(900 words) The door opened and Sue came in, carrying a basket of eggs. She pecked me on the cheek, put the eggs on a worn oak table and plumped herself down in an old armchair. “Well, I just had an interesting chat with Mavis in the shop.” “Oh.” “Yes, she said she was surprised not to have seen us at the service on Sunday.” “Why? We’re not religious.” “Yes, I told her that but she said the rest of the village was there and we were 'conspicuous by our absence'.” “Bloody hell, so now I’ve got to go praying to keep in with Clay Hill, have I?” Sue sighed. “Look, darling, it’ll only be once a week. Sing a few hymns, smile at people and we’ll be out in an hour. Anyway, Reverend Phillips has invited us to dinner tomorrow night.” “I’m playing darts with Tom tomorrow.” “Not anymore you’re not.”
(800 words) I stood at the front of my local Spiritualist Church, an honoured guest. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to tell you about my brother, Justin, and how he’s come back from the spirit world to give us all a message of hope.” There was a polite hush. “But before Justin speaks, I’d like to say a little bit about him.” Thirty pairs of eyes looked up at me with eager anticipation.
The Moonlit Garden, a play for five voices
Martin: Actually, my dear, I had a rather odd dream. Would you permit me to recount it?
Rebeca: Of course. I’m intrigued!
Martin: Well, there I was in a garden. It was night and there was a gibbous moon in the sky, turning the garden to silver. There was a fountain made of brick, with a large shallow pool around it, the whole set in a large depression off from some lawns.
Rebecca: How lovely!
Martin: Well, that’s the odd thing, the brickwork was old and the fountain nozzle bent and dry. The cement pool around it was cracked, with weeds poking through in places.
Rebecca: How odd.
Martin: Yes, as I looked around, everything seemed overgrown, as if time had forgotten the garden. But then I heard singing, soft gentle voices. I walked up from the fountain to a lawn, and there were women in long dresses, and with their hair unfettered and flowing free. They were beautiful, smiling, holding out their hands; wanting me to join with them in a circle.
(650 words) “Invisible doesn’t mean non-existent!” I said. “In my book it does. If I can’t see something, I don’t believe in it.” My partner, Greg, was on his usual soap-box, and we were in the middle of yet another argument. Science, specifically the pin-up physics professor who was on the telly all the time, had spoken. There were no ghosts, no UFOs, no life after death. So that was that. The mountain of evidence didn’t fit their neat little theories, so the members of the scientific professions chose to ignore it. And Greg, a scientist and avid fan, lapped it up, unquestioningly.
“Hello Sherina, yes, I've received your payment, how can I help?”
“Well, the world’s divided into two kinds of people. Those who hear voices in their heads and those who don’t. Some get paid for it and some get locked away!”
“Ha ha, yes, I get paid for it, dear!”
“Oh, getting on for thirty years!”
“Well, we have ‘guides’ - people in sprit. They co-ordinate who comes through.”
“Yes, they do a great job, it can get pretty busy! OK, I’m hearing the name Dianne, it’s a female energy, I’m feeling a lot of love, is it your mother, dear?”
“All right, I’m feeling a sharp pain in my chest. Did she have heart problems before she passed, perhaps a heart attack? Ah, I feel she passed quickly.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear, but she’s with me now, she says she’s fine now, and she sends her love … Sherina, are you OK, love?”
(750 words) Readers of this blog may have noticed a certain psychic/spiritual theme to many stories. Well, I think I’ve always had an interest in things supernatural, but recently I had the opportunity to join a ‘development circle,’ so I thought I would share my experiences, for those with an interest in such things.
Well, I’d heard the term ‘sitting for development’ and ‘development,’ but never realised what it meant. In a nutshell it means developing the ability to communicate with the dead!
(1000 words) Melt the ice, that was the name of the game. I’d done it myself in guitar classes. Go round the circle, getting everyone in turn to say why they wanted to learn the guitar and what they hoped to achieve. This was a bit different though. We had to say why we wanted … Continue reading Is There Anybody There?