Short Stories, Uncategorized

Local Halloween Short Story Competition Entry – Tumbleweed

During October, my local library ran a short story competition on the theme of Halloween. Having had the beginnings of a ghost story on my laptop for over a year, I decided to work on it some more and enter it into the competition. It was just a bit of fun while I’m in the throws of editing, and having never won a writing competition before (I’ve always been runner-up), I never thought I’d win. So I was very surprised when I actually did.

I have very mixed feelings about winning, as I know most people who enter only write as a hobby, and because I’m technically an author, I had the sudden thought that entering was unfair to everyone else, as really, writing is something I’m supposed to be good at. Yet I am also delighted, as I don’t usually write ghost stories or much aimed at adults, so winning did give my imposter syndrome a much-needed kick.

I also wish there were more people in attendance when the winners were announced on Halloween night, as the library had obviously gone through a lot of trouble to make it a fun event – all the staff were dressed up and they read out all the winning and running up entries for everyone to listen to, before giving out prizes (my own was a lovely notebook and quill set). My favourite story was actually the winner of the children’s category, which featured creepy porcelain dolls.

Anyway, I thought I’d share my entry here for anyone interested. It’s rather silly, being inspired partly by The Frighteners and Stardust, but I had fun with it:


‘I think this one might have a chance.’

‘Oh?’ Alphonse said, glancing at his brother. ‘Looks like an idiot to me. No different from the others.’ He shifted his buttocks into a more comfortable groove on top of the bookshelf, staring down at the rest of the detective’s office.

The detective himself was busy reading through pages of notes about the case, oblivious to Alphonse and Wesley watching his every move. They were hardly there by choice, though. For some reason, they couldn’t leave the block where they’d died, so it was either observe the investigation or float around aimlessly in the hope that the gateway would open again. Which they knew it wouldn’t, until their murderer was found, and they had even less of an idea of who it was than the police did. Which was saying something.

So far, all the detectives put on the case had gone crazy after only a few days, regardless of how determined or level-headed they’d appeared to be. Word around the department was that the case was cursed.

Still, this detective had taken the case without so much as a tremble.

‘I think this guy’s strange in the head. He doesn’t look like a detective – if it wasn’t for the badge on his desk, I’d have thought he was nothing but a nosy caretaker. He’s even wearing overalls,’ Alphonse complained.

A knock sounded at the door, startling the man so much his flailing hand caught a cup of half-drunk coffee and sent it cascading across the desk, soaking every sheet of paper it could.

The sergeant who appeared a second later was hit with a barrage of profanities and scarpered before she’d uttered a word.

‘You know, brother, I’m not sure I even know the meaning of some of those,’ Wesley said, scratching his translucent chin with an equally translucent hand.

‘Well, you were always naïve. I doubt having your head chopped off improved things much,’ Alphonse jibed.

‘I was trying to save you. It was the right thing to do.’

‘The stupid thing, more like. I was already dying when you got there. You had every available chance to get away. But no, you decided to stay and play hero. Now look at you.’

‘At least I died wearing trousers,’ Wesley pointed out.

Alphonse glanced self-consciously at the strawberry-print boxer shorts he was sporting. ‘Had I have known some maniac would plant an axe in my spine while I was in bed, I would have dressed for the occasion,’ he countered. ‘And as I recall, you were done in from behind without even a glimpse of our attacker. No use at all!’

‘Shh!’ Wesley said as the detective stopped mopping up the mess on his desk and turned to stare right at them.

‘Relax, you know Bloods can’t see us.’

‘What about psychics?’

‘What about psychics? They’re notorious for making up nonsense. Praying on the bereaved and tricking them into emptying their pockets. There’s not an ounce of supernatural ability among them.’

‘Are you sure?’ Wesley pressed. ‘This guy is certainly acting odd for someone who can’t see us.’

The detective was now moving towards them, his expression curious but reserved. Standing next to the bookshelf, level with their legs, he jumped up and plunged his arm straight through Wesley’s stomach.

‘Ha, so that’s where you were hiding all this time!’ he declared, holding a thick file triumphantly in his hand. He returned to his desk to flick through it.

Shaken, Wesley vomited ectoplasm into the air. Alphonse wafted bits of it away in disgust. ‘Can’t you control yourself?’ he snapped.

Wesley jerked as if he was about to vomit again, but clapped his hand to his mouth just in time. There was a pause in which he made a thick swallowing sound while tears grew in the corners of his eyes, then replied, ‘I’m sorry, but he just violated me! It felt—’ another judder ran through him, and Alphonse floated away through the wall before more ectoplasm could assault him.

Wesley slumped over. Losing ectoplasm was a tiring experience. ‘Why does it always happen to me?’ he murmured, putting his head in his hands.

From the desk came a thump as the detective suddenly collapsed onto it, followed by a whitish haze leaving his body and vanishing.

‘Well, that was the quickest ascension I’ve ever seen. He must’ve been in a hurry,’ Wesley said, hopping down to take a better look. As he got closer, Alphonse’s head popped out of the detective’s back. Wesley swore. ‘Please tell me you didn’t?’

‘Didn’t what?’ Alphonse said innocently, stepping out of the body altogether and shaking himself off. ‘I only spoke to his soul, that was all. Apparently, he’d bored the poor thing to a husk of itself, it was only too happy for me to help it get away. Besides, the idiot was getting on my nerves. He’d never have solved it. We’re better off doing it ourselves.’

‘We already tried that. You ran into a paranormal investigator and got caught on film, and I ended up being shredded by a lawnmower when you pushed me out of the way as he was running after you. We’re not doing that again.’

‘Spoilsport,’ Alphonse replied. ‘At least we can watch the rest of the Bloods scramble in and panic. It’s always fun to watch them make fools of themselves.’

‘Oh, yes. Terribly fun,’ Wesley said, pinching his nose as the body released an enormous amount of gas.

Poetry, Short Stories

I thought my executive function was on holiday, turns out it’s missing in action

I need to do the housework today, but now I’ve had a knife shaped letter prodding me in the ribs, there’s no room in my brain for anything else. What am I doing? Cleaning the birds? Emptying the bins? I seem halfway through both, but how did I get here? Oh, look, the laundry, I’ll do that today. Time to hoover. Mind is racing, letter thoughts stabbing, stabbing, what way am I facing? Oh, yes, the hoover. Move all the things. It’s raining outside. Why am I in the kitchen again? The hoover is in the lounge. Oh look, the laundry, I must do that today. What about the washing up? Ah, those plastic pots in the sink are recyclable, I’ll just put them in the…oh, I forgot to get the bin bags from the other room. I’ll just go and get them–no, hoovering first. Done! Now I can do the washing up and put those pots in the bin…once I get the bags. Finally, I’ve finished. Phew…

Oh look, the laundry.

Poetry, Short Stories, Uncategorized

A letter about autism to my childhood self

Hey. Try not to panic. It’s you from the future, and

I’m writing to say don’t worry. Everything

that’s getting to you at the moment will make sense in the end.


