Thursday, 21 September 2017

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.

Saturday, 26 August 2017

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, 23 June 2017

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, 26 May 2017

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.

Friday, 21 April 2017

Murder in Whitechapel

Jack the Ripper – Through the mists of time | History, Crime | 
by Peter Hodgson | 

All five murders occurred in Spitalfields and Whitechapel in a ten-week period and in an area covering approximately one square mile. There were two other murders previous to that of Nichols which were thought to be the work of the Ripper due to the terrible injuries sustained by the victims.
On 2 April, Bank Holiday Monday, that same year, a 45-year-old prostitute by the name of Emma Elizabeth Smith was attacked in the early hours of the morning as she travelled home along Osborne Street. She had been followed by three men who seized the woman, beat her up and then robbed her. She managed to reach her home on George Street and from there she was taken to the London Hospital where she died three days later . A few months later, on Bank Holiday Monday, 6 August, 39-year-old Martha Tabram and her friend, Mary Connolly (nicknamed ‘Pearly Poll’), went out in the evening for drinks and a good time.

Friday, 24 March 2017

“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.

Friday, 24 February 2017

Mystery deceit and a school Inspector - Chapter One

Mystery deceit and a school Inspector | Fiction: Mystery | 
by Bryony Allen | 


…Flicking through her jotter at parent's evening was also a top tip from teacher training college – possibly the only one. Looking for that one elusive anecdote that Mr. and Mrs. Jackson really must hear about Gemma was a fabulous way of killing at least one whole minute. That left only nine minutes in which she had to listen to their complaints about how her teaching had failed to ignite Gemma’s true spark – how do you recreate fizz in a flat bottle of Coke?
It was 12.21 - thirty nine minutes before the next bout commenced. Luckily, another spell of laryngitis had put paid to Katie's choral speaking club, which her cherubs attended every Wednesday lunchtime with glee. Choral speaking was 'a success of the school', if you believed the prospectus.  Indeed the children loved the lunchtime club; spoke with enthusiasm, beautifully clear diction and with as close to a genuine love of learning as they were ever likely to experience at Beaver's Brook Primary School.  If only she could bottle that passion and turn it into an aromatherapy essence, Katie’s year sixes would not only achieve level four but sneer at its ease.

Friday, 20 January 2017

The Bones of Murder - Chapter Four

The Bones of Murder | Fiction: Crime Detective Mystery |
by Julius Falconer |

... ‘And there’s the anonymous letter!’ interjected Grace.
‘Oh, what anonymous letter is that?’ asked Wickfield. ‘Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning and tell us all about it.’
Benjamin cleared his throat. ‘Inspector, sergeant, it’s like this. Grace and I bought this house in May of 1970, ready for our retirement. It had been uninhabited for twenty-five years and was neglected before that, so everything had to be done to make it habitable. When we retired in April 1971, we bought a second-hand caravan to live in and put it in a small field behind the barn. We lived there while the major work was done on the house. Finally, last October, we were able to move into the house, and then work began almost immediately on the chapel. The floor of the chapel was beaten earth, centuries old, and it was too high to allow a modern floor simply to be placed on top of it. Grace and I began the tedious work of lowering the floor by ourselves, before the workmen moved in, and as we dug down, we discovered three skeletons buried side by side two feet down.