I’m a bit new to writing fiction. I don’t have much of an imagination, so I try to draw on real-life experiences that I know something about. I get my inspiration therefore from the experiences of some of my acquaintances, friends and family, as well as from my own life experiences. However, any resemblance to anyone that I know is purely coincidental, as I also combine or adapt the experiences to embellish my stories. I certainly don’t know anyone who has been a murderer, I don’t think! Please take my stories with a pinch of salt!
I awoke to an intense brightness piercing through a chink in my curtains. I sensed the promise of a brilliant view, and as I opened the curtains to the cool white vista outside, a wondrous winter scene lay before me.
Everything sparkled. Jack Frost had visited overnight and painted my entire world white. Only the strangely tinged winding roadway provided tinted relief to the blanket of brilliant white. The haze in the distance merged into the milky sky, making the whole scene appear as if it never ended, and it all belonged to me for that moment. Oh how I wished I could paint!
“There are a few things you need to know before we start,” said the officer as he led me to the computer screen in one corner of my new room. “Everything you will need is on this screen. All you need to do is operate this mouse to point to the item you want to use. There, try it.”
There was a small roller ball set into the steel table, alongside the steel keyboard. It seemed they had thought of everything to avoid vandalism. There were no visible cables, and no obvious way of anyone being able to destroy the equipment.
“There are a few things you need to know before we start,” said the solicitor at Mary’s mother’s will reading. “As you are aware, your mother signed over her house to you three years before she died, which meant that in the last few years of her life you and Cyril had full control of the house. Apparently you subsequently made her life at home pretty miserable. Your mother made a provision for this eventuality in her will, which she entrusted to me before she signed over the house to you. She also took the precaution of recording the conversation you had with her the day you laid down the ground rules for her continued occupancy of the house. The recording of the conversation is also in my possession. The mistake you made was allowing her to keep using her computer, and allowing her to walk into town to see her friends. I will now read the letter she left with me to read to you after her death.”
He had started the morning as just another tourist with a camera. He’d been snapping away at every landmark on his tour around Paris. He was now walking the length of the Champs Elysees from the Arc de Triomphe, capturing on camera all he could of Parisian life.
He heard a car screech to a halt close by, and turned to see what was happening. A large man in black got out of the car, and ran towards him. Continue reading →
Monica looked around her sitting room, satisfied. Everything sparkled and twinkled.
The frosted silver fairies hanging above the windows of her patio doors were gently twirling between the loops of silver beads which all glistened with a multitude of reflections from the lights above them. The fibre-optic twig tree which was standing on her sideboard, covered with silver tinsel and white frosted icicles, was twinkling away. The lights on the mantlepiece nestled amongst the branches cut from her yew tree in the garden, where she had placed robins and chaffinchs on fir branches with “snow” covered cones, around her model of an Alsation dog.
She looked hard at herself in the mirror, but this was not a face she recognised. If she didn‘t recognise herself, how on earth was she going to get through customs with a photo of someone unrecognisable on her passport? “What a fuss just for a passport photo” she thought. Well, never mind, at least the make-over would please her boyfriend for an evening.She thanked the make-up artist and went into the photographic studio. It was not as she had expected it to be. There were white silk drapes hanging round everywhere, even covering part of the floor. In the middle of the drapes on the floor stood a tall stool.Mr Photographer said “Just sit on that stool, cross your legs, clasp one knee with both hands locked together and lean backwards. That will give you the best position for a nice sexy pose.” Continue reading →
Hey Jezzie, are you awake? I was just dreaming about our lovebirds. Can you remember when our Mum cleaned out their cage one day and left them in the cage in front of our run? They made a hell of a din, but I thought they were very pretty. All we wanted to do was to sniff them and lick them, but Mum said that they would be frightened if we got too near to them. I can’t think why!
Do you remember when they all escaped, Myschka? I do. Mum had hung a birdbath on the door of their cage as it was such a nice day. Somehow the birdbath fell off, and out they all flew!
Oh yes, I remember. Mum was really upset and was in a big panic trying to catch them. She was lucky, because the baby one flew into our enclosed run, where she could catch it with her bird catching net.
Felicity Fortescue-Smyth – Fashionable, frail, fun, frivolous and flirtatious, with a fondness of frequently using the “f“ word! Married for several years to John Smyth, but childless. A retired receptionist, but now an influential chairwoman of several local societies, she is always the life and soul of the party and lives her life to the full with her heavy involvement in many social activities. She spends as much money as she can on new clothes, jewelry or shoes. She rarely does any housework, cooking or gardening, so can preserve her beautifully manicured long nails. Her husband walks her beloved Great Dane, Biba, as the dog is far too big for her to control on a walk. Although she rarely does any cooking, except for the odd cake or two, she always does the washing up, wearing rubber cloves of course! She volunteered for that task on this holiday. She shares the twin room on the first floor with John Smyth and Biba. Continue reading →
1st January 2008. A group of “recycled teenagers“, including an elderly Great Dane, are spending a New Year self-catering break, in a remote, supposedly haunted, late 17th century imposing stone manor house, Hardstonecourt Hall on the borders of Scotland.
Harry sat on a stone wall at the side of the river Lyn, remembering the first time he had sat here. It had been August 1952, just before the devastating floods. That was over half a century ago, when he was on honeymoon with his beloved wife, Sally.
What a difference one moment in time can make! Why had I chosen to take that particular day off work? Alright, I’d not slept well and had woken with a splitting headache, but was that really enough to make me call in sick? I usually just took a couple of Paracetamol and got on with things, but that day I was feeling sorry for myself, and I had crawled back into my inviting bed after having waved my husband off to work as usual. I had exaggerated the headache when I called my boss, who was very sympathetic as she suffered migraines too. How lovely to languish in my comforting bed for another hour or two, such a rare luxury!
Hannah had been in a deep sleep after their good long walk in the woods. Their Mum had left them in the car while she popped into the corner shop to pick up some milk and bread for tea. It was a hot day, so their Mum had left the car windows open. She would only be gone two minutes, she said.