Oliver Presents Sharon Donovan

From the cemetery looming high above the haunted mansion, Bloody Mary’s screams echo through the parlor. Organ music plays louder and louder as the image of Bloody Mary appears in the mirror. Sharon and Count Oliver sit on the blood-red settee, casually sipping on Bloody Mary cocktails.  The candles flicker, the raven screeches thirteen times and Count Oliver makes the introduction.

Good Evening! The lovely Sharon Donovan has a chilling tale on this most enchanted night. My dear, let us begin with a toast.

The glasses clink.

Who was Bloody Mary?

According to legend, some say Mary Worth was a woman who was horribly disfigured in a car crash. Others believe she was a witch that was burned at the stake and has risen from the grave to seek revenge. Still others say she is the devil incarnate coming to claim your soul.

Over the years, Bloody Mary’s spirit remains a mystery. The legend claims that the evil woman can be summoned by standing in front of a mirror in a dark room lit by one candle and chanting her name thirteen times. When her spirit appears in the mirror, beware! She may claw your eyes out, draw you into the mirror never to be seen again or kill you.

Loosely based on the legend of Bloody Mary, the 1992 horror film Candyman was released. By reciting his name in the mirror five times, his spirit would appear and kill you with his hooked hand.

I remember playing with myths and legends as a child. A few weeks before Halloween, my brother, sister and I were at a friend’s house playing games in her basement. We decided to conduct a séance. Quite honestly, I don’t recall who we tried to bring back. But I’ll never forget what happened. The four of us were sitting around a candle-lit card table in the dark holding hands beneath a window. After chanting the deceased’s name several times, there was a loud knocking on the window. We all screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Our friend leaned down and hurriedly blew out the candle. To our horror, she caught her hair on fire!  Fortunately, no one was hurt but
we never called upon the spirits again.

Have a spooky tale to share?  The Count and I are hungry to hear them!

HALLOWEEN CONTEST

For a chance to win an autographed copy of MASK OF THE BETRAYER: Send your spookiest tale to me by Hallow’s Eve!

Sharonad@comcast.net

Sharon Donovan lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with her family. Prior to the loss of her vision, she was a legal secretary for the Court of Common Pleas where she prepared cases for judges in Domestic Relations. Painting was her passion. When she could no longer paint, she began attending creative writing classes and memoir workshops. After a long and winding road, a new dream arose. Today, instead of painting her pictures on canvas, Sharon paints her pictures with words.

Sharon writes stories of inspiration and suspense. She has certificates in business and medical transcription. Echo of a Raven, a narrative non-fiction about her struggles with diabetic retinopathy, received a CTRR award for outstanding writing, and The Claddagh Ring is a 2009 CAPA nominee for best inspirational of the year. Mask of the Betrayer was voted book of the week at LASR and its video by Triad Productions was a second place winner at You Gotta Read. Other books by Sharon Donovan are Touched by an Angel, Lasting Love, Her Biggest Fan and Charade of Hearts. You can visit Sharon at

http://www.sharonadonovan.com

All my books are available on my website

www.sharonadonovan.com

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/

AMAZON KINDLE

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-

The Haunted Legend

What once stood tall as a manor gracing the North Side of Pittsburgh is now a ghost legend. Formerly known as the most haunted mansion in America, the Ridge Avenue residence has a history dating back to the winter of 1871. According to legend, the lady of the manor came home one evening to find her husband in bed with the maid. On a jealous outrage, she stabbed her husband to death and beheaded the maid.

For the next twenty years, the mansion was vacant. But in 1892, the manor was renovated to accommodate railroad workers. But when a woman’s screams haunted the house, the workers fled, leaving the manor once more vacant.

Around the year 1900, a doctor moved into the mansion but was rarely seen by neighbors. On August 12, 1901, an explosion occurred in the house, shattering every window. A haze of red erupted from the residence, according to spectators. When authorities entered the home, they found the decomposed body of a woman strapped to the bed and five headless young women in basement graves. The doctor had fled the scene. It was later learned the doctor was experimenting with severed heads and was able to keep some alive after decapitation for short periods of time.

Once more, due to its unsavory reputation for being haunted, the mansion was vacant for several years. After going through a second renovation, immigrant workers moved into the home. Several workers complained of strange and bizarre happenings but wrote them off as pranks by co-workers. But when the corpses of two men were found in the basement, all thoughts of pranks came to an abrupt halt. One worker had a wooden stake driven through his heart and the other man dangled from the rafters.

