The Creative Imposter

I am in love with the arts, my passion expands beyond writing,  I adore painting,  but I am no artist.  I try to take pretty photos, but I am no photographer.  I write possibly each day, but I know in my heart I shall never be published,  my art will never grace the walls of any gallery,  my photography will never be found in any magazine and my next project will probably amass to nothing either.  Basically, because it doesn’t matter…

… I crave not fame and fortune,  I can not adhere to the strict ‘rules of writing’ I use far too many words, I tell don’t show… Instead of show don’t tell… and I use far too many dots all dotted around the place in dot like chaos…

I write,  I draw, I paint, I snap photos because these are things I love to do and mediums I admire.  I attend talks by poets, who can stand before an audience and share their words beautifully,  I will travel the country and even abroad to visit museums and galleries to witness displays attend exhibitions of world famous artists and also find local artists hidden in pub attics in small side streets… falling in love with the colours and lines, the words, a dance… inspiration surrounds me, I find beauty in the mundane, a leaf in a puddle becomes a boat for captain ant and his band of merry pirates.

My love delves into music, though I can not play an instrument (yet) I love the world within movies, books, stage and screen,  comics, heroes,  villains, aliens, the macabre, the tortured souls trapped in pages of a dusty novel.  The unknown,  the supernatural,  the inner realms of sincere spirituality…

My name will never grace anything more than this blog and that my friends,  is enough for me …


Anne Harrison 11.02.17


Flash Fiction *Zombies*

Disclaimer – ‘Umbrella Corporation‘ is not my creation (obviously) I’m using it because it’s a convenient platform to jump start a short story from and it’s something familiar for my beautiful readers to relate too – Roughly translated – I’m being lazy and not creating my own version – but hey, this one has a funky logo… 


I had always prided myself as a loyal and dedicated employee of the Umbrella Corporation, I would go so far as to say I loved my job. I was, at the time of the incident, a pathologist within the genetic research department at Raccoon City. Life was good and we had just had a major breakthrough that would change the world as we know it and for a while it did …

‘The Pandora Cure’ was our greatest triumph, it was pure bottled hope. We had created a medication which would eradicate all known diseases and illnesses… From the common cold, to AIDS, Cancer, Leukemia, Diabetes the flu… Anything! Pandora worked her magic and healed the sick. The effects were astonishing and instant, The Umbrella Corporation took the world by storm and we entered a golden age of mankind.

People queued up for days to receive their dose of Pandora, we administered it freely to everybody and the global distribution reached nearly 5 billion people. Naturally there were those who rejected our cure, the suspicious, crazy conspiracy theorists which were convinced the cure was dangerous. They proved to expose yet another positive side effect of Pandora, for those with the sniffles, coughs and colds… These nasty bugs could not be passed onto those who had taken The Pandora Cure, in other words apart from providing a cure, she also created immunization. The results were astonishing and we swiftly became the richest company in the world.

We, that is Mankind, we lived with very limited sickness and disease happily for some time content with our new lease for life, fine health and fitness.  It was a glowing success and the future looked brighter, happier and (naturally) wealthier!

…But this ideal could not last forever and Pandora took a nasty turn for the worse…

Imagine if you will, death rates had dropped drastically, however, we could not totally escape the fragility of our mortality. Accidents, suicide, murder, war… These things still plagued society. And such an accident befell a college of mine, she worked in the same department as me and on one stormy Monday morning a sleepy truck driver hit her daughter on the way to school…

She brought the deceased child to work, maddened with grief, utterly distraught… She refused to believe her daughter was dead … In a fit of uncontrollable rage, she administered Pandora to the corpse…

 The effects were astonishing, the child began to move within 6 minuets, by 10 minuets she had a heartbeat… But her eyes… Her eyes were grey, blank and bloodshot. The EEG scan displayed no brainwave activity, yet she was animated and restless… Violent!

Side effects of being reanimated resulted in a cannibalistic urge…

… This was 4 hours ago, the pathology laboratory has been on close down since the incident, but we don’t know if we were quick enough to act… I thought I had best try to record events and my full medical report accompanies this email…

… Funny, I’ve not been sick for so long, thanks to Pandora, I’ve taken an extra dose in the desperate attempt to reverse the effects of the bite, if anything I’m starting to look worse…


Anne Harrison 17.11.16


(Photo is me & make up by me)

Perfectly Imperfect

A collection of five ‘really dreadful’ pieces of poetry …

 – With some mediocre photography thrown in to make the page look pretty


There was once a bookshelf, no two.
Their books stood tall and proud.
Colours danced upon their spines.
Words promised delights within pages,
musty or new.
Amongst the books of fantasy, magic & history,
there lived a collection of curious characters.
Friends to the books.
Family to the earth.
Their dance was one of internal light.
Hiding secrets amongst their edges,
their knowledge as vast as the books they live with.
(or more so)
Reflecting sunbeams, moonbeams alike,
in the settled dust of an old cover.
Figures stand, entwined between tomes and crystals.
Characters created through the vivid imagination
of their crafter.
Wood and coins.
Cock and shells.
Random collection, upon the shelves…
Once again I find myself in life’s limbo
Not knowing which way to go
I know love and I know hate
I know life passes at it’s own rate
Days Months Weeks Years
What to be done is neglected I fear
New dreams obstruct old
New goals drive me forth
Away from where I want to go
So I stand sitting on the fence
Watching waiting for life to make sense
To see my dreams come  into range
Though as bizarre as I feel my life maybe
I am the only person who is me
I do what I want it’s my choice
I have freedom will power a voice
Yet here I stand in limbo still
for now this moment is full of thoughts of thrill
I see in my eyes a change fall over me
Order in an organised mind
The plan firm and as clear as light
Get on and try as thy might
Now. Is the most precious time you have.
Not yet, Not then,
What are you doing?
Are you always planning ahead?
… worrying about what could be?
… worrying about what has past?
Mind locked in future or distant thoughts…
Now. It’s all the time you’ve ever got,
Past is past
Future, a collection of maybes…
Now is all we are
Thrown back in the need to move forwards
Too much attention to detail & need to be neat
Lead things to a halt
A standstill created by fear of scribbles
When in reality the fluid words flow easier without precise design
Words flow freely from my mind & from my pen
With an ease I find comfortable & relaxed without force
Without pressure
Just a scribble from the mind to the page
From the heart & with inspiration
Fuelling the need for freedom of expression
Without boundaries
I dance with the elements in their own realm
Travel beyond what I can dream
I’ve seen amazing wonders
So many different scenesMy very form has changed shape
My astral self transformed
Guided along my way
Even being reborn

