We're collaborating with radio producer, Jay Jones from Wales - he mainly produces Dr Who-related audio fan fiction stories and plays.
Here's my one from last Xmas: Midnight Mass, complete with sound effects this time!!
The recording is copyright so please do not copy!!!
Fiction Writers' Club
Friday, 26 September 2014
Saturday, 19 October 2013
The Collectable - by Fiona-Jane Brown
I
don’t usually do this – I’m only the secretary at Bloom Antiques in
Portsmouth’s Albert Road – but they’re all away at a fair in Brighton. My boss, who owns the shop, Mr Bloom has been
harping on about it for weeks, so when I saw the auction catalogue and there it
was, I couldn’t help it. I shut the shop
and dashed down to the Guildhall at lunchtime, swiftly grabbing a seat near the
front, right in the auctioneer’s eyeline.
Never
seen that auctioneer before. Introduces
himself as Louis; not local, sounds more like London. Anyway, I’m waiting for it to come up, it’s not really an antique, more a collectable, but
it’s a one-off Susie Cooper vase. It’s
quite small, cream and green, little hand-painted flowers, and the designer’s
signature character, a stag, prominently painted on the side, whereas it’s
normally just stamped on the base. Mr
Bloom reckoned this was Miss Cooper’s first ever firing for Gray’s Pottery and
mega-important. I just liked the
simplicity of it. Here we go, “Susie
Cooper vase, early 1920s, A.E. Gray Ltd. Potteries. Who’ll start me at £50?” Louis booms, leaning
over the lectern. I’m looking in my
compact mirror behind me. Nobody moves. Then a hand appears from the back, a punter,
yes, he’ll give fifty, and we’re off.
I
jump in at £75, knowing Mr Bloom has said its worth at least £200, but in a
sale like this, the audience aren’t likely to know that. “£75… do I see £80?” Louis casts his eyes across
the crowd. “£80 at the back, original
bidder, thank you, sir… now, £85?” My hand shoots up. “£85, thank you, miss, against you, sir,
£90?” I angle my mirror and spot him, my
rival, it’s nobody I know, certainly not a dealer, but is he a pottery expert?
A Susie Cooper fan? Better keep going!
We’re
at £145, it’s just me and him. Louis
encourages my rival to top my bids, huh, are they in league? We’re on ones now, £189, £190, £191. This is nonsense! Mr Bloom had said “If you ever see that,
Alice, buy it, I’ll refund you, I promise!” I stick my hand up and mouth “two
hundred” at the auctioneer. He takes the
bid. Silence. A very long
silence. Louis bangs the gavel after
giving the old “going, going, gone!” rhetoric.
It’s mine! I’m so pleased, really,
Mr Bloom will be delighted!
Back
at the shop, Bloom and his Albert Road cohorts have returned. I excitedly show him my purchase. A horrified look crosses his face. “It’s the Susie Cooper vase, the one you were
raving about!” I protest. He says
nothing and unwraps a package he’s got in his coat pocket. There, lying in the tissue paper is an
identical vase. “But how?” I ask. “Oh Alice, didn’t you hear me say this
morning, a friend of mine in Brighton had found it in London. He was keeping it for me. This… this is a very expensive fake!”
Handle with Care - by Pam Shand
“I don’t
usually do this.”
“What?
“Go for
a drink after work.”
Her
podgy hand encased his and she licked her lips.
Robert smiled revealing a row of perfect teeth then ran a finger along
her bare arm and watched her shiver.
Her skin was soft, delicate, would slice like butter, he thought.
Leaning
back in his chair he appraised her size trying to calculate her weight. He thought of the duct tape in the glove
compartment of his car. He would use
wire this time, as rope would damage the skin, altering the price.
“You’re
staring.”
“You are
just perfect.”
