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Redemption

Submit transgressive fiction & find Redemption! The last resort for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I lift my pen beside the golden door!

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SUPERNATURAL | POSSESSION

Banished

Something dark from the past must be fed

10 min readOct 12, 2026

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There was something ominous, something foreboding about the land, a darkness that came and went over it like passing storms, but cattle that grazed there grew fat, sheep introduced to the ram gave birth to multiple lambs, deer and game were abundant in the woods, and the crops in the fields grew strong and tall. Men had settled there, hoping to reap this bounty. The lord who claimed the estate as his, used the profits to build an imposing manor house at its centre and cottages for his tenants grouped in a small village a mile from the house.

The estate passed down the male line, but with each generation a strong woman always appeared, a distant cousin, a stranger met on a crusade, a beauty from a far off land, and they were married to the heir. Over the centuries, the men inherited, but the women ruled.

The male line always seemed fragile, sickly; they survived long enough to produce a son before they succumbed. The priests talked of demons, of witchcraft and declared that only a shrine to Saint Michael could ward against the unchristian supernatural. That is why the chapel was built, close to a rocky outcrop in the manor’s grounds. The Lords of the manor knelt inside it, but it had little effect. Some were buried beneath its floors, but most…

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Simone Francis
Simone Francis

Written by Simone Francis⁠

Writer of dark, erotic, supernatural fiction and light, sexy humorous stories — it depends on my mood. See more at https://www.simonefrancis.com/

Redemption
Redemption

Published in Redemption

Submit transgressive fiction & find Redemption! The last resort for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I lift my pen beside the golden door!