I’ve got a glass eye

How big is The Gribble’s Eye?

Megan over at http://HandmadeGlassEyes.com could tell you… Or, as you can see for yourself, it’s about the size of a golfball. Maybe I should draw a socket and eyelid on my hand. It looks almost fake there. But it’s real, 50mm across and stunning.





The Gribble’s Eye: a serial 1.2

“A wish, made by a child, sends shivers into the world. Vibrations through existence. And deep within the Earth, entities exist, beings that listen to such vibrations, beings who hear the wishes of children.” Professor Brimson’s eyebrows twitched as he waited for a reply from his guest, Professor Richard Clarke.

Clarke had begun to drift off with the sumptuous dinner. “Wishes and fishes, Professor?”

“Richard, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

“I’ve listened to every one.“

“Wishes, not fishes, cast by children, have power. Haven’t you felt that yourself? Or imagined it?

“Yes, a child’s dreams can influence them their whole life. But beyond that, I’m saying that a wish, made by a child, seeds the universe with a desire. A desire that, gone unfulfilled, will fester into an evil. A malfeasance that will simmer and eventually boil over into our world bringing discord and chaos with it.”

Harold of Ire, the Professor’s Irish wolfhound, heard his master’s voice, entered and insisted on cleaning their dinner plates.


Richard replied after some time. “I hear one of the larger volcanoes in Indonesia has begun to signal a pending eruption.”

The Professor shook his head. “You see. Signs of Chaos rising.”

Richard Clarke left and the house settled down to sleep.


Midnight came to the Professor’s house and Sadie was ready.

Harry’s whining ceased at her shush. He’d followed her descent to the kitchen.

“Harry, you must stay,” she whispered. She bent down and he darted out his tongue slathering her cheek. “No. You must stay here. I think our tunnel friend is afraid of you.”

Alone, Sadie left the house and made her way down the dark path to the tunnel.

“Hello? Are you there?” Sadie asked. This would be their first encounter, face to face, and her nerves gave her voice a quiver.

“Is your rabid beast locked away?” came the voice. Its accent, she decided, was reminiscent of a gypsy she’d heard at a fair; a grinding of r’s and hoarse vowels.

“He’s not rabid! But, yes, Harry’s locked in the house.”

“Do you carry the Eye?”

“How did you know I’d bring it?” Sadie pulled a small jewelry box from her pocket and rattled it as proof.

“Careful girl. That’s just the sound to draw the Gribble.”


Professor Brimson was awoken by Harry who whined, imploring his master to investigate the house. The Professor shuffled through the house and first checked in on his wife who sat on her bed next to a eerie green lamp looking at photos. She didn’t hear him knock and didn’t look up. She only had eyes for her precious albums. He shook his head in concern, closing the door carefully.

When the Professor checked in on his daughter he found her missing.

Sathena my child, where have you gone, now?”

He padded down the stairs, the dog leading the way. “Let me get my Wellies and a sweater, and we’ll be off.” Then, more to reassure himself than to quiz the dog, he asked, “Do you think you know where she’s headed?”

On the back porch the lights glared out across the vast yard. He whistled softly to his hound and asked, “North or south?” The last time he’d found her south, near the river. Much too near the river.

The large wolfhound leapt toward the north, a dashing shadow in the starkness of the floodlights. The dog’s nose lifted to set his bearing and then angled down to confirm the trail.

“Got her scent my friend? Good. She can’t have wandered far.”

The Gribble’s Eye: a serial 1.3

The Gribble’s Eye: Cover assembly

The cover is taking shape.


With the chiseled stone “Eye” that I tapped into the patio in the back, we’ve begun our trek that leads through the forest to the glade where there blooms a sun drenched pool of possibility.

The “Eye,” as Widowcranky has insisted, must be a real physical object, else the treatment will appear cheapened. I wholeheartedly agree.

Ergo, I’ve begun, and hopefully have found, a source for the “Eye.”


