NaNoWriMo

I did it, I managed to write 50,000 words in November. The plot has more holes than an old pair of socks. My inner editor is on strike as I've not let her do anything for a month, the scenes have been written in a completely random order; but I did it!
The Hunter's Companion is set both in the 21st century and the 17th century. Here is the synopsis and first chapter for anyone who wants a preview!

Synopsis: The Hunter's Companion

Lora Smith's 17th century life changes forever one day deep in the English Fens. Caught up in the Witch trials of 1645 her life ends tragically early, yet her legacy lives on.
Regan White is a 21st century girl. Brought up in Brighton, she loves to shop, party and shop some more! Then fate intervenes when she's forced to relocate to the flat fenland of West Norfolk, away from everything she's ever known.
Living in Aunty Vi's crumbling old house she finds a box of old diaries that tell of strange happenings. Striking a chord with Regan's own recent, unnerving, experience of the fog that covers this low lying landscape, she is drawn into the mystery. Destiny is a big word but it seems that Regan's is entwined in this mysterious landscape.
How do the diaries, her gorgeous new friend Maeve, and the mysterious American Nate Hunter, all tie together? Will Regan find the link before it is too late or will she share Lora's fate?

Excerpt: The Hunter's Companion

Chapter 1 – Lora & Rafe
The fen fog rolled off the marsh and curled its damp fingers around Lora’s limbs as she hurried clumsily along. Eyes squinting against the impenetrable grey, she tried desperately to keep her booted feet on the narrow path without losing speed. The blackness of the hungry bog lay in wait all around, patiently seeking its next meal, yet for Lora this fear paled in comparison to the terror of that which pursued her. Her ears strained to hear over the wailing North Sea winds for any indication it was still behind her.
It, the thing, the creature. Her heart beat rose and she forced herself not to think of it.
Her foot slipped from the invisible path and muddy water seeped into her boot. Balance lost, she reached forward, found something solid and heaved herself back up, worrying absurdly what her mother would say about the state of her new gloves, her frantic mind trying to avoid all thoughts of IT. As she scrabbled along the path on hands and knees, she realised with dread that above the sound of her own heaving breaths and thumping heart she could hear its breathing. The sound was not human in any way. Each intake of breath rasped as though its chest was thick with phlegm. Each breath out oozed with malevolence; Lora didn’t know what was following her, but she knew it was evil. She knew it as sure as she knew her own name.
The fog grew denser and she tried to claw it out of the way, to free her eyes to see the path ahead of her. Standing again, desperately seeking visibility, her boots sunk into the mud and she feared the sucking sound they made as she pulled them out indicated her whereabouts as loudly as a foghorn. And if that didn’t the noise of her thumping heart or her ragged breath surely would. Or maybe the scent of fear itself that surely radiated from her every pore would lead the monster to her.
With each step she took she prayed. She prayed that the Father God would forgive her sins. She prayed for the sight of the town’s lamps burning through the fog. She prayed she would make it through the night.
As the way became harder to pass and fright seemed to steal her mind completely, warm tears trickled from her eyes, the salt water leaving tracks in the icy mist that caressed her face. She tried to stifle the sobs she felt rising in her chest as each step became more difficult to take. A glimmer in the fog gave her hope, the town was nearer than she’d dared dream. Then all hope died.
As the rasping behind her grew suddenly louder, nearer, a shape appeared in front of her. Lora knew then she had a choice to make. Death by the creature gaining behind her, or by the knife of the man standing before her.
Her prayers of forgiveness grew more frantic as she sank to her knees in the water logged mud. Cold slime slipped over her legs and through her skirts as she prayed for her soul. Then, with her last rational thought she prayed that the end be quick.