30 April 08 - 12:49THE HOOP (4)
Written today and first published here
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The toys settled in for the night. The playroom’s girl-child had been taken to bed in the nursery by Nanny without time to tidy behind her properly. The Jack-in-Box was not pressed back beneath the lid, now hanging over the edge in a mess of head-springs. The Dolls House was left lit, its front-hinged ‘lid’ swinging imperceptibly to and fro in the moving air. Air moving because the Radiators were yet to be turned off. The window locked ajar.
No, not Radiators! It was a coal fire behind its metal-mesh guard still smouldering quite warmly in the playroom’s dimming light. Radiators were for the future. Not now. As was the screen flickering in the corner where the Rocking-Horse, when untended, used to rock as imperceptibly as the Dolls House’s ...
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25 April 08 - 10:12The Doorbell Prince
Published 'Flickers 'n' Frames' 1998
HORRORS IN DREAM DO NOT A NIGHTMARE MAKE ... were the words etched above the door, words at which King Ullie - who was staying as a guest of another King - glanced. He was being shown into salubrious sleeping-quarters by a servile Palace porter, someone who looked too much of a weakling to carry luggage at the best of times.
"If you need anything in the night, your Majesty," piped the porter, "I shall be no further than where your voice will reach, be it whisper or be it shout."
Or be it scream, thought King Ullie as he waved the porter away through the door of words.
Primary sources reveal that King Ullie was due to meet his host, King Alez, on the morrow. He had arrived late - so very late, the porter whose name was Lurkenwell (or some such name that recordings of ...
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19 April 08 - 20:043n/80ths
Published 'Sierra Heaven' 1995
The onboard intercom needed to warm up just like an old-fashioned wireless. Albert squinted his eyes as if he thought that would create a clearer signal. The whining noise made him wince. The last knob he twiddled (always the last one, it seemed) managed to tune in a voice of sorts. Well, what else could be expected across all those countless light years? He put his mouth nearer the heavy-duty mike and said: “This is Albert here, Roger.”
“Sorry, Roger is off sick – over.”
“Well, I need some more essential supplies sent out.”
“Sorry, everyone’s on strike here ... except me – over.”
“Well, can’t you arrange something?”
“Sorry, I’ve got a more pressing priority at the moment t’other side of the universe from you – over.”
“How can I be expected to keep body and soul together?”
“Blimey, mate. Don’t give me all those sob stories. You’ll be telling me next that you’re actually ...
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08 April 08 - 21:07SPAM
Published 'The Weirdmonger's Tales' WYRD PRESS 1994
Baron Harch wanted to keep the principality of Harchwee clean and wholesome, but the docks let him down, since they represented little more than blasphemous effigies of bloated rats tucked up in a baby's frilly cradles. The parks and espalier trails were indeed litter-free, the courtyards and promenades neatly white-washed. Outside the cafes, elderly gentry played chess under the near endless summer skies, flasks of ice-green water ready to hand.
Le Pei left this inner sanctum of the Baronry, where castle turrets poked rocketship imitations at the tireless full moon of a hushed expectant night, and passed through the city gate, where late stragglers mouched and chatted in starry-eyed demeanour. The only sound was the squeaking of his shoes. He would soon hit the alleyways which revealed the beginning hair-line cracks of darker paths beyond. ...
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