Like the times you wait by the fence watching the other kids play

wondering when they’ll ask you to join in, and what you’ll do if it happens.

How you’re confused at the ease they interact, talking freely,

while you stand their silently, their shouts and screams of joy

overloading your ears – until the whistle blows and hits you like ice up your spine,

locking you into rigid limbs and wriggling insides. The hold authority has.

And those times you’re unsure what Miss is asking of you, fretting about if you’re doing your work right

because she didn’t go through it fully first. So you wait

and watch the other kids, trying to guess their thinking as they set straight to it

and hoping you can catch a glimpse of their work so you can copy.

Then there’s the time you have to go to the dentist during rehearsals for the school play. Should you put your hand up? Should you just stand?

You ask around in whispers, and everyone says put your hand up. You do, but the teachers don’t see, so then you do stand.

And get told off for not telling them to put you on the end of the row, even though your form tutor read the note at registration.

How about all those times the kids take advantage of your attempts to join in? Sharing

your cat’s cradle only for them to run off with it and claim to the others that it’s theirs,

or when a girl steals your toy and tells the dinner lady you stole it from her

and you can’t speak up properly so give in and let them keep it?

When they’re supposed to share textbooks

and drag them away so you can’t see?

Let’s not forget how you can’t co-ordinate your body in P.E,

or have so much trouble learning in class that you take your work home.

When you have your nose in a book at the doctor’s because you can’t deal with what is going on, and get called rude for not paying attention.

Then there’s your many attempts to get the timing right on Mario’s jump and fail at every try.

When you tell a stranger about how bad mum’s morning breath is

and don’t understand why she’s embarrassed. It’s fact, isn’t it?

Why you can’t understand why people play with dolls when you can just make up characters in your head.


Like I said. It’s all fine. There’s a reason for it, a simple explanation:


A condition meaning

your brain is wired slightly differently to most people. You notice

things they never will while missing the unspoken signs

they give each other all the time.

It doesn’t mean you’re strange, weird, stupid or a freak.

It means you’re you,

and though you haven’t met them yet, there are others out there

who are wired in the same way

and know just how this feels.


So remember, you’re not alone. If you explain

your difficulties (and your strengths)

then eventually the world will start to understand.


P.S. In the meantime, try sunglasses and earmuffs — all year round.

Short Stories

The Magic Bauble

The Christmas lights blinked on and off, making the tree look as though it was twinkling. I sat under it, filling my nose with the smell of new wrapping paper and tinsel, wishing it was already morning.

‘Now, Rupert,’ Nan said, sitting down in the squashy armchair next to the tree. ‘I have a very special present for you this year. You can open it tonight, but you have to promise not to use it until tomorrow.’ She had a mysterious smile on her face as she said it, and produced a small box from her handbag. ‘Do you promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘Very well then,’ she said. ‘Here you are.’ She handed me the box, which was wrapped neatly in silver paper. I undid it carefully, knowing that this wasn’t the type of present you could tear at in a mad rush. Inside was a bauble. Just a single bauble made of blue metallic glass. I felt the happy expression slip off my face, replaced by one of extreme puzzlement.

‘It’s a bauble,’ I said.

‘Yes, but a very special bauble,’ Nan said. ‘I gave your father one just like it when he was your age. Now, you must be careful not to drop it. And don’t forget, you mustn’t hang it up until tomorrow.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s bad luck,’ she said. Then she laughed. ‘Don’t look so disappointed, Rupert. You can have the rest of your presents tomorrow.’

While I was in bed that night, I heard Mum and Dad talking to Nan. Since I was too excited about Christmas day to sleep, I crept onto the landing at the top of the stairs and listened to what they were saying. To my surprise, they were talking about me.

‘Are you sure it was wise giving it to him this year? He’s awfully young,’ Mum said.

‘Nonsense, Maggie. Alexander here got his at the same age, and it didn’t do him any harm,’ Nan said.

Dad laughed nervously. ‘We should be getting to bed, you know how early he wakes up on Christmas day.’

I heard then get up, and not wanting to be seen I ran back into my room and threw the covers over my head. Dad poked his head around my door, and I let out a few fake snores. Satisfied, he left, closing the door behind him. I sat up, my heart thumping with excitement.

The bauble was on my bedside table, still in its box. I picked it up, switching on my bedside lamp so I could see properly. It looked just the same as before, plain metallic blue, without any decoration at all. My own reflection stared back at me, so distorted that I let out a snigger.  Wanting to stifle the sound, I forced my fist into my mouth, but dropped it away again as I saw what was now on the bauble. It was a picture of a giant air balloon. It looked so real that I put my hand out to touch it, but it vanished, leaving me staring at my reflection again.

Certain that it hadn’t been some trick of the light, I looked away again and turned back to it quickly. There it was again. The exact same air balloon, drifting across a cloudy sky. Careful not to touch it this time, I looked closer. There was a man in the basket of the balloon, dressed in a short brown leather jacket and a matching cap with giant goggles on the top. He was waving at me. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, but it he was still there, grinning widely and swinging his arm in great arks. Staring stupidly, I waved back. As soon as I did, the picture changed and I saw myself taking the bauble downstairs and hanging it on the tree. Then the picture changed back to the man in the balloon. He was looking at me expectantly.

‘I can’t,’ I whispered. ‘Nan said it would be bad luck if I hung it on the tree before tomorrow.’

The man folded his arms and shook his head. Again the picture of me going down to the tree appeared, but this time it didn’t go back to the man, just to my reflection. I sighed, not knowing what to do. In the end, my curiosity won out and I crept downstairs, wincing at every creaking floorboard.

The tree lights were still on, twinkling away merrily, and I noticed that several more presents had been placed under the tree. Gingerly, I reached out and placed the bauble on one of the middle branches. I looked at it reflecting the lights, and suddenly felt myself falling. The room fizzled away and I landed with a bounce on a giant cushion, floating along in a pinkish sky.

A group of birds flew past me, circling around the other cushions floating about. I watched them swerve as the bright greens and reds of the air balloon floated up to my level. The man in the basket appeared soon after, chuckling to himself.  ‘I thought you’d never make it, lad,’ he called over to me. ‘Welcome to the World of Impossibilities. Anything you wish will come true while you’re here.’

‘Anything? Really?’

‘Of course, lad. Your imagination is the limit,’ he said.

‘Then I wish for…a hamburger,’ I said. A hamburger appeared in my hand, hot and smelling as scrumptious as any I’d ever had.

‘Now you’re getting it, lad. ‘Fraid I best be off now though. I’ll be seeing you,’ he said, and waved goodbye as his balloon sailed higher and higher.

I waved back, before attacking my burger with delight. It tasted just as delicious as it smelt, and while I was eating it I considered what the man had said. Anything I wish would come true? I had to test it. Ignoring the sudden butterflies in my stomach, I took a giant leap off the cushion, landing on another that was at least a whole football pitch away.  I bounced straight off it, high into the air, and went on to bounce off another and another.