My lessons are gifts
My soul awake & focused
I’m starting to see beyond…
… the frame of the picture

To a limitless boundless realm
With lifetimes to explore it’s infinite wisdom
I keep my feet firmly on the ground…
…and fly!

I am absolutely responsible for all questionable attempts at poetry and snapped the pictures on my humble point-and-press camera – any links will take you to my DeviantArt page – that I set up in the ridiculous name ‘Nikihix’ – for some obscure reason that escapes me now – I’m updating this old page so there isn’t much on there currently, so I wouldn’t really bother to visit because I have moved all my embarrassing attempts at photography over to flickr…
I’m not ashamed to share my initial attempts at poetry, basically because everyone needs to start somewhere, I have learnt (through my course at University) where I fucked up with these pieces and why they are considered no good. It’s a painful lesson to learn and one which will linger…  So why am I sharing something so dreadful?
… Because I can …
Anne Harrison 25.08.16

Braunstone Hall Photos

As the title suggests, I thought it would be nice to follow up yesterdays blog Awakening Memories with a collection of photos taken on the night in question. It took me a while to find them as I feared they had been deleted many moons ago… But after some careful searching and file treasure hunting, I was able to recover all the photos! *Grin*

Naturally these are very boring pictures, I’m afraid the inside of a ruined Hall in the middle of the night, does not make for marvelous photography. There was also a dreadful amount of dust… Or are they Orbs?… Could be dust… Who can say? Some are more vivid than others, but that could just be the flash? Despite my experiences and sensations that evening, I still remain happily skeptical  … You are invited to form (and share) your own opinion …


Once again I would like to express my thanks to carolinecuttingblog and the beautifully written blog Stories and Histories which deeply inspired me and unintentionally instigated  a frantic photo search …


Anne Harrison 21.07.16

Awakening Memories

Reading through carolinecuttingblog recently and I had this weird moment of déjà vu, her recent post Stories and Histories triggered memories of my own experience at Braunstone Hall in Leicester and after commenting, mentioning this fact, I have put together a little tale of what happened one warm July night back in 2003…


For a brief time I was actively involved with a local paranormal investigation group, until it folded. Most vigils were uneventful, cold sleepy nights with nothing to report. Yet others stand out above the rest. I think the investigation which made the biggest impact on me was Braunstone Hall, Leicester. The Hall was later converted into a public school in the 1930’s.

From the exterior the building instantly made my flesh crawl as a strange déjà vu feeling set in. Inside the sensation only grew stronger and I found myself aware of locations such as dining hall, kitchen, changing rooms etc before even exploring the whole hall or referring to a map. So I was already feeling a nervous anticipation before the investigation had actually started.

However the majority of the activity that night took place in and around the area of the Headmasters study. I was with a good friend a very gifted and emphatic psychic (Who I will refer to as ‘D’ to be polite). He had already warned me of the ‘Grumpy Gent’ spirit, that he had encountered upon an earlier vigil at the hall, who roamed the school especially near the location of the study. As soon as I entered the location I felt a cold dread, the area was devoid of any heat, as our instruments also confirmed a sudden and drastic drop in temperature. We could see our breath in the air, thought his was a mild July night. It also felt difficult to breathe, the atmosphere thick and heavy.

‘D’ was instantly aware of the ‘Grumpy Gent’ who ranted at my companion and physically shoved him off his feet. However it was not the gentleman I picked up on, it was the Children’s fear, not the spirit of any children but their emotions. Fear, dread, anxiety, panic, desperation, depression, hopelessness and pain all this powerful cocktail of negative emotions had left an imprint upon the very soul of the property, and the ‘Grumpy Gent’ remained there, still feeding off this negative energy made me feel even more uncomfortable, reducing me to tears. ‘D’ helped me away from the area as I was so distressed and to this date this has been the most powerful experience or reaction I have encountered of a haunting.

Though it wasn’t until some months later, that the subject of schools came into conversation among friends. It turned out that one of my companions had attended Braunstone Hall as a child. She went on to tell us about an infamous Head Master, whose punishments were cruel, sadistic and twisted. From physical punishments, such as cane, ruler or belt to more mental cruelty, locking children in cupboards or empty class rooms. Not allowing them any food or water and other degrading acts of humiliation, which I prefer not to recall. My blood ran cold as she recounted events which mirrored the sensations I had experienced at my night there a morbid conformation of one man’s savage cruelty that still resonates upon the property.


Hall Notes Only ← Spooky Photos ← Basic Information ← Scruffy Handwriting

→ Apologies, original source for ‘Basic Information’ has been lost over time…


Anne Harrison 20.07.16