The Graveyard

Prompt: a tombstone, a first kiss, a butterfly collection.

Hayley walked through the gates of the graveyard and the fluttering’s of nervous excitement she had been feeling all day, turned to apprehension.

Why on earth did Martin want to meet here for a first date? Very strange. It’s not quite where she had imagined she would be for her first date, and hopefully her first kiss, but nevermind.

She had met Martin while she was on a school trip to the museum. Their eyes had connected through the glass display of a butterfly collection and she had been mesmerised ever since.

Deep within the graveyard, Martin paced in front of his family tombstone. He had already prepped the ground in anticipation of Hayley’s arrival.

“Don’t worry dad,” he whispered to a corpse, “fresh blood will soon be here. You will be awake again before the sun goes down.”

The Locked Door

Prompt: The Locked Door (why is it locked and what is behind it?)

I ran past the basement door as quickly as I could, as I always do. It has been locked for as long as I can remember, my parents were very clear when they told me that it was never to be opened and that if I disobeyed there would be trouble like I had never known before.

That warning didn’t stop me one day during my rebellious teenage years. I remember trying the handle, it was really stiff and noisy. I’d given it a pull, but I didn’t get any further as my dad caught me. Oh my! Did I get a beating that day! I have never touched the door since.

Ridiculous really, I’m not a child anymore but I’m still scared of that door. I wonder what secrets are behind it that would turn a usually kind dad into a raging hurtful maniac. But I will never know. Packing up the house after my parents had been killed in a car crash last week had been traumatic enough. Whatever secrets they were keeping from me can stay that….secret. The next owners can deal with it.  I leave the house without touching the door.

Down in the basement a chained up, starving girl gives up hope of living. He hadn’t been down to feed her in days and her water supply had now run out. Forgotten and alone she curls into a ball and waits for death to arrive.

The Poisoned Pencil

Prompt: The Poisoned Pencil

Matthew slammed himself against Elizabeth’s bedroom door, the frame rattled a little but didn’t give way, so he took a few paces back and launched himself at the door with all his weight behind him.

This time the door gave way and Matthew found himself propelled into her room at speed. It was as he had feared, Elizabeth was slumped at her desk, the poisoned pencil in her hand. When he had noticed it missing from his study desk he had hoped it wasn’t Elizabeth who had borrowed it. He now cursed himself for being so careless.

The pencil had been laid out ready for his brother, Ben, to use. He was always taking things that didn’t belong to him. The speed at which he was spending their inheritance meant that Matthew had felt he had no choice but to act.

Now, instead of Ben laying dead, it was beloved niece.

Drawn to the room by the commotion, Ben entered the room and let out a wail as he saw his daughter. He ran to her and gently removed the pencil from her hand. Even in his state of grief, Matthew couldn’t help but smile. Problem solved!

The Lying Millionaire

Prompt: He was a millionaire, but he was also a liar.

Peter walked out of the house and had to stop himself from whooping with joy. Another old couple had given him a large summed cheque for a charity that only existed on paper. And this gullible pair had handed it over to him on the first visit, it usually took three or four. Suckers!

‘Now I just need to decide how to spend this one,’ he thought, as he headed to his car. ‘Joyce needs another horse as she said her one is getting too small, but Jonny needs a new car, his one is nearly six months old. Hummmm, decisions.’

Peter was so lost in his daydreaming of spending someone else’s money that he didn’t see the car coming fast down the street as he stepped out.  The last thing he sees is the old couple’s cheque flapping in the wind, which then finally fluttered down to land on his blood-soaked distorted body.

COMPETITION WIN!

So I am finally a published author! My short story 'I Can't Look' that I entered into the City of Stories competition was the winning entry for the borough of Barking and Dagenham. I still can't believe it 😊😊😊. Spread The Word (who organised the competition) has put together an anthology of the boroughs winning entries and I feature on page 66. It is an amazing feeling seeing your own work in print......the first of many I hope.

The Retrieval

The Retrieval

by 

Vicki Taylor

Paul looked at his watch, nearly time, so he got out of his car and pulled the peak of his cap low over his eyes. In this unfamiliar environment, he wasn’t sure where the CCTV cameras were, urgency had prevented his usual pre-surveillance techniques.

It wasn’t his choice of meeting place, too exposed, but he had no choice, he needed the information. He had been brought to the affluent part of the city. Tall, three storey town houses formed a square around a central fenced garden; years ago, these areas wouldn’t have been open to the likes of him.

Paul walked through the gate and a man got up from a bench and walked towards him, as he got near Paul automatically put his hand on the knife that he kept in his waistband. He tensed as the man reached out his hand but he was just offering Paul a piece of paper.

Paul took it and they parted; no eye contact or a word spoken. He opened the paper and read an address. It meant nothing, this city was alien to him. No doubt why Barry had chosen here to hide, but he had underestimated him; what Barry had stolen, Paul would travel anywhere to retrieve.

Back in his car and Paul entered the address into his SATNAV and was soon driving down a road with high-end boutiques, well-dressed women and expensive cars.

He drove across a railway track and the scenery soon changed. Paint was peeling from run down houses, cheap shops and cafes. Children were running wild and youths were huddled in groups with their heads down and hoods up.

As Paul reached the address he pulled up a few houses down so that he could watch without being seen. He resisted the urge to run across the street and barge in, but no, he needed to be smart, so he did what he was good at. He sat, he watched, he waited.

Slowly, day turned into night and the city fell asleep. Paul was wide awake; the time had come to retrieve what had been stolen.

He was surprised at the ease of entering Barry’s house, not a single guard! Perhaps he doesn’t know the worth of what he had! A quick quiet search downstairs proved fruitless so Paul headed upstairs. Knife in hand, he turned the handle to Barry’s bedroom and straightaway saw the key on a chain around his neck. 

Paul had been undecided about whether to kill Barry, by putting the chain around his neck, Barry had sealed his own fate. Paul loomed over him and with one single, hard and deliberate motion he pushed his knife into Barry’s chest, straight into his heart.

With a sigh of relief at having his hands once again on his key, Paul headed out. His family was safe again; no one could ever be allowed to get access to the safety deposit box containing details of where he had hidden them. 

Mr. Linden's Library

This piece is one of my favourite's that I have written. It was inspired by an image in a book by Harris Burdick. (due to copyright issues I can't post the picture.)

Mr. Linden's Library

He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late. She looked peaceful enough and for that he was thankful, for some of his books did not make the ending pleasant.
Mr. Linden took a step closer to her lifeless body fearful of the magic in the book, knowing it had not yet run its course. He knew he couldn’t wait too long to close its heavy pages because the life from within was already escaping.
Another step forward and he noticed the leaves growing out from within the pages were looking, feeling, testing, finding its way, silently creeping. One stem touched the arm of Mary and for a second he thought he saw the plant flinch and retreat a little. Impossible though, he thought as the books fear nothing. His long, horrid, traumatic life with them had taught him that.
This time the movement from the growing stem was obvious. It touched Mary’s arm and flinched. Then the unimaginable happened, Mary moved her arm! Now Mr. Linden was very scared, not just from the still open book but from Mary too. What manner of a being survived opening a book from his library?