Fifty giant cushions later, in mid-jump, it occurred to me that I could choose not to fall if I wanted. I stuck in the air, looking around at the cushions floating around me, and spotted a rainbow, bright and colourful as the one painted on my bedroom wall. I could slide down it and find out if there really was a pot of gold at the bottom.

Excitedly, I ran through the air. A thick red carpet appeared from nowhere, rolling out in front of me, taking me directly to the rainbow. It was soft and squashy under my feet, and I felt so light and springy that I had to practice my cartwheels all the way along. Unfortunately I wheeled my way straight into the side of the rainbow and hit it with a thud. I got up, putting out a hand to steady myself and felt that the rainbow was smooth.

Giggling with excitement, I jumped on it and whooshed down with incredible speed. I put my hands down to try and slow myself, and found that the colours of the rainbow were now precious jewels. I gathered up whole handfuls of them, but then landed in a giant black cauldron, buried up to my neck in gold coins. No, not gold, chocolate coins, wrapped in gold foil. They were just like the ones that Mum usually hid in the Christmas tree. If only my pyjama bottoms had pockets, I would have stuffed them full of jewels and chocolate to take back with me.

That brought me to a sudden halt. How was I going to get back?

I climbed out of the cauldron and looked around. There were great buildings of marble and granite all around me, with wide streets full of market stools covered in brightly coloured awnings. In the square where I had landed, a musician played a flighty trill of his flute, and jugglers and fire eaters competed for spectators. Dancers swirled about, trailing sleeves of fine silk. It was the most wonderful sight I’d ever seen.

‘Come here boy, and taste the fruit of your dreams,’ a merchant said.

‘No, try on our finely tailored suits,’ said another, brushing the first one away.

‘Don’t listen to those petty traders, boy! You should come here, and take home one of our fine woven scarves for your mother, or a clay pipe for your father,’ said another in a stripy suit. It was so colourful that it made my eyes dizzy.

More and more people called out to me to come and look at their wares, and some even got into heated arguments over who would serve me first. ‘But I don’t have any money,’ I replied each time, but they would simply say I could pay them next time or that it was a gift. Soon my arms were growing tired under the amount of boxes I was carrying, and my feet grew hot from walking. I was sleepy and I wanted to go home.

‘Please,’ I said to the people I passed. ‘Please, how do I get back?’ But no-one took any notice, they simply laughed and said I was pulling their leg.

It would be Christmas morning soon, and I would miss it all if I stayed. I had to get back.  Still everyone laughed at me, and the faces that had looked so kind now looked cruel and began to frighten me. I was lost and alone, and I began to cry.

I found a shadowy corner and sat down, trying to rub away the tears. A shadow passed over my face, and I looked up.   ‘What’s the matter, lad?’ It was the man from the air balloon, still with his leather cap and goggles.

‘I don’t know how to get home,’ I sniffed.

He knelt down and put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t despair lad, just remember what I told you. Anything you wish in this place will come true. Though I have to say your wish is a rare one. Most people that come here don’t tend to go back,’ he said, rubbing his chin. ‘Only once has someone done it, and that must be nigh on thirty years ago now. A young boy, if I remember rightly. Looked just like you in fact. If I didn’t know better I’d have said you were one and the same.’

I looked at him and saw he was serious. ‘I…I think my Dad might have come here, when he was young.’

‘That must be it then,’ the man said. ‘Still, if you really want to go back like he did, all you’ve got to do is wish it.’

‘Th-thank you,’ I said.

‘No problem, lad. Have a safe trip now.’

His face swam out of focus as he spoke, and I found I was being pulled upwards as though someone was pulling on the back of my pyjamas. Faster and faster I seemed to go, and then…THUD. I landed back on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, blinking. Light was pouring in through the window, and I could see snow falling outside. I heard footsteps behind me, and turned around guiltily.

It was Dad, wearing his chequered dressing gown. ‘Merry Christmas, champ,’ he said, smiling. Then he caught sight of the bauble still on the tree and raised his eyebrow. ‘Didn’t get much sleep last night then?’

I shook my head, thinking he’d be angry, but his mouth split into a wide grin and he started laughing. I laughed too, so hard that my stomach muscles hurt.

‘I feel like I’ve missed something,’ Mum said from the doorway, with Nan appearing behind her. ‘What’s the joke?’

‘Nothing, Mum,’ I said innocently, and Dad laughed even more.

‘See, Maggie?’ Nan said to her. ‘I told you it would be all right.’






Short Stories

The Spectacle on Jingle Street

Max clung tightly to his mother’s hand as they crossed the street. She was so tall that her face was nothing but a shadow to him, framed by her wide brimmed hat. He wondered if he would even recognise her if he saw her when he was out with Nanny Kate. He thought not, for it was a rare thing to see her at all.

He sighed and looked around him. Unlike the previous winter, there was snow this year, and Max couldn’t stop staring at it. He remembered Nanny Kate telling him that it was made of flakes of frozen water, but Max thought it looked more like the white powdery sugar dust that she usually put on her cakes. It didn’t taste like it though.

‘Max, please refrain from eating that. I refuse to have people think that you are nothing but a filthy street urchin,’ his mother said, bending slightly to brush the snow off his jacket. He caught a glimpse of pale skin and wheat coloured hair, but then it was gone again, replaced by shadow. ‘I simply don’t understand why your father wished us to come out in such weather without a carriage at least; and to think we must walk past that awful spectacle on Jingle Street, too.’

Max looked up at her. He had no idea what a ‘spectacle’ was, but he had heard of Jingle Street. Nanny Kate had told him about it only a few weeks ago. She said that every year, on Christmas Eve, a group of performers would arrive and do the most dazzling things; acrobatics, dancing, fire breathing and playing fine music. At the end of it all, they would call all the children forth and give each one a present.

Nanny Kate had made it sound so wonderful that Max had pleaded with her to take him there; but she had simply smiled and said that Christmas Eve was an important day for her family and perhaps his mother would take him instead. He had doubted that very much and he had been right to, for no sooner had he asked her than she sent him to bed without any supper.

From what he had managed to overhear, the purpose of their outing this evening was for his mother and him to meet his father for a party at the ‘establishment’. The ‘establishment’ sounded rather terrifying to Max, for Nanny Kate had told him it was a place where many important people gathered to meet, though they often disliked each other and some, she had said, were even enemies.

The rules at the ‘establishment’ were strict; he was only allowed to wear his best clothes and he wasn’t allowed to run around or talk unless he was spoken to first. Nanny Kate had been most certain about that, for his parents’ reputation depended on it. He supposed that if it was that important, then he had better be on his best behaviour. Still, he wished Nanny Kate was here now, taking him for a walk in the snow and perhaps making the snowballs that she had told him so much about. He had spent the previous Christmas Eve’s with his other nannies, so he couldn’t understand why he had to go to this awful party. Why couldn’t he have gone wherever Nanny Kate had gone instead?

His mother turned down a small side street, walking so swiftly that he had to almost run to keep up with her. At the end she stopped and he heard her inhale deeply. Then, she marched out into the next street, her head held high and holding his hand so tightly that it began to hurt.