She
blushed. Poor cow, it was obvious no
one had charmed her like this for years if ever. Sipping at her drink, he cursed her
slowness; the Ketamine would take longer to work if she carried on like
this. He reminded himself that he liked
a challenge and her dullness would work to his advantage once he had her
alone.
“I’ve
wanted to ask you out for ages.”
“Really?
“Yes all
those made up sluts at work, you shine beside them Sally.”
Her face
glowed at the compliment. Robert took
her hands in his and smiled. Take it
slow, don’t fright her, she wants Mr Darcy not Jack the Ripper.
“Why
don’t we make an evening of it?”
The
hesitating silence seemed to last forever, and then she nodded her head. He leaned in for the kill.
“Drink
up.”
By the time
they were at the car, she was gasping for air and she swayed into his
arms. He almost buckled under the
weight. She was a big girl. Robert
chuckled, hands grasping, pulling her close.
She smelt of a cheap perfume, probably something by Avon, Occur; his
mother had worn that. Working on the
car door behind her they wrestled in a lovers lock, and Sally giggled. Sweat soaked his shirt and the click of the
mechanism was sweet to his ears.
Pouring
her into the car he struggled with the seatbelt and only relaxed once she was
buckled in and he driving away. She
gave him a sleepy smile.
“I’m not
used to wine I think I might be drunk.”
“Don’t
worry I’ll take you for a coffee.”
She
closed her eyes, trusting. Now free at
last he drove with mounting excitement.
He glanced across to see her head lolling, she would be snoring
soon. Reaching across he pushed her
skirt up her thigh caressing her without resistance. Mouth dry he already imagined her tied and
helpless and all the fun ahead. He
checked the time. He always preferred to
give himself lots of leeway before Jarvis arrived. It had worked out rather well. There was always a need for organs, and
skin. He was doing his bit for science.
He
suspected that Jarvis knew that he had his percentage before collection; the
marks on the last one had been a mistake.
Inside Info - by Megan Loughlin
“I don't usually do this, but for you I
think I can make an exception,” the man said, grinning. He was a short, porcine
fellow with a severe comb over and watery eyes. He had on the most hideously
garish outfit Frank had ever seen in his life, and exuded an odour that would
send a skunk running for cover. He looked up at the tall, well dressed man
sitting opposite him. “So whaddaya say, Frankie boy? We got a bet or what?”
Frank plastered a wide, insincere smile on
his face and tried to talk without breathing too much through his nose. “That
all depends, Joey. Now, are you sure this info is legit? I'd hate to go to jail
over this.”
Joey looked downright scandalized at this.
“Of course it's legit! What kinda guy do you take me for anyway? If I say Sunny
Downs is the sure winner of the next race, then she is! Besides, I got the info
from a very reliable source. One close to the action, you might say.” He smirked. “Wanna drink while we discuss
it?”
Frank scoffed, lighting a cigarette and
blowing the smoke in Joey's face. “What, did you talk to the horse or
somethin'? And no, I don't want a drink. The rotgut they serve in this hellhole
would probably burn a hole in my stomach. I'll take real booze, thank you very
much.”
“Come on man, blow that cancer cloud away
from me, will ya? And for God's sake, don't be so fuckin' high and mighty. You
ran the rotgut during Prohibition same as all of us.” Joey demanded, coughing.
“Look, just trust me on this, OK? It'll be the easiest money ya ever made.”
Frank stubbed out his cigarette on the
table top. “ That was a long time ago, Joey. Things change.” He sighed, then
grinned. “What the hell. I ain't had much luck at the track recently, maybe
this will be a chance to change it. Put me down for $20,000 on Sunny Downs to
take first.” He stood and walked out of
the dingy club.
Joey sat back, sighing. After a few
minutes, he stood, went to the nearby payphone,
and dialled. “Hello, Mr. Green? It's Joey Desoto. The trap is set.” He
listened for a few moments. “Yes Sir. Yes Sir, I will.”
