Short Stories

the investigator

The smell of death surprised him every time—sweet and pungent in its foulness. Rence stood over the body of Lord Harrison, regarding the pattern of his splattered blood across the slate tiles of the monastery. Beside the body was a pistol—a relatively new model by the looks of it. Pinched between his gloved thumb and forefinger, Rence lifted it from the pooled blood, the barrel cold and greasy. It was a decorative thing: a three barrelled flintlock with brass mechanism and an ornately carved ivory grip. A curious smile crept across his lips.

This was a rich man’s weapon.         

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Flash Fiction Friday

#flashfictionfriday 05

“They will be here before dawn,” Mayor Turncott said. He turned to Jacquelyn and gripped her by the shoulders. “You must take the boy and leave.”

Jacquelyn glanced down at the new born babe in her arms, swaddled warm in a woollen cloak.

“There’s a tunnel through the hills,” Turncott said. ‘Speak to the smithy. Tell him, ‘All the leaves have fallen,’ and he will show you the way. Follow the path until you reach the forest. And then, you don’t look back. Do you understand?”

Jacquelyn nodded. “I’ll protect him with my life.”

“No, my dear,” Turncott said gravely. “You are the Mother of Hope—it is you who must survive.”

Flash Fiction Friday

#flashfictionfriday 04

A black business card tumbles to the floor as she’s slipping out of her bra. The man in the white tuxedo picks it up.

“Miss Murder,” he reads, loose-tied and champagne-drunk. “Named after the song.”

“No,” she says and reaches into her purse. “Named after me.”

One click and he was dead.

Flash Fiction Friday

#flashfictionfriday 03

Judith checks the letter box twenty-five times a day and sometimes it’s still dark.

“Oh, I better check the mail,” she says, sitting down for a cuppa. Out she goes, down the front path, in her dressing gown and slippers.

“Morning Bob,” she waves.

Bob’s holding a stubby and paying the pizza delivery man. He gives an awkward nod and wave of his beer as Judith totters back inside.

Sitting down for a cuppa, Judith says, “Oh, I better check the mail. Might have bills to pay.”

Out she goes, down the path…

Gardens of War & Wasteland

welcome to whyt’hallen 01: the old capital – ciraselo

In this month’s edition of WELCOME TO WHYT’HALLEN, we take a look at Ciraselo, the Old Capital. All the action of Gardens of War & Wasteland Book I: The Ruptured Sky begins here, making it the perfect choice for your first glimpse into the world of Whyt’hallen.

THE OLD CAPITAL—CIRASELO: Creating mood boards has been a fantastic world building exercise that helps me visualise the architecture and atmosphere of the locales visited in The Ruptured Sky. Images via canva.com
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