Short Story and Flash Fiction Writer
His eyes are stinging and prickly by the time he pulls up in front of his house at 2 A.M. An eight-hour drive, preceded by a ten-hour flight, makes for a mightily weary man. He thinks of his bed, soft and warm and utterly glorious.
He looks at his home. Every single light is turned off. Even the porch light.
“Damn it,” he mutters. “What did I tell her? Literally the last thing I said to her. ‘Leave the porch light on.’ How hard is that?” Continue reading “Whoopsie-Daisy | Flash Fiction”
This week’s silly stories from social media.
It’s Spring Bank Holiday weekend here in the UK, which means three things: an extra day off on Monday, ice-cold cider all weekend long, and my latest eBook available to buy for FREE in every Amazon marketplace.
Come What May Day has 20 overlapping, interweaving, multi-genre short stories that will make you laugh, roll your eyes, and be a little bit sick in your mouth.
This offer is only available until midnight on Monday, so be sure grab your free copy on Amazon ASAP!
May Day has arrived in a gloomy Yorkshire town, and the storm clouds have parted just enough for the annual May Fair to kick off without a hitch. But how long will it be until the town’s dark streak rears its ugly head?
There’s some very questionable meat on the barbecue, a chainsaw-wielding madman is on the loose, and a couple of aliens are trying to figure out if Earth is worth all the hype.
The Morris dancers can’t remember their moves, the maypole is commandeered by a ribbon-addicted feline, and an animal army is awaiting in the woods to set a revolution in motion.
Will the May Queen be deserved of her crown? Will the Federation of Knitters finally gossip itself into oblivion? And will the Green Man get away with his usual mischief before the twisted trees scupper his plans?
Silly, sweet and sinister, these funny short stories for adults are the perfect read for a lazy spring weekend.
Catch up with some of the characters from the author’s previous collection – Merry Bloody Christmas – or get to the know them for the first time with Come What May Day.
And if you’re a Brit, may the sun shine down on your Bank Holiday Weekend with only minimal amounts of (sadly inevitable) rain.
Lucy has bagged herself a new bloke and her friends couldn’t be happier for her. Pierre is utterly handsome and totally charming, and the enormous ruby necklace he gifted to Lucy on the night they met is an additional sweetener. But on their second date, when the couple are chased out of a bustling nightclub by three sinister-looking men, Lucy begins to realise that Pierre is not quite as he seems. Will their love blossom despite the trouble that Pierre is in, and will Lucy ever make it home to her worried friends after the strangest night of her life? Continue reading “You’ll Never Walk Alone by Chris Hall | Book Review”
“They stole our name?”
“Yes, boss.”
“How dare they?”
“Their gall is astounding, boss.”
“And I suppose they expect to take over our turf?”
“We can’t say for sure, boss. But it’s a serious possibility.”
“I am incandescent with rage.”
“I’m sure, boss.”
“Bring one of them to me.”
Three strangers cling together, grubby, weak, and utterly terrified of the knives and guns and nail-ridden planks of wood that surround them.
“You’ll hand over everything you’ve got in exchange for safe passage through the valley.” Cain picks at his fingernails with the tip of his hunting knife. “Two of our own will escort you. They’ll leave you to continue your journey on the other side.”
One of the strangers shakes his head. “You can’t take everything. We need it to survive.” Continue reading “Part of Something | Short Story”
This week’s silly, stupid stories from Instagram and Twitter.
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Dr Louis Creed has moved his family to a new house in the sprawling Maine countryside. It appears to be an idyllic setting to raise two young kids, except for the speeding trucks which occasionally rumble by on the road outside. But when a lifelong local introduces Louis to the pet burial ground behind the property, something sinister winds its way into the Creed family’s future. Continue reading “Pet Sematary by Stephen King | Book Review”
I wrote this story nine months ago and put off publishing it in case it was too morbid or doleful. It’s certainly a lot different to the silly, whimsy fiction I tend to post. I was also scared of sharing too much of myself. This story is fictional, but it is inspired by own experiences with depression, self-harm and suicidal ideation. It’s Mental Health Awareness Week in the UK right now. I figured that sharing fiction like this might help in one way or another.
Ask for help. Lean on your loved ones. Don’t be too proud to admit when things are getting too difficult.
‘What are things like at home?’
I think of the thick layer of dust that sits on every surface in my living room, the unopened mail which carpets my hallway and the stacks of dirty mugs in my kitchen sink.
I shrug. ‘Fine.’
‘Do you live alone?’
I nod.
Dr Taylor looks away from his computer screen. ‘And how do you find that?’
I shrug again. I’ve lost count of how many shrugs I’ve given him over the course of the past five minutes. ‘Fine.’
‘What about when you need support? Who can you turn to?’
Another shrug. ‘My mum, I guess.’
‘Does she live nearby?’
I nod.
‘You see her often?’
I nod.
‘Does she know about the self-harm?’
My hand automatically moves to my forearm so that my fingers can poke at the fresh wound which lives there. It’s just beginning to crust over. The stab of soreness calms me. I’m looking forward to the inevitable sting that will occur later when I peel away the fabric from sticky, angry flesh.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘So if you were in crisis you could go to your Mum’s house?’
‘I s’pose.’
‘And do you?’
Course not. When I’m in crisis I wallow in it.
‘Sometimes,’ I say.
‘Good. So your mum is an important part of your support network. I’ll make a note of that.’ He turns back to his computer screen and taps away at his keyboard.
I look at the beige walls of the bland office and wonder how Dr Taylor himself isn’t stir fucking crazy.
The corpse, stretched out on its back on the kitchen floor, twitched.
“Seeing things,” said the detective, rubbing at weary eyes. She turned away to examine the pattern of blood spatters on the tiled walls.
When she turned back the corpse was sitting upright.