Max gasped. Large lanterns made of paper hung down from thick rope attached to the side of the buildings, lighting the entire street. They were every colour he had ever seen; bright blues, purples, greens, yellows, oranges and reds; even silver and gold. They extended back so far that he couldn’t even see when they ended. But that wasn’t all; there were men, with legs longer than most people were tall, gliding around with long, trailing costumes. There were rows of dancing girls in delicate gowns flowing just like water; they spun and leapt across the snow while tiny bells at their wrists and ankles tinkled gently.

Crowds of people, many of them children even younger than he, stood in the street to watch them all, laughing and joking with each other in a way that Max had never seen people do before.

Further back was a man surrounded by small fires and, as Max watched, he picked up the fire and ate it before breathing it back out with such force that the flames seemed to lick at the very moon.

‘Mother, did you see that?’ he asked, pulling excitedly at her arm.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Max. Now come along, or else we shall be late,’ she replied without even glancing at him.

He sighed and looked at the ground, but then a voice caught his ears, singing a song so soft and sweet that he thought it would lift him off the ground and let him float about the sky, drifting on the wind. As they walked closer, the song became clearer and he realised he recognised the voice.

Jumping up, he saw over the heads of the other children crowded about the centre. There, standing in a gown of red velvet with her golden hair spilling down her back, was Nanny Kate. He had never seen her look so beautiful before; all she wore around him was her grey dress and apron with her hair pinned back tightly away from her face.

Tugging free of his mother’s grip, he ran forwards into the crowd, pushing and crawling past until he was right at the front. Nanny Kate saw him and smiled, coming to the end of her song.

‘Max,’ she said, stepping forwards off the platform she had been standing on. ‘You’re just in time, my father and I are about to hand out the presents.’

‘Why, of all the people!’ Max’s mother said behind him. ‘Nanny Kate, I cannot say how disappointed I am in you. To think that you are involved in all of this; encouraging my son to consort with such riff-raff!’

‘I’m sorry that you feel that way, Ma’am,’ Nanny Kate replied, a crease appearing at her brow. ‘I thought that perhaps you had brought Max here at his request.’

‘What foolishness. I would never consent to such an idea,’ his mother sniffed airily. ‘I shall expect you to hand in your notice first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘But Mother, it’s Christmas Day tomorrow. Don’t make Nanny Kate leave!’

‘That’s enough, Max. Now come along,’ she said, and pulled him back out of the crowd.

He looked at Nanny Kate and cried; large, fat tears rolling down his cheeks to drip in the snow. She looked back sadly, but smiled all the same. Then the other children crowded back around her, begging her to sing something else, and she was lost from his sight.

That evening went slower than any other time in Max’s life. He refused to talk to his mother and ignored everyone who tried to ask him something, even when his father took him aside and threatened to return all his presents to the shops if he didn’t behave.

When they arrived home, he was sent straight to bed. He went gladly, wishing desperately that he could run away from them both.   Jumping on his bed, he picked up his pillow and beat it angrily at the window.


He stopped, thinking that he had imagined it. Nanny Kate couldn’t have returned and come into the room without his parents knowing.

The thought made him cry again, and he flung the pillow across the room and buried his head in the bedcovers.

‘Max, there’s no need to cry.’

He looked up. It had definitely been her voice, but how?

Looking around the room, he saw no-one, not even a shadow. Then he glanced at the window and gasped. There, as though it was a reflection, was Nanny Kate’s face, looking straight at him.

‘Nanny Kate?’ he said, touching the glass.

‘Yes, Max, it’s me, though this is just an image of myself. I have something to attend to at the moment, but I will be along shortly. Promise you won’t do anything bad until then?’ she asked softly.

Max nodded, unsure what to say. How was Nanny Kate doing this? What did she mean, an image of herself? She was here but not here. The thought made him dizzy.

‘Good boy,’ she replied with a smile. ‘I won’t be long.’

Her face vanished then, with Max’s own taking its place as he continued to stare at the glass.


He wasn’t sure when it was that he fell asleep, but he woke to a loud clatter on the roof.

A moment later, there was a rustling coming from the fireplace in his room, and, lighting the lamp beside him, he saw two feet appear under the chimney.

An old man ducked under the grate and walked out into the middle of the room, his long white beard hanging down to his knees. He wore a large red coat, trimmed at the collar with white wool.

As Max stared at him, another pair of feet appeared in the fireplace. Nanny Kate gracefully knelt down and came out, hopping over the grate to stand beside the old man. She still wore the red velvet gown that he had seen her wearing at Jingle Street, but now she was wearing a green cloak too, covered with holly berries and leaves embroidered in gold thread.

‘Good evening, Max,’ she said, embracing him fiercely as he ran over to her. She turned to the old man, who, Max saw, was also carrying a large sack made of patched leather. ‘This is my father. He wanted to give you a present earlier, but you left before he was able to.

‘A present? For me?’ Max asked, staring at the old man.

The old man smiled warmly and pulled a small package, wrapped in green and red paper, from his bag. ‘Here you are, young man,’ he said, placing it in Max’s hands.

With a nod from Nanny Kate, Max opened it. Inside was a silver pocket watch, with his name engraved on the inside. The dial was strange, for the numbers went round first in the usual order, but underneath they went in reverse.

Nanny Kate knelt down and took him around the shoulders. ‘Merry Christmas, Max,’ she said. ‘Remember, no matter what happens tomorrow, you can always speak to me by wishing on this pocket watch.’

‘I can?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Yes, but make sure your parents never find out about it. I would hate for them to take it from you.’

‘I will,’ he said seriously. The old man chuckled slightly.

Nanny Kate stood up. ‘We must go now, I’m afraid. Goodbye, Max.’

Both she and the old made stepped back into the fireplace, directly under the chimney. Max blinked and found they were gone.

He sniffed sadly and looked at the pocket watch, listening to the ticking of the second hand. There was something soothing about it, and soon he found himself back in bed, drifting gently off to sleep.


Short Stories

The Ice Unicorn

The sun reflected brightly on the newly fallen snow covering the entrance to the take-off pad. The trap door shuddered, making the snow atop it shake, and then it sprang open as the square take-off pad was raised up from deep within the grotto below. When it reached ground level, it came to a smooth stop.

The reindeer tethered to the polished sleigh upon it snorted and stamped their cloven hooves; their breath steamed out in front of them to merge with the air. From a smaller trap door a few metres to the side three people emerged. The first was a man with a silver beard and wearing a large red velvet suit. Following him came a tall, dark haired woman with rosy cheeks and warm eyes, and a slender, nervous looking boy barely into his teens.

Together they were the Claus family, and today was Christmas Eve, the day they’d been preparing for all year. And for young Garret, this particular Christmas Eve would be the most important day of his life. He was dreading it.

He watched as his father and mother made their final checks on the sleigh, making sure that everything inside was secure and that the reindeer were happy and healthy. Garret smiled; he knew they would be because he’d fed them Super Hay that very morning, so that had plenty of energy for the night ahead.

