Tuesday, 29 July 2014

Troubled Waters - Chapter One

Troubled Waters | Crime Detective Mystery
by Julius Falconer

‘With fearful steps pursuing
Hopes of high talk with the departed.’
Percy Bysshe SHELLEY
Hymn to Intellectual Beauty lines 51-52

Nothing was established from the early facts, although these were reconstituted in finest detail, except that the discovery made by the owners of the Hounslow Heath was difficult to explain. That Sunday – 2 August 1964 – it had started to rain heavily in the afternoon, and it was still raining. There were a number of boats in the pound above lock 38: two narrow-boats going down-stream, a cruiser and a wooden barge-cum-butty going upstream. A little after nine-thirty, as night was closing in under a leaden sky, a metal barge announced its arrival and entered the pound. The lock-keeper was none too helpful, as he had relatives visiting. With a wagging of his index-finger, he indicated that he would not open the gates. He had hardly gone back indoors when the skipper, whom he knew, knocked on his window.

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

They’re all foreigners abroad - A

They’re all foreigners abroad | Travel / Humour
by Stuart Wright

A
A bargain holiday
Mr. and Mrs. ‘We got a real bargain holiday’ get right up my nostrils. Within a few hours of arriving at your hotel, I can almost guarantee that a couple will verbally force themselves upon you because they are dying to ask you how much you paid for your holiday. The reason for this is that they waited until the very last minute before booking theirs over the Internet or on Teletext. It’s as if they go out of their way to really naff you off. You paid over a thousand pounds for your two weeks holiday in the four star hotel, but they can’t wait to tell everyone that they only paid three hundred and fifty pounds. When they landed at the airport they didn’t have a clue which hotel they would get, but they struck lucky and got your very nice four star.
Never mind; there’s always next year and let’s hope they get put into a dustbin!

Saturday, 12 July 2014

Chasin’ That Carrot - Chapter 1

Chasin’ That Carrot | Fiction
by Avril Dalziel Saunders


It was the evening of Saturday 11th October 1969, Linda, closed her eyes and took a deep breath; she felt secure as her new husband James stood behind her and wrapped his strong arms round her. He took the big knife, placed it in her right hand and firmly wrapped his hand over hers then to loud claps and cheers from family and guests, they cut the top tier of their wedding cake. She was brimming over with happiness as she turned her head to look up at James; she thought how tall and handsome he looked with his dark wavy hair and wide smile. It was strange to think that she was no longer a MacGregor but she was proud to be the wife of James Alexander.

Wednesday, 9 July 2014

A Ticket to Tewkesbury - Chapter One

A Ticket to Tewkesbury | Fiction: Espionage / Crime Detective Mystery
by Neal James

Julie Martin’s aunt Molly was seventy-four when she died in April 1992 and it had fallen to her to take care of the old woman’s affairs at the end. She’d hated doing it when her own parents passed away some years before, and the fact that Molly had been her own mother’s identical twin sister didn’t help matters at all. It had been like living through the whole episode once more and although her husband Doug was as supportive as he could be, he had no real idea of the emotional turmoil that she had gone through during the weeks following the funeral. As sole executor of her aunt’s will it had been Julie’s responsibility to ensure that all bequests and instructions were carried out, but the most difficult side to it all had been sorting through Molly’s possessions. There had been all of the usual collections of memorabilia which she had accumulated, in addition to papers concerning the ownership of her house and all her savings, but the more personal items were confined to the recesses of her wardrobe, and that was where Julie found the letter.

Friday, 4 July 2014

In the blink of an eye | Playing Havoc

Playing Havoc | Fiction: Thriller / Suspense
by Steve Morris

Thursday 19:00 hours

“Oi! Giles!”
It was old Trevor’s voice shouting me again from the top of our steep little road of seven houses. I turned around.
“Giles! Summat’s come down! Up ‘ere,” he beckoned, “The lad in the next street’s just got back home. He reckons a plane’s come down!”
I met him halfway up the bank. Trevor was desperate to tell everyone in our road. Not used to moving so quickly he was almost out of breath. A pinch of salt was often needed here. Both he and his mate were eccentrics if I was to describe them politely. I was never going to take either of them seriously.

Tuesday, 1 July 2014

In The Beginning

No Cousin of Mine | History
by Derek Smith


The young man sat with his back to the engine of a train heading north from a large midland city. As he had waited on the platform, he had been sure that he would not have been the only one from a city with a population of over a million to be making the same journey that day to the same destination, and confidently expected to see others of about his age waiting for the same train.  Like him, they would have been told that they were to bring only a holdall or a small case containing just a change of underwear and basic toiletries. He had seen no one of this description who appeared to be making the same journey, and so he was now travelling alone in an otherwise empty compartment.

Friday, 27 June 2014

“Achilles”

Jumble Tales | Short stories | 
by Steve Morris |

Oh yes. That felt good. I’d always wanted an opportunity to say that. I never thought I’d get the chance. Actually, I’d half forgotten exactly how it went but when I got into full flow it just flew right off my tongue to destroy the slimy salesman.
That’s the best thing about turning forty. You have just about enough life experience to know how to deal with anything that Lady Luck throws at you and you are still young enough to have the energy to deal with it. In this case, the timing had to be spot-on and the previous question had to be worded in just the right way for it to work. …And it did work. Perfectly.
So I walked away in triumph after having delivered the killer last word. I’d made the salesman look a one-inch-tall imbecile in front of the whole store then I left in triumph. Oh yes, that felt good. The day was to be a good day.