In 1920, the famous scientist and inventor, Thomas Edison, came to the home to sample a device he was building to test communication with the dead. Although Edison died before the machine was perfected, his visit to the Ridge Avenue residence supposedly strengthened his belief in the afterlife.

But the haunted house on Ridge Avenue met its demise on the morning of November 15, 1927 when the largest natural gas storage facility in the world exploded. Located across the street, the tank ignited into flames. Thought to be an earth quake, the explosion shook the earth and was felt for a twenty mile radius. Chimneys toppled and bricks and debris flew. Twisted hunks of metal and steel and bricks rained on the victims caught up in the chaos. And although homes were partially destroyed all over the county, the haunted mansion was the only home totally obliterated, all remnants vanishing without a trace.

Ghostly Research with Candace Morehouse

The crisp fall air swooshed through the pines as Candace scampered up the rickety old steps to the Haunted Saloon. Bats hurled about the steeple of the bell tower, flapping their wings. A ghost of a moon skittered across the midnight black sky just as a coyote howled from the nearby woods. And when the bone-chilling wind billowed through her red satin dress, flipping it up to reveal her corset, fishnet stockings and garter belt, the sheriff keeping vigil in the graveyard smiled. The wild horses lassoed to the post whinnied, kicking up their hooves.

Hanging on to her feathered headpiece with one hand, clutching her flimsy black lace shawl with the other, Candace sauntered through the swinging doors of the haunted saloon, her satin dress rustling.

The lights were dim and the sultry vocals of Patsy Cline floated through the room, the bitter-sweet lyrics laced with heart-wrenching pain. Legendary outlaws sat around card tables, shuffling decks of cards while doing shots of whiskey. The smell of tobacco singed the air. As Candace sacheted her way up to the bar, Jessie James looked up and gave her a wicked wink before resuming his card game with Frank, the brothers Cole and James Younger. Candace’s high-heeled boots tapped rhythmically on the hardwood floor as she joined Mae West at the bar.

“Howdy, Candace,” Mae smiled, crossing one leg. Dressed in a black satin dress with red ruffled bottom, she raised her wine glass to the bartender. “Another one here, darlin’ and one for my friend.”

Posters of wanted outlaws framed the walls and empty whiskey jugs lined the scarred surface of the mahogany bar. Peanuts in cowboy boots were on either side while the cactus candles flickered, displaying bullet holed walls.

The bartender placed two glasses of shiraz down and smiled. “Courtesy of the James brothers, girls.”

“Thank you, Oliver,” Mae winked, turning to smile at Jessie and Frank.

“Aren’t they something,” she turned to Candace.

Candace: “Sure enough. But I’ve got my eye on that hunky sheriff prowling about. He can do a strip search on me anytime, Mae.”

Mae: “So tell me, surely you are aware of the ghosts that haunt this saloon. Why, the brothers James and the brothers Cole and James Younger are all dead and gone. But their ghosts come by every night to drink, play cards and socialize with the saloon gals, just the way they did back in the days of the Wild, Wild West. So why are you here, m’dear?”

Candace: “Research, Mae, research. One cannot write effectively about a topic like ghosts unless one has experienced it for herself.”

“Do you really believe in ghosts?” Mae swiveled around on her bar stool to openly gawk at the outlaws, noticing with a gasp their images are not reflected in the mirror above the bar.

Jesse throws his deck of cards down and stands up and approaches the bar, walking straight through the table where two cowboys sit doing shots.

“Did you see that? Mae gasped, chugging down her shiraz in one gulp. She holds it up to the bartender. “Another round, Oliver.”

Oliver obliges.

Jesse James materializes behind Mae and Candace, his handsome face a tad pale up close. But his beguiling smile is dazzling. “Even’, ladies. Me and the boys would like to request the pleasure of your company. Come join us at our table.”

Mae and Candace join the outlaws, drawn into the scene of the Wild, Wild West.

“So what brings you ladies to the Haunted Saloon tonight?” Frank asked, the wooden legs of his chair squeaking on the floor as he moved closer to Candace. “How’s about you, sugar?”