‘That should do it dear,’ Santa said to his wife as he adjusted one last strap.

Imelda raised her eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? You haven’t forgotten your No-Chimney key like last year? You couldn’t get into a single flat until you came back for it just before dawn.’

Santa took a small key from his top pocket. ‘Right here, dear,’ he said with a grin. Imelda inclined her head and stepped back as he heaved his considerable bulk into the sleigh. He blew her a kiss and gave Garret a thumbs up, before clicking his tongue at the reindeer. They heeded his signal and in moments were racing off, gaining height with each step until they were well above the clouds, hidden from sight.

Imelda sighed and turned to Garret, putting her arm around his shoulders. Soon he would have to leave, too, and she could feel his anxiety as keenly as if it were her own. ‘You are just as much a Claus as your father, Garret. The Ice Unicorn will see that and grant you the Claus powers too,’ she said softly.

Garret slumped his shoulders. ‘But I’m nothing like him,’ he said. ‘He’s a born leader; he makes decisions quickly and the elves respect his opinions. The only thing they do with me is ask why I continue to fix broken toys when I could just ask them to make new ones.’

‘That’s because they don’t understand you yet,’ Imelda said. ‘Don’t forget, they’ve known your father for a very long time, but they’ve only known you for a few years. Now, do you have everything you need? Gloves, cloak, boots, fairy-dust lantern?’

Garret nodded.

‘Good,’ she said, and embraced him tightly. ‘Be confident, Garret. Meet with the Ice Unicorn and receive the powers that you were born to use.’ She gave him one last hug, and then went back inside, leaving him to face the sudden flurry of snow on his own.

He looked to where it was blowing from; Crystal Mountain, the home of the Ice Unicorn. Wrapping his cloak tightly about him, he took a deep breath and began the long trudge to its peak.


After an hour, Garret was forced to stop. A deep crag blocked his path; too wide to jump across and too long to go around. The light was also fading fast, soon everything would be obscured by darkness.

He took out his fairy-dust lantern and shook it briskly. The dust inside activated and sent out a cloud of glowing particles to illuminate the area around him. They were bound to the lantern by a magical field, so the particles moved with it.

In its light, he spotted the brown and white trunk of a Mocha tree half hidden by a clump of snow. It was on its side; if Garret could free it from the ground, maybe he could use it to fashion himself a bridge.

He pulled on his elf-spun gloves, enriched with candy wax to make them waterproof, and began to dig away at the snow covering the tree. It wasn’t easy, the snow had started to turn to ice and was difficult to loosen, but eventually he succeeded.

The tree was long enough to reach the other side of the gap with several feet to spare, and after he’d heaved it into place, he stepped lightly across it and continued on his way.

The mountain grew steeper and the air thin. Even through his many layers, Garret felt the keen sting of the icy wind as it roared down at him, causing him to lose his footing time after time. It wasn’t long before he had to grip the mountain with his hands too, not just to keep his balance, but because the path angled up sharply, forcing him to climb.

Just as exhaustion set in, he reached level ground again. Relief flooded through him, but only for a moment. The climb was over, but the test was yet to come.

Before him, carved from the magnificent crystal of the peak itself, was a set of double doors.  After a fleeting desire to turn back, he forced himself to open them— and plummeted straight down a hole to land in a mound of soft snow.

Shaking himself free, he swung his lantern around and caught sight of a single door lit with a ring of glowing crystals. He went through it, following the spiral path within until he came to the entrance chamber, opposite the double doors that led outside. Wryly, he saw the hole he’d fallen down, marked clearly with a large warning engraving. He sighed and turned right, where a tunnel led further into the mountain.

Inside, the walls were carved crystal. They depicted members of the Claus family throughout the ages, showing the workshop of the grotto and the age-less elves, and even the different sleighs that had been used. The carvings sparkled in the light from the lantern’s glowing particles, giving them an ethereal quality, as though they were real people frozen in time.

Garret came to the end of the tunnel and found himself in an enormous cavern bedecked with multi-coloured crystals that hung from the top like giant stalactites. On a pedestal in the very centre was a crystal statue of a unicorn, detailed so precisely that every individual mane hair was visible.

He stared at it in awe. Could it be the unicorn, simply pretending to be a statue? After all, crystal and ice were hard to tell apart when carved, and perhaps the reason the Ice Unicorn was named such was because its body was made of ice.

Tentatively, he stretched out a hand and placed it on the statue’s muzzle. It was cold, but not enough to be real ice, and didn’t move at all. It really was just a statue.

Garret looked around, wondering if the real Ice Unicorn was watching, but he was alone. ‘How can I convince it that I’m worthy if it won’t even show itself?’ he said aloud, slumping to the floor.

‘Perhaps you should look again,’ a voice echoed around the cavern.

Garret started. ‘Who said that?’

He turned back to the statue, but it was unmoved. The only thing lively about it was his own reflection looking back at him from its glassy surface.

‘Well, that’s a start,’ said the voice.

Garret spun around. ‘Are you the real unicorn? Why won’t you show yourself?’

‘Because you are not ready. Look back at your reflection, and tell me what you see.’

‘I…see myself. Holding a lantern and looking confused,’ Garret said.

‘And?’ the voice pressed.

‘That’s it. There’s nothing else to see, it’s just me, Garret Claus—‘

‘There you have it!’ the voice said. ‘Think, now. What does it mean to be a Claus?’

‘I suppose…that we are the family people look to at Christmas, to help bring hope and joy to the children of the world. That’s what we’ve done for hundreds of years, anyway.’

‘And do you want to continue that, to share the responsibility with your parents? Or is there another path you wish to take?’

Garret looked down and picked at his sleeve. The voice had asked the very thing he’d been wondering himself. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve been brought up to expect to take on the same role as my father, but…what I really want is to fix old toys so that they can be enjoyed again.’

‘Do you repair these toys so that you can play with them yourself?’ the voice asked.

Garret shook his head. ‘No, I give them to father so he can deliver them at Christmas.’

Suddenly a loud crack rang through the air, and deep lines appeared on the statue. There was a tremor, and whole chunks of crystal fell from it onto the ground, revealing iridescent white fur underneath. More crystal fell, and in one swift motion, the unicorn reared up on its hind legs, freeing itself completely. It shook its golden mane and pawed the ground as though it was glad to be able to move again. Its horn glowed a rich blue; the sight of it took Garret’s breath away.

‘Forgive me Garret, I did not mean to deceive you. But until you told me your true wish, I was bound to that form. I shall now grant you the powers that all the Claus’ before you have attained,’ the unicorn said, and began to lower its horn to Garret’s head.

‘Wait,’ Garret said, holding up his hands. ‘I don’t understand. I just told you that all I want is to fix things. I’m not worthy of the Claus powers.’

The unicorn snorted softly. ‘No, Garret. You fix toys to give to others, so that they may find joy in what was once broken and cast aside. I have watched you since you were small, so I know your true nature well, but even if I did not, your words would be enough to convince me that you are every bit as worthy of this power as your ancestors. With your insight, you can improve upon the legacy that they built,’ it said. ‘Hold still now, this will be cold.’

