Mistress of Death

By Annette Siketa

She is beautiful and seductive and possesses an extraordinary weapon. And she doesn't care on whom she uses it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annette Siketa
• Release date: Apr 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781370362097

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

MISTRESS OF DEATH

by Annette Siketa

Copyright © 2021 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.

Contents.

Prologue.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

Other Books & Freebies.

About Me.

(From ‘Wicked Women’. See further below for details.)

Prologue.

Constable JOHN HAYDEN walked with measured steps. Ships and freighters swayed in the gentle swell, the water lazily lapping the hulls. The air was mild and the sky was clear. Indeed, it was a perfect night for a stroll with a lover. And yet Hayden was uneasy. He had long learned to trust his ‘copper’s’ instinct, and something about the docks did not ‘feel’ right.

He glanced up the deserted street. Deep dark shadows lay between the street lamps, and tall warehouses reared up like monolithic monsters. His eyes rested on the opening to an alley. He had gone down it hundreds of times, and yet tonight he was hesitant.

He shrugged his shoulders and silently berated himself for his cowardice. Even so, as he entered the alley, he kept a firm hold on the torch in his pocket and an even tighter grip on his truncheon.

A few steps later he stopped. He had ‘sensed’ rather than ‘seen’ a movement. He pulled out his torch and switched it on. The light danced over scummy cobblestones, broken and up-ended wooden crates, and piles of stinking refuse. And then the beam caught a heavy-soled boot and the hem of a trouser.

Cautiously, almost reluctantly, Hayden approached. The body lay face down in filth, one arm flung forward, the hand clutching the handle of a truncheon.

Oh my gawd!

As Haden squatted beside his fallen comrade, a faint, exotic tang assailed his nostrils. But, barely had he registered the smell when his blood literally froze. The dead man’s hand was dark brown and shrivelled, the fingernails black as though dipped in tar.

Hayden touched the