good idea to start including different aspects of writing here, don’t you?

In this story I’ve written, I talk about the writer and the supernatural. There are views that the supernatural is very artificial, very unreal, and the last resort of a dead imagination. Considering on the other hand, Pottermania and Twilight fantasies, the story of the paranormal holds sway and lights up the imagination. If handled well, these kinds of stories have enormous potential.

Most of the short stories that I’ve written are very realistic, so even I was surprised when a woman predator from South Asian folklore decided to become a character in the novella I’ve written.I suppose you can’t really choose these things.

Here’s an excerpt from the story. Do visit David’s blog for more.


I like to go out sometimes and sit beside the pond. There I watch the black fish nibble at my feet and the coconut trees reflect themselves. It is at times like these that I compose a poem or contemplate a character that made its way out of a book into my heart. I’m usually left alone at times like these but today I hear a woman hum as she comes toward me and sits with me by the lichened steps.

“Can I join you?” she says. She is playful and I a woman, unafraid of another.

“Desperate?” I ask her because I know at once who she is. She is alarmingly beautiful, a siren from Greek myth or an apsara. I think her eyes are made of precious stones and her hair of the ocean. She is what we call in these parts, a yakshi. “No men to pick on these days?”

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 © neelthemuse,2013

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