Mae adjusts herself to reveal her legendary bosom. “Well now honey, I belong here, being dead and gone myself. But my friend Candace is an author and she’s doing research on her book Suspicion of Love. And in one of her scenes, a ghost appears to her main character. Go on, tell them about it, Candace.”

“Sure, sugar,” Frank winked, ordering more shiraz. “Tell us all about it.”

Candace: “Well, this is what I came up with for a scene in an old, drafty English castle. Tell me what you think.”

Jacqueline was now lying abed, a thick wax candle dripping into its heavy pewter holder on the table next to her, a mountain of fluffy bed linens piled up around her body, and a book open in her lap that she’d barely read two lines from. There was a listless fire burning in the grate of the fireplace; it, along with the thick wool rug on the wood floor, the soft shine of the highly polished oak paneled walls, and the fine linen drapings about the canopied bed, should have made the room comfortable and cozy. It did not.

Although she was well acclimated to the bitter cold winters in Wisconsin, the castle’s brisk humidity and the cool, dank air seeping in beneath the door and around the windowpanes of her room brought on a chill that Jacqueline could not seem to shake.

She was tired enough to yawn continuously, but her mind refused to follow suit, replaying, instead, the events of the day over and over in an unending loop: Hayden avidly taking the role of tour guide throughout the long coach journey, Stephen standing rigid and stony-faced before the immense fireplace in the priory parlor, the somber view of the gray-cloaked river and churning sea visible beyond the heather and nettle-covered cliff as seen through the castle’s lead-paned windows. Abruptly Jacqueline tossed the book to the side of the bed and blew out the sputtering candle, drawing the fine bed linens up tight beneath her chin and closing her eyes, willing sleep to come quickly and cease the pictures in her mind’s eye.

She must have slept for some time—how long she was unsure. Something had awakened her with a start. Disoriented, Jacqueline slowly opened her eyes and strained to make out shapes in the unfamiliar chamber by the dim light of dying embers in the stone fireplace.

It was the odor that had first awakened her, she thought, waking up fully. She sniffed at the air, and the scent of lilacs in the room became suddenly overwhelming. It didn’t make sense. Where could it possibly be coming from? How could there be lilacs blooming in a castle next to the sea?

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Jacqueline propped herself up on her elbows, recognizing the shape of the bedside table, the rocking chair, the embroidered ottoman next to the fireplace, and the massive bureau with wide mirror above on the wall opposite her bed. As she peered at the far wall of the room between panels of soft green linen draped over the bed’s canopy, a flicker of movement was reflected in the looking glass opposite. She squinted her eyes and swiveled her head left and right, trying to determine what might have caused it.

There it was again—a wisp of white curling about the edge of the mirror. She looked behind her, finding nothing and knowing it could not be her own reflection. There was no movement of any kind save for the strange white miasma in the mirror.

Goose pimples freckled Jacqueline’s arms, and the hairs at the back of her neck danced with fear as Jacqueline lay frozen in one spot, the wisp of white swirling and twirling alongside the bed now, elongating and dangling just inches from the floor. The smell of lilacs was even more pervasive, wafting about on the breeze created by the white wisp. The temperature in the room plummeted, and Jacqueline shuddered with the cold.

Although she was frightened, Jacqueline found she could not look away from the scene unfolding before her. The smoky tendrils started to bond together and lengthen into something more substantial, although she could see right through the mist clear to the fireplace beyond. A face began to form, a woman’s face surrounded by a cloud of white-colored hair. A pair of ethereal hands fisted at the sides of the white mist, but then the image trailed off into nothingness.

“Stay…help…,” it whispered, the transparent mouth opening and closing with each syllable, “help…please…”

One of the ghostly white hands reached out to touch hers, and it was when she felt the ice-cold mist across her hand that Jacqueline finally found her voice. She cringed, hunching back against the headboard and let out a scream, the likes of which would surely disturb any lingering occupants of the room.

Mae West: How ‘bout it, boys. Think she’s come to the right place for research?”

A low chuckle erupts as Frank and Jessie exchange a wicked wink.

Suddenly Oliver appears, costumed in a sheriff’s costume. And as the Monster Mash blasts on the CD player, he handcuffs Candace, but not before frisking her. As the ghost of the headless horseman gallops through the saloon, the candles flicker once then go out. And when the lights come on, all the Halloween guests have arrived, masquerading as characters from the Wild, Wild, West.

