Tag Archives: his

The Piano Killer strikes again

Posted on by under 2023, April 2023 - Missing

“I mean,” she said, “clearly there’s something not quite right here, something’s missing.”

DI Jenkins sighed and bit down a sharp retort. Of course there was something missing. In fact, there were a few things – eyes, fingers, liver, lungs, kidneys, and, possibly most disturbingly, the victim’s trousers. His dentures had also been removed and were in the middle of a damp stain on the carpet.

He was just grateful that whoever had done this had stopped the mutilation there. After all, he already had one young constable throwing up in the back garden, and his sergeant was looking a bit queasy too.

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Fly Away

Posted on by under 2023, April 2023 - Missing

Rose settled into her nest, another busy night, sighing as she turned to the others.

            Lily poked her head up: ‘Hard night Rose. You wouldn’t believe it. I had to rummage under the bed to find the tooth, all those dust bunnies’ bits of food. It was disgusting’.

            Marigold piped up: ‘Last time that happened to me there was a mouse there, eyeing me up.’ Gasps from the girls.

            Lily shuddered: ‘What did you do?’

            ‘Chucked a bit of biscuit at it, grabbed the tooth and scarpered.’

            Hyacinth joined in. ‘I had a fright not long ago when a dog came sniffing around sucked me halfway up his nostril. Thankfully it tickled his nose, he snorted and blew me across the room,’

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JIGSAW

Posted on by under 2023, April 2023 - Missing

In the park she said: ‘Tell me a story.’

            He looked at her round red face that had once suggested an arse. Then he had fallen in love with it, and all he could think of were apples, strawberries, ripe fruit, things sensuous to the tongue. Lately though a falling off, and rotting and withering slithered about his brain.

            ‘There was a man who considered his life was like a jigsaw.’

            ‘That it?’ she said.

            ‘You want more, Rebecca?’

            ‘Have you got more in you?’

            ‘A couple lunched out on a death anniversary. He, Bren, was thinking of a childhood conversation with his late mother. “That’s Nanny in Ireland,” she’d said as a sound like a distant earthquake rumbled in her belly.

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Life’s little pleasures

Posted on by under 2023, March 2023 - Waiting

A little cafe in the centre of a large park was popular with the locals for its friendly staff and cakes you could die for. Amongst the regulars was an elderly gentleman, always smartly dressed in shirt and tie, trousers with a crease you could slice bread with, his shoes shining, not a smudge on them. He would arrive promptly at 10am and leave at 2pm and was always popular with the more mature ladies. The staff would watch amused as he charmed them, the ladies simpering at his flattery.

            It was assumed that he was just lonely, enjoying the company. Over time the staff learned his name was Gerald and his wife had passed away some time ago. He had recently moved into a retirement complex. During the summer months he would sit on the bench outside talking to an old drunk, buying him a sandwich and drink. They would sit and chat for a while till the drunk disappeared off into the park. Wondering why he took the time, Gerald replied to his questioner that it could easily have been him .

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Waiting for the Bus

Posted on by under 2023, March 2023 - Waiting

It was a tragic sight, comical yet tragic.

As Harry waited by the bus stop, he gazed across the road at the crowd of hunchbacked goblins slumped in battered chairs, looking lost and bewildered.

Men in white coats walked amongst this sea of dithering heads, when one wrinkled nonagenarian cried out for her mummy. That soon set off the rest of those ancients, as they all wailed in incoherent distress.

God, it was a sin to keep them alive.

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I’m waiting for my man

Posted on by under 2023, March 2023 - Waiting

I’m standing on the corner of East 125th and Lexington, just as I did all those years ago. It’s still a shithole. There are too many people, streaming ant-like from the Metro, where the 4, 5 and 6 lines rumble in from the Upper East Side of Manhattan. There’s no glamour here, just the press of humanity in its pointless pursuit of gratification. Each lump of flesh dotted on the broken pavements scurrying to unknown nirvanas, what’s left of their minds calculating, planning, seeking – all hidden behind frozen masks of hate. They don’t like what they are. They don’t like what they do, or say, or the music they listen to, or the food they eat, or the beer they drink. It’s all senseless.  