He sat back in the booth, sighing. It was
too bad about what was gonna happen to Frank, he thought. Guy seemed pretty OK
, if a little full of himself, but he had stolen money from Mr. Green, and that
sort of thing was frowned upon. The last guy that had crossed him...Joey didn't
like to think about it.
Joey shuddered, then signalled the waitress
to order a drink.
The Replica - by Richie Brown
I don't usually do this, but, you do get so lonely, don't you?'
'We understand, Ms Patton. We provide a discrete service here at Replica X. We exist so those you loved may do so again.'
The assistant flashed a three day training course beam. Ms Patton thinned her lips. She opened the clasp on her second hand Prada handbag and pulled out a small scrap of tartan fabric.
'From his coat, his favourite. I only took a bit, I won't part with all of it.'
'This will do fine, Ms Patton. We'll get this over to the lab. Can I get you a cup of tea while you wait?
'Just water, thank you...and, well, I need to know...'
'Yes?'
'The tongue...'
'Rough or smooth, you choose. It has a motor, five variable speeds.'
'And below?'
'Life sized. It folds neatly into his bum when you don't need it.'
The assistant filled a mug with tap-water, looked at her wrist-phone and began to shake with laughter. Ms Patton coughed.
'Something funny?'
'I'm so sorry, pfffffffffff, my boyfriend, aaaaaahhhh.' The assistant gasped for air, 'he's so funny.' She wiped a tear away from her cheek.
Ms Patton warmed to her. 'You're keen on him. I can see that.' The assistant nodded. 'If you were to lose him, would you have a model made too?'
This caught the assistant off guard. 'Well,' she began, then tailed off.
'But you're young,' said Ms Patton after a few seconds passed. 'I won't find another like Colin again.' She rose and walked to a grubby window. Placing her hand on the pane, she peered out as best she could. 'That beach,' she said. 'You can just make it out beyond the gasworks. We would walk there, every day, even in the rain. He'd run on ahead, but I could always make out his thick, curly, black hair in the distance. Then we'd reconvene, at our secret place beyond the dunes...and he'd lick me. Like I'd never been licked before. I'd come over and over again and he'd never tire.' The assistant's eyes widened. 'Oh, I'd have to do him. Eventually. When he begged. But this was about me. So, you can see why I'm here, can't you? I haven't been able to feel like that since he died.'
The assistant smiled nervously. 'Ashes to passion, dust to lust. That's the Replica X motto,' she offered before busying herself with her wrist-phone. A minute later it beeped. 'That's the lab,' she said. 'Colin is ready.'
Ms Patton followed the assistant along the corridor to the reception where a cardboard box awaited them.
'That's strange,' said the assistant. 'The dimensions look all wrong. Was he a short man, your husband?'
'Husband?' said Ms Patton, excitedly tearing parcel tape from the box. She pulled the replica of Colin from the packing foam, opened her handbag, took out a battered, red leather collar and fixed it round his neck.
'Woman's best friend,' she laughed.
'We understand, Ms Patton. We provide a discrete service here at Replica X. We exist so those you loved may do so again.'
The assistant flashed a three day training course beam. Ms Patton thinned her lips. She opened the clasp on her second hand Prada handbag and pulled out a small scrap of tartan fabric.
'From his coat, his favourite. I only took a bit, I won't part with all of it.'
'This will do fine, Ms Patton. We'll get this over to the lab. Can I get you a cup of tea while you wait?
'Just water, thank you...and, well, I need to know...'
'Yes?'
'The tongue...'
'Rough or smooth, you choose. It has a motor, five variable speeds.'
'And below?'
'Life sized. It folds neatly into his bum when you don't need it.'
The assistant filled a mug with tap-water, looked at her wrist-phone and began to shake with laughter. Ms Patton coughed.
'Something funny?'
'I'm so sorry, pfffffffffff, my boyfriend, aaaaaahhhh.' The assistant gasped for air, 'he's so funny.' She wiped a tear away from her cheek.