Megan has told me she can create an “Eye” of the right color, size and intensity that will lend the cover image that “Whoa, this is real,” impression to readers.

So, I’m discussing the manufacture of such an Eye with an eye toward, perhaps, creating a channel to have Gribble’s Eyes available for sale to readers. Wouldn’t that be fun? For the 1.3 of you who have read the story (I have an epub or mobi for you if you’d like to try it out…) I think having an “Eye” glued to the cover of your copy might be an incentive for others to read the story.

Gimmicks never work — until they do.

Sathena comes to grips

“I don’t know if what happened was real or…” Sathena flexed her fingers examining the tips as they curled.

Allie, still recovering from her wounds, perked up from the berth within their sailboat as they traveled out through the calm seas outside Edinburgh. “I was barely conscious from that beast’s attack, but I distinctly remember the roar of a lion. Now, don’t ask me to testify, but I’ll swear that what I heard and saw — in the dark of the night — was a lioness.”

Sathena’s smile stretched wide. “Yeah. Like I’m going to believe my spirit animal killed Lycaon, the werewolf.” She swirled her mixing spoon in the stew on the stove. “No, I’m pretty sure my mind has snapped. I mean think–”

“No way.” Allie groaned as she wedged herself to her elbow. “Sadie, I’ve only known you a little while, but, you and I — we’re sisters. What we’ve experienced… You are the spiritual manifestation of the Goddess.”

Sathena paused in her stirring. She recounted the fantastical interactions of the last few months. No, she told herself, No, this is too much. I’ve gone around the bend. Losing Father. And me mum dashed and wounded…

Allie cried out as she slung her legs out of the bunk.

“Allie, hold on. Here, let me help you.”

“No, no. I’ll be okay.” Allie held her aching belly as she toddled up the gangway. “You realize the evidence is irrefutable.”

Knowingly, Sadie allowed her friend to fend for herself. Back at the stove, Sadie lifted a spoonful of seafood chowder to her lips, blew and sipped.

Allie continued, “I am, I know now, the living embodiment of Alethea. And you, you are…”

“No! I can’t be.” Sathena Leona Brimson stabbed the spoon back into the pot. “How can I be her?”

“Lady Ara knew. Argus knew. Even your mother knew — I’m sure of it.” Allie plopped into the seat at the galley table. “You are the embodiment of the spirit of Athena.”

Argus and Hermes drink wine

“I seem to have lost my harp.” Hermes settled down on a boulder next to the giant resting there. “Could you keep an eye out for me, Argus?”

“If I could catch you, you foul freak, I’d tear that smirk from your face and cast it to the Heavens. Maybe there it would entertain us with its specter’s grin.” Argus Panoptes lounged, as he could, beneath a silver-leaved olive tree. He shifted his bulk to glare at the upstart god Hermes. “Do some good and fan me a breeze with your sparrow’s wings, eh?”

Zeus’ spy pinched his lips and beckoned for the many-eyed giant’s wine-pouch. “Give us a draught Argus, Helios, he’s relentless today.”

Suspicious, yet congenial, Argus passed over his bota. “The heifer, she gets lonely. Perchance you could play us a tune, invite the local children to come and cheer her up.”

Hermes coughed after his extended draw. “Why… Why that’s an excellent idea.” The messenger pulled from his satchel his cherry wood instrument.

“Found your lyre did you?”

“Ah, well, when I fly, I get so caught up…”

“Play. Something lively.”

The winged god passed back the pouch of wine, magically refilled, and began to stroke the strings of the horseshoe shaped harp. Argus squeezed the bag, filling his mouth again and again. He allowed a dozen eyes to settle closed while the many others scanned the rock strewn landscape, always keeping the white cow in sight.

Soon, children began to arrive and dance to the music. Sathena, the nimblest of the group, came up to wonder at and touch the giant but Hermes waved her off. “Let him rest. His job taxes him so.”

Hermes’ music slowed and sleep eventually came to Argus. The children wandered off and the spy gained his chance.