A Gnome to Go To

Posted on by Simon J. Wood

(1250 words) James sat at the dining room table. It was after school on Monday and a mathematics tome lay open in front of him. Through the window, he could see the garden and, in the distance, the little pond with the red garden gnome perpetually fishing. The door opened. “James, how are you getting on with your homework?” “Oh, I’m stuck on these quadratic equations.” His stepfather’s thin lips compressed. “Don’t you pay attention in class? Every schoolboy knows the square on the hypothenuse is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides. Or at least they did when I was your age!” James looked at his stepfather’s bulging eyes, his round red face and his black hair, which looked like it had been painted on. “I’m just no good at maths, Dad. Look, let me go out with my friends, you know they’re going to clown school tonight.” John-Henry Schwartz almost exploded. “Clown school! That’s the height of your ambition is it, lad?

A Lonely Place at Midnight

Posted on by Simon J. Wood

(1100 words) “What time do you get off?” the girl had asked me. Surprised, I’d turned from flipping a burger. She was tall, and slim, with blonde hair in a short ponytail. “I’ve a break in twenty minutes. Why?” “Can we chat? I need a favour.” The next twenty minutes had crawled past. I could see the girl sitting in a corner, fiddling with her phone. What the hell did she want? “Look, my name’s Martha, I come here sometimes, you’ve served me a couple of times,” she said when I was free to join her. Now I came to think about it, she did seem somewhat familiar, but then we served a lot of people. “You seem a nice guy and I need someone to do me a favour.” “What?”

Eyes of the Madman

Posted on by Simon J. Wood

“There is no such thing as a haunted house,” said I. “T’aint the house that be haunted, Mr. Rauland,” said the old man, “just the library.” I put down my valise and hung my coat and hat on a stand. “Whatever, there are no such things as ghosts.” “That’s what the last one said. Mr. Griffin, that was ‘is name,” said the old woman. Her hair was white but with a green tinge, as if mouldy, and her beady eyes were swollen and bloodshot. “Well, e’s in the mad ‘ouse now, is Mr. Griffin.”

Jolly as a Pie!

Posted on by Simon J. Wood

(550 words) “I’m a servant, milord, a maid to Sir Oswald’s household.” “And are you happy there?” I asked. “No, milord, cursed be the day I came into this house!” “What do you see around you?” “Stone flags, milord, and a great fire. There’s a kettle o’water a’heatin’ for the washing.” “Is it the scullery?” “Yes, milord, there be a great kitchen for the cooking.” “Is there anyone else there?” (subject laughs) “Yes, milord, there’s Jack, the varlet. He sits by the fire, his face red as any fox!”

The Things You See

Posted on by Simon J. Wood

(1150 words) It was midday, the sun’s yellow disc was high in the clear-blue summer sky and it was sweltering. The heat burned into every cell of my body and mind. I could feel my back beneath my rucksack wet with sweat, and drops of it ran down my face from time to time. The grass beneath my walking boots was dry and brown, there’d been little rain for weeks. “I think we should take a break, it’s too hot.”

The Seven

Posted on by Simon J. Wood

(800 words) “Manager of data security and hacker extraordinaire! May I introduce the head of MI7, Baronetess Zilberstein?” The Speaker of the House of Commons gestured towards a short woman with the face of a man. Her hair was black and greasy, and reminded Grant Balfour of the ‘pudding basin’ haircuts he’d endured as a child. Her features were pudgy and grey, as if moulded from ancient Plasticine. She dipped her head perfunctorily, but her thin, straight lips remained compressed.

Was It Something We Said?

Posted on by Simon J. Wood

(1300 words) “Mother Mary and Jozuf!” exclaimed the old man, looking up at the dark sky. I swear I saw somethin’ fly past just now. Somethin’ white and round, real low. He took another swig from his bottle and turned back to the brazier. He wore a woollen hat, a dirty black greatcoat and brown boots with the soles almost worn through. If you had been near him you would have smelt a curious smell. A mixture of mould, sweat and urine. For that reason, he sat alone at the brazier. ‘Greetings, Earthman!’ The tramp heard the voice in his head and turned around. He almost fainted at the sight of the three strange figures standing at the edge of the light from the brazier.

Think Pink…

Posted on by Simon J. Wood

(1500 words) Fiona looked up from her test tubes. What on earth was that noise? She went to the door of the laboratory and looked out across the valley. A blue van stood there, in the distance, along with a Mini Cooper, parked outside Swarfdale farm. She hadn’t noticed the car last night, she realised. She guessed they must be musicians, but that noise sounded like the soundtrack to a nightmare. Fiona looked at her watch and noticed it was time to pick Emily up from school. She’d been listening longer than she’d realised.

Shoot! Don’t Shoot! (poem)

Posted on by Simon J. Wood

Their words are writ large, on the pages of life, But to some folks, spelling causes no little strife. Is it ‘to’ or ‘too’ or even ‘two’? Or are you the sort who hasn’t a clue? Nowadays, we’ve Word and the internet, To solve any spelling or grammar point, yet “I’ll ignore Word’s squiggly red and blue lines, “Write what I like, it’ll all be fine “What does a program know about spelling and grammar?” “Well qu-quite a lot,” you’ll hear me st-stammer.