To read the entire Suspicion of Love to learn more about Jacqueline’s ghost, visit Champagne Books at:
http://www.champagnebooks.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=1_28&products_id=287

Or visit Candace Morehouse at her website:
www.candacemorehouse.com

Tell us your favorite ghost story. We’d love to hear it!

Birthday Halloween Bash for Hywela Lyn

A ghost of a moon skitters across the starless black sky. Thunder rumbles in the distance, followed by the eerie wail of a coyote. Bats circle the bell tower as they soar out of the thicket of the woods, screeching and eking. The haunted manor is sinister, spiked black fencing surrounding it. A clap of thunder explodes. Then a streak of brilliant white lightning illuminates the sky, casting an eerie glow on the tombstone.

Using her nine-inch green fingernails, the Welsh Witch raps three times. On a creak, the door swings open on rusty hinges and Oliver stands there, costumed in his vampire attire. He grins, displaying his razor-sharp fangs.

“You rang?”

The witch, shrouded in a black mask and pointed black hat breezes straight through Oliver.

Oliver cackles loud enough to wake the dead and coils a hairy arm around the witch. After flexing his hairy biceps, he extends his arm and escorts the Welsh Witch down the long, dark corridor. Draping spider webs grace the corners. A mouse skitters out, twittering. They enter the parlor to find gargoyles holding torched lights. The manic laughter starts from behind the walls. Then all goes quiet…as the mistress of the haunted mansion speaks.

Sharon: Cackles so loud the glass windows shatter. Do you really think you can fool me, the Queen of Hearts? Fear not, Welsh Witch. Unveil yourself and party with us mare mortals on this most special of days. I know who you are and what today is. Why it’s Hywela Lyn and it’s your birthday! Let the celebration begin!

Happy Birthday Lyn!!! Sharon saunters over to hug her and hands her a box of Gidiva chocolates in the shape of ghosts and goblins. May you have many more, dear friend!

Lyn: (Hugs Sharon in return and laughs loudly , the sound echoing eerily through the mighty halls). I should have known I wouldn’t fool you, my sweet friend. Thank you so much, my very favourite. What a delightful treat, and what a beautiful place you have here!

Sharon: We rather like it. The skeletons rattle and shake from behind the walls.

Drum roll as the charismatic Oliver comes out singing Happy Birthday to the accompaniment of the organ as it begins to play the Funeral Dirge! What? But in keeping with the spirit of Halloween, Oliver breaks into song. And with a wicked wink, he presents a seven-layer dark devil’s food cake to Lyn. Then his eyes glaze over as a bouquet of black roses appear in his hand. With a sweeping bow and a big kiss…and tight squeeze…he presents them to the Welsh Witch.

Lyn: Ooooh Oliver, my hero! Fangs so much – I mean thanks! I luuurve devil’s food cake, and black roses – how romantic, Cariad. (That’s Welsh for ‘Darling’, you know!) come to me and let me kiss your neck and cast my spell on you! What’s that – my audience awaits? Then let’s go, at once!

Oliver grins…and is that a growl?

Thunderous applause explodes from the inner walls as the skeletons rattle and shake and scream to be set free! The organ music continues….even though no one is at the seat. But then a black cat leaps from the lurches, knocking down a few spider webs. Another eerie scream and the organ music grows louder and louder, faster and faster, reaching an ear-splitting crescendo. Then all is quiet as Lyn appears in a puff of smoke dressed in a black flowing gown.

Sharon: Well, didn’t I tell you, folks? She is a Welsh Witch and she is here today to read us a story, an excerpt from her bewitching best-seller Dancing with Fate.

And with no further ado, here’ssssss Lyn!

Excerpt from Dancing with Fate

The sparks of light appeared a few hours before dawn. Terpsichore looked across to where she could just make out Myrddin, lying close to the fire, apparently asleep. She stood and wrapped her brat around her shoulders. What unearthly lights were these? In the name of Hades, she had never seen anything like this before. She watched them, swooping and dancing. They seemed to beckon to her. She walked forward a few steps. This was not natural. She sensed evil, but of a kind she had never come across before. She tried to turn her head, to look away and move back to the fire. Some force compelled her to keep staring at them, to move forward. Further and further from the campfire she wandered. The air grew chill and she pulled her brat more closely around her. The flickering lights gyrated in a wild dance, inviting her to follow them. Dawn was approaching. In the dim early morning light, she could make out demon faces, red glowing eyes, hands outstretched, and flames at their fingertips.