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Wintry

Posted on by under 2023, January 2023 - Infatuation

In his mother’s bedroom, Christmas Day. He puts the cup of tea and mince pie by her. She stirs. ‘Thank you, son. You look after me, don’t you?’ Then she’s asleep again. Worn out, she lays there like an old sack, split, on the verge of falling apart.  

            His mind shifts. Boxing Day races tomorrow, eleven venues, seven races at each. Kempton, 2.30pm, Energy Supply. That boy’s a flyer. He opens the top drawer of the dresser, takes out the credit card, hesitates. Guilt like a barbed wire suit pricks him. He hates these tricky moments.

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Laurie, Alice, and the paycheck Senator

Posted on by under 2023, January 2023 - Infatuation
vague outline of a mna holding a glock pistol

Laurie threw the empty Bud can onto the couch. It skittered among the discarded cigarette cartons, magazines, and sandwich boxes, creating an avenue of disruption in its wake before resting against the curled edge of an old Simon and Garfunkel album. His eyes crinkled, and he fingered the black shape strapped to his waist.

“I am a Glock,” he sang, laughed at his joke, and gazed out of the window at the streets below. There was no silent shroud of snow, but there was a sedan with darkened windows under a streetlamp on the corner of 3rd. He drew the Glock and sighted on the driver’s window.

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The Doctor

Posted on by under 2022, December 2022 - The Stranger
Man on house back riding through snow-laden western tow. A red scaef lies on the ground

Snow fell in clumps the night the Doctor rode into town, carpeting the cobblestone streets. It was as though God himself had poured clouds out of the sky to welcome him. Lit by a full moon, snowflakes gilded every surface and our stricken community glowed with hope.

He had come to save us.

No-one had visited since the plague had hit. And we were forbidden to leave, succumbing to the sickness one by one.

‘I am The Doctor!’ he said, tipping his hat to the gathering crowd.

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My Mother’s A Witch

Posted on by under 2022, Nov 2022 - The Lesson

Billy Thomas stomped up the lane, kicking anything in his path, muttering away to himself, frustration written all over his face, every muscle tensed. She had been right again. Even when he made gestures behind her back, she knew. It wasn’t fair. Everyone else got away with things, but not him. She caught him every time.

            Plonking himself down on the river bank, he gave vent, screaming at the top of his voice, ”My mother is a witch,” over and over. Behind him, a gruff voice asked what his problem was. Turning, he saw old Mr Morris stood behind him, dressed as usual in clothes that looked too large, a wrinkled face like the bark on the trees, a flat cap, but eyes that were clear and bright. Billy didn’t know him that well, but he always had a couple of pennies when the boys went round with penny for the guy and carol singing. Embarrassed at being caught, Billy grunted. The old man then motioned him, ”Come and walk awhile and tell me your problem, bach, I may be able to help.”

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And he didn’t live happily ever after

Posted on by under 2022, Sept 2022 - The End

“That’s,” Mrs Lupin said in her soothing tone, “the end.”

Five faces of varying comprehension looked up from their slender copies of Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, rewritten for the under fifteens. One kid was interested, two were indifferent, another was confused, and the last was… well…

This classroom was nick-named the Retard Ward, or Spaz Town by the normal kids, and to be sure, some pupils were hopeless. Jake Mears, for instance. Fourteen years old but already in trouble with the police for hot-wiring a motorbike.

Other kids were struggling with Asperger’s or dyslexia, and a few were… not that bright. They’d probably slide through the school system to start work at the local firestone factory because who else would take them?

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Will It Never End?

Posted on by under 2022, Sept 2022 - The End

I hadn’t meant to do it. I guess I’d just had enough.

Looking back over the years we were married, it’s hard to pinpoint when it all started. He’d always been a bit of a moaner, it’s just that I didn’t know that he would turn into a professional one.

Nothing was ever really good enough for him. That included anything and everybody. He could find fault where there was none.

