If you are looking for something different, something weird and wacky, conceived in the mind of someone with more than a few screws loose and madder than the Mad Hatter himself;
Welcome. We have been expecting you.
My passion is writing children’s picture books, which help to convey a deeper spiritual or emotional concept in an easy-to-understand way.
I am working on more elaborate novels, and am undertaking a degree in Creative Writing at Falmouth University. Hopefully, by the end of the course, I will be able to more eloquently articulate my thoughts and get them out to the world.

My website: www.tjhayesbooks.com

The Barista

I don’t know which came first, the rain or my own gloominess.

It comes as a wet blanket of clouds, draped over my shoulders, dampening my every movement.

It feels like a century since I last felt the warmth of the sun on my face.

I just can’t seem to shake off this homesickness, for a place I have yet to discover, and maybe never will.

A walk, that should help clear my mind, and the skies along with it.

I step outside into the onslaught and question whether or not I should have stayed home.

No, not today, not again. Wet blanket or not I have to keep on trying.

I really could do with an umbrella though, I’m already soaked to the bone,

A coffee, that’s what I need. I’ll stop here for a moment and escape this downpour.

A bell chimes as I enter. A barista turns to greet me and bathes me in the glow of her smile.

I ask for a latte, she asks for my name.

I wait patiently, staring over the horizon of the countertop, yearning for the sunrise.

She hands me the coffee with a wink that feels like home.

She points to a basket of umbrellas by the door, and tells me to take one.

I express my thanks and head to leave, picking one up as I go.

I needn’t have bothered. When the door chimes again, I step outside into the sunshine, not a single cloud in sight.

Dante

He was there again.

Maybe I should ask him to start helping with the rent.

If he’s gonna live in the walls, he could at least contribute to their upkeep.

I’ve come to accept him now, as another gloomy, reclusive roommate, a stark difference from the sheer terror and panic he first induced in me months ago, pinning me to my bed in a state of sleep paralysis.

I briefly considered employing some kind of priest or medium to help expel him, but their online reviews were all less than satisfactory. I gave up on the hope of assistance.

He’s certainly still trying his best to appear menacing, popping out at random intervals, looming in the corners when I’m sleeping. But honestly, I’m quite enjoying the company – London is a lonely place, after all.

I wonder if he bumped into Dante on his way up?

I wonder if he was sent as some punishment, and if so, for what and for whom?

What did we do to deserve this?

Is he just as trapped as I am?

I’ve come to converse with the being; he has yet to return the sentiment, but I can sense that it wants to say something, despite the lack of a mouth.

He has tried a few times to scrawl a bloody message on the bathroom tiles, but it’s always just a smudgy mess.

He has become my closest confidant, always listening carefully, and always watching over me. I share my deepest and darkest embarrassments with him.

     I bought an old Ouija board at the local charity shop, hoping we could have some less one-sided conversations. Repeatedly he moves the planchette to “H,E,L” but then quickly retreats into the walls.

Sometimes I see him, in my peripherals and the reflections on shop windows whilst I am out working. So he’s not bound to the house, to what then, is he bound?

I wouldn’t dare ask him to take his leave, out of fear of hurting his feelings and losing such a dear friend.

I have come to terms with the situation. Whether he was sent as punishment or as a gift, I am grateful either way for his presence. Demons were indeed once Angels, after all.

I hope he feels the same way about me.

Our Father ( Who Aren’t In Heaven)

OK, the book says we need to have one person stand on each of the five points.

Kyle, you stand there next to me, the rest of you choose a position. We have to get this right, she doesn’t have much time left.

Jenna, did you manage to get hold of the goat’s blood?

Uhhm, well I asked at the butchers but they only had cow and pig, but I’m Muslim so I went with cow, I hope that’s alright?

Oh for f…fine it’ll have to do. I hope that doesn’t piss him off.

Jake, use this paintbrush and draw a circle around the pentagram with the goat’s blood.

Cow, Dennis.

Yeah, whatever, you know what I meant.

Ok, done, now what?

I’ll grab Katie from the car, she should be here when we start.

Dennis walked to the car, unfolded a wheelchair, helped his younger sister out of the back seat, sat her in the chair and wheeled her next to him in the circle.

She was skin and sinew, wearing a hospital nightgown and could barely hold her shaven head up.

Don’t worry sis, we’ll get you fixed up. Just hold on a little bit longer.

Ok everyone, did you practise the incantation I emailed you all?

They nodded in acknowledgement.

Ok, let’s get into position and hope this works.

Each of the five friends stepped into the circle and began to recite the spell.

Lauxnome de nia dio Satano la plej brilanta!

In the name of our God, Satan the most illumined!

Ni vekigu la lordon de la abismo!

Let us awaken the lord of the abyss!

The circle erupted in flames, trapping them all inside, a pit then began to form in the centre.

From the pit, he rose. The Lightbringer, the Morning Star, Father of Lies. Satan.

Mortals, why have you summoned me on this night, and with bovine ichor no less?

I knew he’d be pissed about the cow blood Dennis muttered.

Forgive us please, oh Luciferous one.

Cut the pretentious crap, child, what do you want?

Sorry sir, I..

Jenna cut in to help.

It’s his sister, sir, she’s dying. We’ve been praying for months for her to beat the leukaemia, but both Allah and his Christian God have been hard to get hold of.

Ah, this I understand. My father has always been known to work in mysterious ways. Luckily for you, however, my methods are much more direct.

 I gladly offer my soul, in exchange for her recovery, my liege pleaded Dennis.

Your soul? My, my that is a tempting offer, young souls are hard to come by, they are mostly yet untainted by the world.

No. All I ask in return is thus: when you do eventually meet your end, and ascend to the gates of heaven, tell my father of what has transpired this evening.

Perhaps then, he may acknowledge the suffering he has wrought on his creations through his neglect. Then again. Perhaps not.