She recoiled in horror. Somewhere in her subconscious, she knew she was in deadly danger, but still she moved forward. They summoned her to follow and she could not help but obey. She tried to call to Apollo, and her father, but her mind was numb. She could reach no one on Olympus. "Myrddin!" No sound came from her lips. still, a strange unearthly power obliged her to walk forward toward those eerie, mesmerizing points of light.

The ground grew soft beneath her feet. Cold mud oozed between her bare toes. The further she walked, the deeper the mud became; eventually, she realized she was up to her waist in chill, muddy water, and she was powerless to turn back, or even to move any more. Zeus, oh, Father, please help me...don't desert me
now.

For the first time in her eternal life, she knew fear. These creatures of nameless evil had her trapped. They would drag her down to the underworld and she would never see Olympus or her family again.

Then strong arms encircled her, swung her round. “Cora, look at me.” She gazed into two pools of azure blue, filled with concern, a pale face set in resolve. Still she had an irresistible urge to look at those weird, flickering lights. She turned her head, and at the same moment, there was a flash like lightning. The ground behind her burst into a wall of blue flame. It blotted out everything, engulfing the demonic lights and the hideous forms that a moment before had lured her onward.

Thunderous applause from the rafters. The windows rattle and shake and the torches flicker.

Sharon: Do have a seat, Lyn. The floorboards creak and a ghost from Halloween’s past floats through the room. I’ll just have a seat and make myself comfy on my nail-back throne.

Lyn: I’ll just float a few feet above the ground over here, on my broomstick, if that’s all right with you, Sharon. Oh the ambience here is so perfect. I feel so at home here, and look, Cedrick my giant pet spider is spinning a web around Oliver. Cedrick, behave yourself, Sharon’s going to need Oliver again – fully fleshed and NOT sucked dry! Oh listen, is that ghoulish footsteps I hear on the floorboards above us – and hark, I do believe that’s the heedless horseman galloping by.

Sharon: Oh the spirits of the walking dead do love to come and play on this special of nights! Oliver, please bring chocolate martinis for us. And do slice some of that decadent cake But first….all the torches dim and go dead. We must sing Happy Birthday to Lyn so she can blow out the candles and make a Welsh wish.

From behind the walls, the skeletons rattle their shackles as Sharon and Oliver sing. “Happy Birthday to you Happy Birthday to you Happy Birthday Dear Hywela Lyn…Happy Birthday to youuuuuu!”

Sharon: Now blow out the candles and make a wish so we can dig in!

Lyn: FHEEEEWOOSH! There we go. Gosh, do you know you much witchy breath it takes to blow out three thousand and nine candles? I wish, I wish, I wish…….well you didn’t expect me to tell you, did you, wishes don’t come true if you TELL them!

Sharon: (waves her long blood-red fingernails) Oh tadpoles and frog eyes. That’s just a rumor, dearie. Mmmm. Quite delicious, Oliver. You’ve outdone yourself. Now, Lyn, with your birthday so close to Halloween, do share with us a bewitching tale from Wales or how about the one you once told me about the banshee in the woods? Ohhh I do so love that one.

Lyn: “’Twas a dark , misty night, and there was an evil stillness in the air. All at once the silence was shattered by a shriek that came from no mortal throat, a sound the like of which would freeze the very blood in ones veins. Again it came, and out of the darkness appeared – oh thank you Oliver, yes I will have another piece of cake, it’s scrumptious. Where was I? Oh yes, a sound like the cries of the damned, evil souls in torment ,the scream of the banshee, that most hideous of creatures, the soul sucking banshee, known in Wales as the Gwrach-y-Rhibyn, the Hag of the Mist…” Lyn warms to her subject while Oliver ‘s hand shakes violently as he pours her and Sharon their umpteenth chocolate martini. “Out of the woods, her hair swirling around her face and floating in the air around her like tendrils of mist, came the banshee. Hovering above the stream at the edge of the trees she shrieked again. Alone in the small cottage beyond, the young girl quaked in terror. Why oh why had she picked up that silver comb lying on the ground this morning? Now she knew beyond a doubt it was a banshee comb and the owner was coming for her!”

At last the Lyn finishes her tale, and Sharon stifles a yawn (well she’s heard it a million times already.)