Ms Patton warmed to her. 'You're keen on him. I can see that.' The assistant nodded. 'If you were to lose him, would you have a model made too?'
This caught the assistant off guard. 'Well,' she began, then tailed off.
'But you're young,' said Ms Patton after a few seconds passed. 'I won't find another like Colin again.' She rose and walked to a grubby window. Placing her hand on the pane, she peered out as best she could. 'That beach,' she said. 'You can just make it out beyond the gasworks. We would walk there, every day, even in the rain. He'd run on ahead, but I could always make out his thick, curly, black hair in the distance. Then we'd reconvene, at our secret place beyond the dunes...and he'd lick me. Like I'd never been licked before. I'd come over and over again and he'd never tire.' The assistant's eyes widened. 'Oh, I'd have to do him. Eventually. When he begged. But this was about me. So, you can see why I'm here, can't you? I haven't been able to feel like that since he died.'
The assistant smiled nervously. 'Ashes to passion, dust to lust. That's the Replica X motto,' she offered before busying herself with her wrist-phone. A minute later it beeped. 'That's the lab,' she said. 'Colin is ready.'
Ms Patton followed the assistant along the corridor to the reception where a cardboard box awaited them.
'That's strange,' said the assistant. 'The dimensions look all wrong. Was he a short man, your husband?'
'Husband?' said Ms Patton, excitedly tearing parcel tape from the box. She pulled the replica of Colin from the packing foam, opened her handbag, took out a battered, red leather collar and fixed it round his neck.
'Woman's best friend,' she laughed.
The Queen's Bribe - by Michelle Wyllie
I don’t usually do this but she made it worth my while. It’s my job to ferry people to and from the island to stay at the castle. Usually it’s mostly the local nobility but last year we had an extra special visitor: Her Majesty, Mary Queen of Scots. Rumour was she was with child and had come for some rest. I could almost believe that had it not been for the armed guards beside her.
Sarah, the maid, said
it was down to the Queen’s status she had guards. Perfectly possible for that to be true, I
suppose but these men didn’t look like protection guards. No, these men flanked the Queen like she was
a prisoner. Loch Leven Castle doesn’t
have anywhere to hold prisoners as far as I know.
‘You don’t hold
prisoners of her rank in a dungeon, John,’ Sarah told me at the time. So, a royal person wouldn’t be clamped in
chains and thrown into a dungeon. Her
Majesty’s accommodation would have to as luxurious as possible. Fine for her but I wouldn’t be so lucky if I
was caught. That standard of the Queen’s
new home was not my problem.
When she boarded the
boat, there wasn’t a man around who could keep their eyes off her. I’d heard so many stories of her beauty but
seeing her in person was something else again.
When she stood, she was as tall as any man. Certainly taller than me but I’m still a
growing lad. That’s what the captain
says anyway. One day I’ll be as tall as
her, he said.
Life in the Castle
isn’t that bad. You’ve got a decent roof
over your head which is more than can be said about some of the poor folks in
town. Not only that but the island has
some great views over the loch. If you
look ahead from the entrance to the castle, you can see out to Kinross or at
least the surrounding countryside. If
you go east you can see out towards Burleigh Castle. Perhaps Her Majesty would be happiest there
with Lord Burleigh for company. Nothing
wrong with Milnathort either. When she
gets a chance, Sarah goes there to see her family. At the backof the castle, you’ve got a braw
view towards Scotlandwell. Strange name
for a village, isn’t it?
According to the women,
the Queen lost the twins she was rumoured to be carrying. Could be true but you can never believe
women’s gossip.
Over the course of her
stay, Her Majesty was also forced to surrender her throne to her little
son. The only people I could see
benefitting from that arrangement were the ambitious nobles who hate serving a
woman.
So, the Queen came to
me through one of her guards and passed me £20.
Would I take the Queen off the island?