Without another word, the unicorn touched him with its horn. A wave of ice swept through him, but with it came a reawakening of all his senses. Voices of children the world over filled his ears, fading in and out depending on whether he wished to focus on them. Time was also no longer a mystery; he understood how to slow it like his father was doing that very night.

There was something else, too. A tingle in his fingertips. On a whim, he snapped them together; a pile of broken toys appeared. With another snap, they were fixed, like new again.

‘Do you understand now, Garret?’ the unicorn asked.

‘I…yes, I think so,’ he replied, marvelling at what he’d just done.

‘I am glad,’ the unicorn said, and stepped over to the far side of the cavern. It touched its horn to the wall and a window appeared, shimmering like water. Through it, Garret saw his father and mother waiting on the take-off pad with the sleigh. His father must have just come back. ‘Step through, Garret Claus. Live your dreams and inspire the dreams of others.’

Garret hesitated, but the unicorn nudged him through. Then he was standing by his parents, who smiled broadly at him.

The unicorn watched them embrace from its distant home, and silently went back to stand on the pedestal, turning into crystal once more

Short Stories

Turn Around

The sound of footsteps rouses me from my sleep, heeled shoes running along the hall. My clock reads three in the morning. Obviously, she’s just got back from one of her parties.

It’s unusual for her to go straight to Rich’s room, though. Usually she needs to vomit or sober herself up first. I can’t complain, my room is right next to the bathroom, and if she’s missing out that particular ritual tonight, that’s fine with me.
I hear his bedroom door open with a bang. There’s a startled cry, followed by raised voices. I can’t help it, I have to go and look. I slip the covers off my legs and slide out of bed, making no noise as I tread on the soft carpet. My door creaks as I open it but I doubt they can hear anything above the racket they’re making.

I carry on along the hall, reaching the door to the master room and resting my ear against it. The tapestry on the wall flutters. I start, but realise it’s just a breeze. I turn my attention back to the door.

‘Don’t give me that rubbish, Richard, I know you’ve been sleeping with her!’ Michelle slurs. I bend down to look through the keyhole and see her standing just in front of his bed. Her make-up is smudged and her short green dress has a dark stain on it, probably red wine.

‘Sleeping with her?  Don’t be ridiculous, she’s my brother’s widow!’ he says from somewhere beyond my limited view. By the mini bar, I’d guess.

‘That never stopped you before. I know you had a thing for one of your cousins.’

‘Michelle, please, we were children, and she was a very distant cousin anyway.  Believe me, there’s no other woman in my life more important to me than you. Haven’t I proved that several times over?’

‘Oh yes, you buy me jewellery and clothes and ship me off on expensive spa weekends, but that’s not love, is it?’

‘What more do you want? You know I work all week, and on weekends I see you as much as I can.’

There’s silence while Michelle ponders his words. I can almost see the thoughts trying to swim through her befuddled mind and come to a sensible conclusion, but then she screws up her face and lets out a nausea inducing wail. Again, the tapestry next to me quivers. I examine it, wondering if her astounding vocal talents are causing some kind of tremor effect, but then the tapestry is still.

‘You liar! You don’t need to work at all, you own two companies! They bring in all your money,’ Michelle says, at last stopping her awful noise.

Now I know it’s wrong to judge someone’s intelligence on a single sentence, especially when they’re so plastered it’s a wonder they can even talk at all, but good god, woman, have you no concept of running a business at all?

‘Companies need to be maintained, my dear. I can’t just hire someone else to oversee how they’re run, that’s how things go wrong.  Indeed, that’s how I managed to buy them out in the first place.’

‘Well, you could at least cut down your hours, instead of spending all your spare time with her.’

Mentioning me, again? Where had she got that idea?  As Rich said earlier, I’m his brother’s widow. Now that Jon’s gone, I have no other family apart from my brother Markus, who’s employed here as Rich’s butler anyway, and since I was already familiar with the house and grounds, Rich asked if I’d like to live here too. It’s true I like him, but not in any sort of romantic way.  I see him as another brother, nothing more.

‘Listen to me, Michelle. What makes you think I’m having an affair – with Jody, too?’

‘I’ve seen the way you look at her, the secret smiles, the twinkle in your eyes. Oh yes, I’ve noticed. I also found one of your shirts smelling of that sickly sweet perfume she wears.’

‘I can explain that. The shirt had a hole in it, and you were busy, so I asked her if she could mend it for me. As for those so called secret smiles, you know perfectly well that Jody and I are good friends and we share lots of jokes about how similar I am to Jon.’

I can hear the sorrow in his voice as he mentions his brother. Jon’s death was so sudden it cut both our hearts to pieces. It’s scarcely a year since his funeral, and Rich is the only one who I can share my pain with. How does Michelle expect us to act, when we each need to be consoled by the other?

‘You really expect me to believe that this is all because of Jon? Get over it, Rich, he’s dead. I’m not, so pay attention to me!’

Something made of glass shatters on the floor, I see shards of it skitter towards Michelle’s feet. Her jaw is hanging slack in shock. Rich must have smashed a bottle. How he stopped himself from throwing it at her after that remark, I’m not sure. I certainly wouldn’t have held back. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that I know barging in would only make things worse, I’d have punched her already.

‘Get out.’

With those two words, Rich projects enough authority to make even Michelle obey. She scuttles towards the door quicker than I can move out the way, but as it opens a pair of slender arms grab me and pull me behind the tapestry. Michelle stampedes past without any idea I was ever there.

I turn in the darkness, sensing that I’m in some kind of narrow corridor. Someone’s standing close to me. I catch a whiff of spiced aftershave. ‘Markus?’

‘Who else would it be, little sis?’ he replies, lighting a candle so that I can see his clean-shaven face. He nods to the surrounding area. ‘Being a butler does have its privileges. You get to know about all the secret passages in an old manor house like this.’

‘What are you doing here this late? Or early, I should say,’ I ask, remembering the time.

‘Same as you. I was curious about what was going on with those two. I never expected her to go that far, though,’ he says. ‘Breakfast tomorrow should prove to be interesting.’
Breakfast is indeed proving to be interesting. We’re all seated together in the dining room while Markus, dutiful as ever and with no indication that he has any idea of what went on last night, brings our food.

Michelle looks ill, but that isn’t enough to stop her giving me filthy looks. Rich, in his seat at the head of the table, catches her in the act and dryly announces how fine the weather is today. I cast my gaze out the window; it’s grey and stormy.

Abruptly, Michelle stands up and takes out a cigarette from the silver case she always keeps on her person. She lights it, and taking a deep drag, walks around the table to stand beside me and exhales the lot in my face. I cough and waft it away with the newspaper.

‘Is there something you want to say to me?’ I ask, getting up too. I hold my hand up to silence Rich as he starts to say something. I know I shouldn’t react to her childish behaviour, but frankly, after what she said last night, I’m ready to have my say.