I really don’t know why I went along with it for all those years. I suppose I thought I could change him, eventually bring him around to my point of view. I was wrong.

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Men Talking Babies

Posted on by under 2022, Sept 2022 - The End

A blur of trees framed his crumpled reflection. Pete turned away from the window as the coach stopped.

“Jamie!”

“Hey Pete.”

 Jamie buffeted along the aisle and crab-walked a lanky frame into seats 4A and B in front.

“A bit iffy at one point. Paypal not going through, Visa card not in the usual place. Found it here.”  With a jagged inhalation he patted his back pocket. “Hadn’t eaten in 10 hours; must have put it back after Pret.  Real fuck of a journey altogether. Still, made it in the end.”

Jamie passed a paper tissue over his dewing brow and dripping end of nose.

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Burial

Posted on by under 2022, Sept 2022 - The End
Priest with glowing eyes in front of crying children

That time in the quays when his da had gone to the toilet. O’ Flaherty, his smirk as big as the froth on his stout, had put his hand on his knee, then moved it higher to his genitals. Keegan had had the sense to stand up and follow his father.

            ‘Full bladder, son?’

            Keegan told the old man what had happened. The latter’s face became hard, dark like the exterior of Kilmainham jail. ‘And him a priest!’ On returning, he said, ‘There’ll be no more welcome in our house for that bastard.’       

            Now Keegan was the sole mourner at his burial. Why had he come?  

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Paintings of the Mind

Posted on by under 2022, August 2022 - Envy

Your two-up two-down is in a row of terraces on a scratch of land between Manchester and Stockport: a molehill overlooked by high-rise concrete. A secret pleasure is flicking through channels while he’s out at his club. A hundred stations yet nothing on. Then you are held by a figure, grey hair, less a face than a tombstone resting on a neck. An air of gravitas in that stony apparition. You pay attention.

            The figure, well-spoken, a smoker’s cough like brown smog, is talking about his ‘artistic evolution’. The Slade, the teachers and influencers, the bohemian friends: names are dropped like Pollock paint splashes. A commitment all his years to art and sculpture; up at six a.m., seven days a week. He mentions the well-off family he’d rebelled against. They’d come round when fame’s sprig had bedecked him. He could afford to rebel, of course. Opportunities in his palm like a purse of ducats.

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The Pros and Cons of Resentment

Posted on by under 2022, August 2022 - Envy

Ensuring his surgical facemask and sunglasses cover enough of him to render his identity unrecognisable, Chris crosses the road to the dark frontage of Patel’s Stores and slides into the corner recess.

Wearing sunglasses and a mask at night might attract attention, except this is Pond Street W1, where the twenty per cent who aren’t are asking, “Would sir like to see the wine menu?”

His PR consultant boss, Gordon Price, is in the restaurant opposite. The bastard is wining and dining Clarissa Vroom, daughter of the recently ennobled Frank Vroom, a former car-salesperson, who is drinking buddies with the Minister for Greasing Palms. While as juiced as a fiddler at a barn dance, the Minister bemoaned the lack of cheap PPE to Frank.

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Harry Cashman

Posted on by under 2022, July 2022 - Chance
Man in suit screams into the void. Woman lies dead in pool of blood.

Harry stood in the doorway, his jackdaw black suit hugging him like a second skin, a bunch of flowers dangling from almost limp fingers.

Two nights away. A conference in Bournemouth. Thirty blokes getting drunk and talking about writing down expenses. From day one, he just wanted to get home to his wife, Sarah. He spoke to her last night in the casual terms of long familiarity.

“Love you.”

“Love you, three.”

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I can travel through time

Posted on by under 2022, June 2022 - Time

“I can travel through time,” the murderer explained.

Ah, of course. PC Milo, the officer tasked with the interrogation, pondered if Roger Sheen had a brain tumour or was perhaps banking on an insanity plea.

Sheen had no history of violence or aggression, was an honours student at college as a matter of fact and hadn’t as far as anyone knew even met Luke Moore before.

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