Short Stories...
The Recent Times...
Bodies for Laszlo
Carmichael, on his return to consciousness, found himself lying on the parlour floor. Dark blood soaked the carpet and streaked his clothes. Only hours earlier he had received a visit from Laszlo, who had delivered upon him a most vicious beating; a clear message that he, Laszlo, was not one to suffer fools. Carmichael, alas, was one. Carmichael Billinger was in trouble. [Read more] |
CONFESSIONS pertaining to the DISAPPEARANCES
in and around the TOWNSHIP of QUARRY; as noted by G. K. BOYD The signing of my name at the close of this document will be my penultimate act; followed only by the spectacle for which my audience is gathered, hungry, as they are, for a display of karma on the convicted. Though I would argue it is not exactly karma if the act is instigated and perpetrated by my own hand, this occasion being orchestrated, as it is, by myself. The revolver that was placed on the table in front of me holds only one bullet, and it will show the people what they are so desperate to see – inside my mind. I’m going to show the world everything that has ever made me. [Read more] |
The Middle Ages...
A Dress for Tomorrow
The station platforms lay empty, silent, but for an occasional wind swinging the metal signs that hung from the decaying wooden beams above. They would creak and subside. Creak, and subside. A chill ran down his spine. * The light was fading and the temperature had already dropped noticeably since Natalia had been sat there, staring out across the bay. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to go home. There were too many painful memories in that house. She had not even closed forth the upstairs window that her late husband had left open. The watery expanse in front of her grew darker. In its secluded cove, the beach was one of pebble and stone, not sand, and the bare boughs of the surrounding trees blew a final farewell to the remaining golden leaves. Natalia pulled her shawl closer as a cold wind swept in and a deep rumble resounding from the heavens gave notice of the coming storm. [Read more] |
The Disgrace of Knackered Mae
Last night Dermot Einhardt returned to the house he left so long ago. When he woke, reality snatching him from his dreams, he gazed for a moment at his surroundings. He’d missed the old place. This used to be his home, his shelter. His own bedroom under whose duvet, as a child, he sought protection and comfort, shelves stacked high with memories. He swung his legs off the bed and sat up to the sound of the bird’s greeting one another with “Good morning” and “How do you do?” Nature’s alarm call, the worst sound in the world. When will they all just die? With trousers already on, having slept in them, Dermot picked up his shirt from the back of the chair where he had draped it only a few hours before, scooped his money into his pocket and made leave. [Read more] |
The Early Years...
Institute for the Dead or Dying
Their motor vehicle was the only one rumbling up the unsteady road, through fields and forests, far from any village or town. Few knew of this road. That’s the way the Authority had planned it, and that’s the way they wanted it to remain. His father to his right, Clement Russo sat in silence in the rear of the cab watching the shrubs and thorny thickets pass by. There were occasional folk travelling by foot, a mother in robes with her infant daughter pacing quickly behind her. Clement knew to where they were bound, for he was likewise, and the mother would likely leave empty-handed. [Read more] |
A Fistful of Secrets
I was unaware of the nightmare only seconds away when it happened. Windows shattered with the force, a deafening sound barely audible over the screams of a million people. Then everything shook. The world shook and dusk and dawn became only minutes apart. Dusk. Dawn. Dusk. Dawn. What the fuck is going on? [Read more] |