‘You could put it that way, yes. I know what you’ve been up to with my husband.’

‘Really? Then perhaps you should tell me so that I can know too.’

She sneers. ‘He’s having an affair with you.’

I snort. ‘An affair? How original. When did this supposed affair take place?’

‘Don’t play innocent with me, Jody. Your perfume is all over his shirt, and ever since you got here he’s been distant from me.’

‘Michelle, when I came here Jon had just died. Rich was in pain just like me. Of course he’s been distant. As for his shirt, it’s just like he told you last night, I mended it for him.’ Okay, that last part wasn’t wise.

‘You were listening? How dare you eavesdrop on us! I bet you had your ear to the door listening to every word we said. You must have been hoping that I’d split up with him so you could move in like the snake you are and have him all to yourself!’

‘Michelle,’ I say in a pained voice, ‘for the last time, there is nothing going on between myself and Rich. Believe me.’

‘Believe you? Why should I? You think I’m an idiot, nothing more than white trash. You’re so bad at hiding it that I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone knows how you feel about me.’

‘Alright, it’s true that you’re not the type of person I can like easily, but I’ve never thought of you as trash.’ Though I do think she’s and idiot. I try my best to get on with you, but you certainly make it difficult when you go around accusing me of everything. Last week it was spilling paint on your new carpet, and now this.’
‘Jody, you are one patronising b—‘

‘Michelle, will you keep your mouth shut and listen for a change? Jody-and-I-are-not-having-an-affair-!’ Rich interjects, speaking through clenched teeth.

‘You’re wasting your breath, Rich,’ I say.

‘You’re both lying,’ Michelle hisses, proving my point.

‘Why would we lie to you?’ I say.

‘Why? Why? Because you think I’m just some silly tart and Richard just thinks I want his money, so stop insisting that there’s nothing going on between you two and own up. I’ve seen you walking around the grounds together, arm in arm—’

‘They’re not lying, Michelle. You’re just so paranoid that you’re seeing things that aren’t there.
She whips round to see Markus standing by the door with a tray of tea. His knuckles are white; he’s gripping the tray hard. I frown. He’s angry. Markus never gets angry.

‘What would you know?’ Michelle spits at him.

‘Jody would never do such a thing. She’s still in love with Jon, even if he is dead. However, seeing as you’re so bent at wanting to accuse someone, perhaps you should accuse me.’

I notice the colour drain from Rich’s face. What’s going on here?

‘Markus, perhaps you should just serve the tea and let me handle this,’ Rich says quietly.

‘Oh, no,’ Michelle says. ‘I want to know what he means by that.’

‘I mean what I said. Maybe you should accuse me of having an affair with Rich. After all, it’s true. He’s just too shy to admit it,’ Markus says bluntly.

Well, that’s a surprise. I also feel like a lousy sister. Markus knows so much about me, and I thought I knew everything about him. Yet I had no idea he was gay. How could something as important as this have slipped by me?

I do know this, though: Markus has always had great timing. The horror on Michelle’s face at her sudden revelation will stick with us for years, and I think even Rich was glad when she left the manor barely ten minutes later with her suitcase fully packed.

Honestly, how he ever ended up with her in the first place I’ll never know. At least now he and Markus can actually be happy. And, for the first time since Jon died, I think I can be too.

Short Stories

The Shades

The doorbell rang. Molly jumped out of her doze, disorientated for a moment. It rang again, and this time she realised what it was.  She glared at the grandmother clock on the wall. Five o’clock. Who the devil is it? I’m not expecting anyone.

She picked up her cane and heaved herself out of the armchair, managing to hobble over to the door. As she passed the window, she saw that a heavy gale was blowing and the snow had gotten deeper than last time she’d looked.

She unlocked the door, but just as she turned the handle the wind tore it open and knocked her backwards. It sent her sprawling to the floor, her cane rolling out of reach. Before she could get up, two figures darted through the doorway. One of them pushed the door shut again, and then knelt beside her, gently shaking her shoulder.

‘Are you alright?’

Molly looked up. The voice had been a woman’s, and it was very familiar. ‘Is it really you?’

The figure removed her chequered scarf. ‘Yes, mother, it’s me.’

Molly reached out a hand to touch her daughter’s face, but recoiled at the last moment. ‘Well, it’s about time you showed up. My chimney is in dire need of sweeping.’

She took hold of the cupboard she was slumped against, and tried to ease herself up. Her daughter grabbed her, taking most of her weight, but Molly shrugged her off and managed to pull herself upright. She stood breathing deeply, and caught sight of the other figure in the room.

‘Who on earth is that?’

‘Calm down, mother. This is Annie, and she is the reason I’ve come to see you.’

Molly looked at the girl huddled in the corner. She was so wrapped up in clothing that only her eyes were showing. They stared back at Molly, unblinking. There is something wrong with this child.

‘How old are you, girl?’ she asked. There was no reply, not even an acknowledgement that someone had spoken. Molly looked up at her daughter, and their eyes met. ‘Well, you have my attention. I’ll go and put the kettle on, and you can tell me all about it. Sit the child down in the lounge, it’s much warmer in there.’


They sat in the kitchen around the wooden table.  Molly wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of polish. As always, she had used too much.

‘Alright then, who is she? Where did you find her?’ she asked.

‘She’s an orphan. Her parents died in a fire about a year ago while she was on a school trip. She had no next of kin, but her neighbour kindly asked the court if they could look after her, and they agreed. The thing is, she hasn’t spoken a word since then.’

‘I was right not to take her silence personally, then,’ Molly grunted. ‘How did you get involved?’

‘I was her neighbour’s hairdresser. I did mobile work on the weekends, and so when I went around there I saw Annie. Each week Mrs Roberts used to tell me that she had had someone round to try and get her to talk, but they were never successful.’

‘So you brought her to me?’

‘So I brought her to you.’

Molly took a long drink of tea, absently fingering a mark on the table. ’Well,’ she said, putting the cup down, ‘I don’t think that this is a case of simply not wanting to talk, Samantha. I’ve seen that many times before, and this is different.’

‘Different how?’ Samantha asked.

‘It seems to me that she’s shut away her mind. She can follow simple commands, as I’m sure you know, but there is no emotional response. She’s a robot, or at least she might as well be.’

Samantha’s eyes grew troubled. ‘Is there nothing you can do?’

‘I’m not sure. If I can draw out her consciousness, then yes, but if my suspicions are correct it will take more than my power to do so. She is an unusual child.’ Molly drained her cup and picked up her cane again. ‘Stay here, I need to talk to her alone.’

She got up and hobbled back into the lounge where Annie was waiting. The girl was sitting close to the fire, staring into the flames. She had taken off her hat and coat, revealing long dark hair that fell down her back. Just like mine when I was her age.

‘You’ll burn your toes if you put them much closer,’ Molly said. There was no reaction. She sighed and sat back down in her chair, resting her cane back on the floor. Now what? Perhaps…

‘I’m going to tell you a story, girl. You should listen,’ she said. ‘Let’s see now…where should I start? Back before civilisation began, on the vast, barren plains of the continent, lived a small tribe. They had no home and no name, and wandered endlessly in search of food and water. For them, every day was a struggle, and often led to starvation and disease.