Of course, I wasn’t going to be stupid enough to turn down a queen’s
ransom, was I? Fingers crossed we don’t
get caught.
Saturday, 6 April 2013
Circle of Life - Michelle Wyllie
Circle of Life (c) Michelle Wyllie
‘Are you certain this is what you want?’ I
asked as I draped a protective arm around her.
Our breath was visible on the air.
Elizabeth drew her cloak around her, resting her head against my
shoulder.
‘I
have to see if it’s true,’ she said, giving me a sly wink.
‘What’s
true?’
‘That
they’re really going to do it.’ She
pointed to a stage set for an execution.
The officials were dressed differently, looking more like plague doctors
with masks that covered their faces.
Perhaps they were ashamed. I slid
my hand down her face. She took my wrist
and kissed me on the fingers.
‘I
just want you to be safe,’ I said. Close
to the Banqueting House, crowds gathered, a large group of Parliamentarian
soldiers forming a protective ribbon round the scaffold.
‘I
appreciate that but there’s no need to be so protective.’ She squeezed my hand tenderly. I lifted her chin with my finger and looked
into her eyes. Any man could lose himself
in her beauty but only I could love her.
‘I can look after myself.’
‘Elizabeth...’
‘Stephen...’ She hooked her arm in mine and pressed me
close. People of all ages squeezed into
the space, some of them boys from St Paul’s School. Whether or not the school was closed, I
hadn’t heard but for the sake of the boys, I hoped it was. The masters would have had the boys caned. The chatter of groups of family or friends
rose like a swarm of angry bees, making it impossible to hear. From all sides, people pushed to get the best
view, almost crushing us. We stood and
waited in the bitter January air, hoping we would not have long to wait. The voices hushed as a man in a black mask
emerged to a slow drum beat.
After
what felt like a long time standing, a prisoner took the stage, flanked by Roundheads. He seemed small and vulnerable yet did not
appear to shiver in spite of the cold.
His shirt hung loose over his breeches and his hair was tucked inside a
nightcap. He was led out from the palace
but the soldiers below the scaffold made it harder to see. His Majesty turned to another man and pointed
to the axe and block in the middle of the scaffold. From what I could see, the block appeared to
be the right height for a child but not a grown man.
He
turned to his guard and indicated the crowd.
The soldiers who packed the areas around King Street and Charing Cross
listened intently as the King spoke.
‘Unjust
sentence and he’s an innocent man,’ one soldier taunted. ‘And he loves his people and wants their
liberty.’ The soldier laughed as he
waited for the next remark from King Charles. I squeezed Elizabeth’s hand as the soldier
listened for the King’s next words. ‘He
goes from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown.’
I
assumed he failed to forgive his executioners what they were about to do. Elizabeth gasped, her hand covering her mouth. I cuddled her as she bit her nails. Christ’s blood, they were going to do
it. He laid his slender neck on the
block and stretched his arms towards the crowd.
The
final blow was delivered. Elizabeth
clung to me like a scared child as the King’s head was displayed like a
trophy. The crowd was stunned into
silence. No cheers but some people held
out handkerchiefs. There was no one to
touch for the King’s Evil.
As
the crowd dispersed, Elizabeth’s face seemed paler than it was when we left the
house. Her hand trembled, so I held her tight. As we walked home, shocked that we had just
killed our own King, I stopped at Charing Cross and stroked her face.
‘Are
you all right?’ I asked as I placed my hand under her chin. For the first time since I married her, she
looked scared. This was not the
Elizabeth I knew.
‘Yes,
Stephen,’ she replied, taking my hand and squeezing it. ‘I’m glad we made the effort, even though it
was hard to hear what His Majesty said.’
‘There’s
something else.’
‘You
know me too well.’ She pressed me close
and kissed me with a passion I had not experienced since our wedding
night. ‘I haven’t had my terms for the
last couple of months.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I’m
with child.’ My mood lifted and I
gathered her in my arms, my heart light with happiness.
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