Which Was Which

By Annette Siketa

Two identical men are seen hundreds of miles apart. One is innocent if somewhat arrogant, whilst the other is a demonic killer, but which is which?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annette Siketa
• Release date: Jul 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310449086

Annette Siketa

For those of you who have not yet made my acquaintance, my name is Annette Siketa, and I am totally blind. Were you aware that most blind and visually impaired people are extraordinarily perceptive? To sighted people, this ability must seem like ESP, and I suppose to a certain extent, it is. (I'm referring to the literal meaning of Extra Sensory Perception, not the spooky interpretation.) To compensate for the lack of vision, the brain and the other four senses become sharper, so that we can discern a smell or the identity of an object. I promise you there's no trickery involved. It's simply a matter of adapting the body to ‘think’ in another way.Being blind is no barrier to creativity. Like most things in this world, life is what you make of it, and after losing my sight due to an eye operation that went terribly wrong, I became a writer, and have now produced a wide variety of books and short stories, primarily of the ghost/supernatural/things that go bump in the night genre.So, how does a blind person write a book? On the practical side, I use a text-to-speech program called ‘Jaws’, which enables me to use and navigate around a computer, including the Internet, with considerable ease. Information on Jaws can be found at www.freedomscientific.comOn the creative side...well, that’s a little more difficult to explain. Try this experiment. Put on your favourite movie and watch it blindfolded. As you already ‘know’ the movie – who does what where & when etc, your mind compensates for the lack of visualisation by filling in the ‘blanks’. Now try it with something you’ve never seen before, even the six o'clock news. Not so easy to fill in the blanks now is it?By this point you’re probably going bonkers with frustration – hee hee, welcome to my world! Do not remove the blindfold. Instead, allow your imagination to compensate for the lack of visualization, and this will give you an idea of how I create my stories. Oh, if only Steven Spielberg could read my mind.

Book preview

WHICH WAS WHICH?

by Annette Siketa

Copyright © 2020 Annette Siketa.

No part of this book may be manipulated, transmitted, or altered by any method or manner whatsoever. All rights reserved. Please respect the authors’ rights. Only through honesty can the insidious practice of illegal copying be curbed.

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Contents

Which Was Which?

Other Books & Freebies.

Extra Story! The Flip Side.

Extract from 'GHOSTLAND'.

About Me.

And No

I.

I’m glad we decided to come here instead of the Continent, said Jack. Good food, plenty of sunshine, and the tang of salty air. Why, I’m feeling better already.

Jack Massey and I had been friends since school. He was a doctor of impeccable standing, and although classified as a General Practitioner, he had made a study of damaged ligaments. Indeed, such was his reputation in this field, that his application to study at a prestigious hospital in America was likely to be approved.

I, on the other hand, after several uninspiring positions, had recently completed basic training for the Royal Air Force, and it was during the graduation ceremony that Jack suggested we go on holiday together. As I had a month off before being posted to an airbase, I readily agreed.

But where to go? While Paris and its bohemian lifestyle or the historic art of Italy, certainly had their charm, our nature was as such, that we could not tolerate these heady atmospheres for more than a few days. Even the most broad-minded man eventually has his fill of ‘culture’. Besides, Jack was concerned about several of his patients, and being London based, he did not want to stray too far from home. We finally settled on a walking tour of Whitby and the surrounding area, followed by a few days fishing in Scotland.

Our hotel was about half a mile from the centre of Whitby. Perched on a cliff, it afforded spectacular views of the ocean and the setting sun, whilst our room, which contained two single beds, was plain and comfortable with a bathroom not far away.

We had arrived the day before, which was Sunday 15th August, and had been greeted by the amiable proprietor, Mr Pickford. For such a relatively out-of-the-way hotel, the cooking was superb, and we had enjoyed a delicious dinner of rabbit stew. Breakfast was no less indulgent, and the thick slices of locally cured bacon and fresh eggs, accompanied by equally fresh baked bread and creamy butter, had set us up for our first ramble along the cliffs.

It’s certainly a beautiful spot, I said, extracting a bottle of water from my knapsack. It was about three o’clock, and we were returning to the hotel for tea. I took a swig and held the bottle out to Jack, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he pointed to a black shape lying on the edge of the cliff.

My god, he exclaimed as the object began to move, it’s a man!

We hurried to render assistance. The man was trying to crawl away from the edge and sit up. He was in great distress, which was hardly surprising given that he had a bloody gash between his elbow and the top of his right arm.

Jack dropped to his knees. Don’t move, he said with authority, and then to me, Give him some water.

As the man drank deeply, I took in his appearance. He had the swarthiness of a European, with a pencil-thin