Sharon: (covers her mouth to suppress a cackle…but it rolls out in a most unlady-like fashion.) And let’s talk a bit about this excerpt from Dancing with Fate. It draws me right in Tell us a bit about the setting and how your wild imagination conjured up this most bewitching tale.

Lyn: Well I was very privileged to be one of nine authors involved in the anthology ‘Song Of The Muses’ each writing about one of the nine Greek muses. Mine was Terpsichore muse of dance. Now I had never thought of writing about a Greek muse before, and knew little or nothing about dancing, but the more I researched the more interested I grew in the project, and gradually Terpsichore spoke to me. I decided to send her to 5th Century Wales, not only because Wales is my beloved homeland, but because it is also the land of myth and magic – and the second half of the 5th Century was when a certain Arthur Pendragon was reputed to have been born. How a Greek goddess became involved with the Arthurian legends is something I’m afraid you’ll need to read the book to find out, but I had great fun putting my poor muse through all sorts of frustrations and dangers (hint - there's 10% off this month). In the excerpt you’ve just read, she unwittingly falls prey to the lure of the Ellylldan, evil goblins with flaming fingertips, who drew the unwary to their doom in the bogs, in many a Welsh legend.

Sharon: And with your birthday being so close to Halloween, was there ever a party with a Halloween theme?

Lyn: Do you know you’re the first person who’s ever tied the two things together. We don’t celebrate Halloween in Britain as much as you do in the States, but I think it’s such an exciting and fun time of year and I’m so thrilled to have you throw this wonderful Halloween/Birthday party for me, Sharon. And Oliver is just the most wonderful caterer and butler.

Sharon: Ah yes…let’s not forget the promise you made. The one where you agreed if I threw you this party in grand style you’d break the spell on me. The one the wicked Queen of Spades cast on me to grow old and wrinkled and melt into thin air so she can take my throne? A promise is a promise, dearie and it’s not nice to fool the Queen of Hearts. And speaking of witches and spells, how about a Welsh superstition that is guaranteed to give us goose bumps?

Lyn: An old Celtic superstition involves the moon; if you catch your shadow in the moonlight, you're simply doomed to bad luck - and even death. If you're burning candles on Halloween and the flames go out and there's no breeze or a drafty door to explain it, be afraid (evil cackle) - a disappearing flame on the candle burned on Halloween means there's a ghost in the house – and a flame that suddenly turns blue means there's a ghost very close by.

With that the candles flicker, a blue haze shrouds the room then everything is dark. Lightning flashes and Oliver stands transfixed, grasping Sharon’s hand, then all at once the candles glow again, while in the distance the sound of ghostly laughter fills the air.

“But on a lighter note,” Lyn continues, as if not noticing, “according to Welsh legends, children born on Halloween will have special powers to ward off evil spirits and the 'gift of second
Sight -”

Suddenly the raven clock chimes and the doorbell rings.

Sharon: Oliver, go let the masqueraders in. They are here in costume to wish Lyn a Happy Birthday and to have a toast with her. Sharon raises her martini glass to Lyn. Here here, dear friend. May the ghosts and goblins of the haunted mansion bestow good luck on you and your ability to keep writing those best-sellers we have all come to love. Happy Birthday and many more! And before the guests come charging in, where can readers buy Dancing with Fate and all your other books?

Lyn: Thank you so much Sharon, my sweet friend, you throw the bestest Birthday parties ever.

All three of my books can be purchased here: and if you would like an autographed copy of either Starquest or Children Of the Mist, or Book II of ‘Song of the Muses’ which includes ‘Dancing with Fate’ they can be ordered from my website: http://www.hywelalyn.co.uk And to thank everyone for coming, I’m going to put the names of everyone who’s commented in my special witches hat – and the first one drawn will win a free download of ‘Dancing With Fate’.

Thank you again for a wonderful party – and thank you Oliver for preparing such amazing food. Oh, before I forget, drink this Sharon, and that wicked spell the Queen of Spades cast will be lifted We cn' have you disappearing into thin air!

Oliver, if you’d like to accompany me on my broomstick to Hywelalyn Towers, when the party’s over, I’ll be delighted to show you my collection of etchings…

Oliver grins a bewitching grin, moves a wee bit closer and displays his sharpened fangs. After clasping his hands together in ghoulish delight, he blows the Welsh Witch a kiss with a wicked wink.