‘Yet one day, a particularly violent storm hit the area, and with it came a fierce earthquake that split the ground in two. From the chasm that formed, a green vapour spilled out and encompassed the tribe. It put them into a deep slumber for many days, and some of the elders died through lack of nourishment, but when the tribe finally awoke, they found that the vapour had solidified into shards of emerald crystal.  As soon as they touched it, every one of their senses became heightened. They could hear the thoughts of those around them, and converse telepathically. Their lives now had a new meaning, and a new purpose. Using their powers, they gathered information from the other tribes around them on where to find sources of food and water. No longer did they have to wander desperately on the brink of starvation.

‘For many years they prospered, and their abilities continued to develop. Soon they could even shut off part of a person’s mind to prevent them from remembering the tribe’s location or spread rumours of their powers, and it was found that children born to the tribe from then on also had those abilities. Even so, they could not keep themselves a secret from the other tribes forever. They became known as Shades- evil spirits, and the other tribes feared that not only would they leach every food source from them, but their very lives as well. They decided to take action against the Shades, and so joined forces to slaughter them. Hundreds were killed, but a handful of children managed to escape. Those children were my ancestors, Annie, and I too have the same powers as they, though mine are far weaker.’

Annie hadn’t moved throughout the story, but Molly knew it had reached her. She had been projecting images into the girl’s mind as she was speaking, and there had been little resistance.

‘Turn around, child.’

Annie turned as Molly knew she would. Her eyes were still unfocused, but there was something…a glimmer of hope, perhaps? I can feel her mind. It’s almost as though it’s encased in a shell. If I can break that, then surely I can return her to normal.

‘Another child would question that tale and say that it isn’t possible for a mind to gain so much power at the touch of a crystal.  They would say that it is the content of fairy tales, not real life. You, however, do not question. Like the Shades discovered, you know that it is possible to close the mind, and you dare to hope that it can be awakened once again.’

Annie blinked; Molly fought hard not to smile triumphantly. It was only a small response, but it was a response none the less. Her mind is stirring, but not enough. She is too strong for me to release her. There is only one way…

It was late now though, and the effort had drained much of Molly’s strength, and she was sure that Annie needed rest too. She got up once again, and hobbled out into the kitchen where Samantha was waiting. As she left, she saw Annie turn back to the fire.

‘The girl needs sleep. Show her to the guestroom.’

Samantha, who had just opened her mouth to speak, shut it again hastily and obliged without question. The stairs creaked as she and Annie made their way to the bedroom.

Molly had seen many people drawn in by their grief, but not to the extent that Annie was.  No-one else I’ve seen had that kind of strength, however, and there’s only one reason for a girl her age to possess it.

The stairs creaked again, and Samantha returned. She looked worn and stretched, as though she hadn’t had much sleep lately. ‘Did you get her to speak?’

‘No. It is beyond my own abilities to help her,’ Molly replied.

‘So there’s no hope?’ Samantha said.  ‘I thought for sure—’

‘I didn’t say I couldn’t help her. It’s true I can’t do it myself, but there is a way.’

For a moment, Samantha was confused. Then her eyes widened. ‘You…you mean to use the shard?’


‘But that could kill her!’

‘Indeed it could, but I strongly suspect it won’t. If she were a normal child then I wouldn’t dare use it, but then if she were a normal child I wouldn’t have to. You must have felt it, just as I did. I suspect that’s what drew you to her in the first place.’

‘I- perhaps I felt something yes, but what are you suggesting?’

‘That she is Shade, just as we are.’

‘Shade? Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Molly snapped. ‘That is why only the shard can draw her out again. However, once it is done she will be a fully awakened Shade, just as the first ones were. She will need guidance and proper training. We have no choice but to keep her here.’


It was early, but Molly was already up and fully clothed. She headed down to the kitchen and out the back door, making her way to the stone shed at the bottom of the garden. She didn’t bother waking Samantha, it was clear she needed rest.

The snow was still deep and the wind seemed to eat away at her bones. Thankfully the lock on the shed door wasn’t frozen and opened easily. She slipped inside, glad of the slight warmth. The light flickered as she pulled the switch, finally settling into a dull glow, just enough to see by. There was a cupboard in the middle of the floor, and Molly cursed when she saw it. You old fool, how could you have forgotten that was there? Putting down her cane, she took the sides of the cupboard and pushed with what little strength she had.  

The cupboard moved, but slowly. Molly’s tired limbs were not what they once were, and she had to stop after each push to catch her breath. Eventually she pushed it off the loose floorboard that she was after, and with much grunting she lowered herself to the floor so she could remove it. She lifted it up, revealing a hole in the floor where an old chest lay covered in dust. Producing a polished brass key from her pocket, she opened it. Inside was a bundle of wrapped silk cloth. Good, it’s just as I left it. She picked it up, making sure the silk was still firmly bound around the object inside, and made her way back to the house.

When she opened the kitchen door, Annie was sitting at the table. She didn’t look up as Molly walked in, but she shifted ever so slightly in her seat.  Can she sense the shard’s power?

The door opened and Samantha appeared, looking very apprehensive.  She stared at the silk bundle Molly still held, and her lip trembled.

‘Is that…?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Molly said, setting it down on the table. ‘Is she well rested?’

‘Yes, she didn’t wake until I called on her this morning.’

‘Good. It’s time,’ Molly said. She turned to Annie. ‘Do you remember the story I told you last night, child? About the tribe who touched the crystal shards and had their minds awakened?’

Annie looked up from her tea cup, and slowly shifted her gaze to the silk bundle.

‘Inside that bundle is one of those very shards.  It will help you if you touch it.’

This time Annie moved her hand forward slightly in the direction of the bundle. It was all Molly needed to be sure. She found the knot on the silk and undid it, carefully unwinding it until the slim green shard was visible. She daren’t touch the bare crystal herself, to expose her aged body so such a jolt of power would damage her mind beyond repair.

Samantha took hold of one of Annie’s hands and laid it flat on the table. Ever so gently Molly let the shard touch it. Annie gave a shudder, and Molly quickly took it away and wrapped it up once more.

‘Do you think it worked?’ Samantha whispered.

‘Yes. We must take her to her room and let her recover.’


An urgent knocking woke Molly from her sleep.

‘What is it?’ she shouted, fumbling with the covers.

‘She’s awake, mother, she’s awake!’

Molly stumbled over to the door, ignoring her aching back, and opened it. Samantha was standing before her, her hair tumbling haphazardly across her face. ‘Well, of course she’s awake,’ Molly said. ‘Has she spoken yet?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Take me to her, then.’

When they arrived in Annie’s room, she was sitting at the head of the bed with her knees tucked up against her chin. Her eyes were wild, as though she’d just woken from a bad dream. Molly could feel her mind writhing, trying to make sense of what she now felt.

‘Tell me your name, child,’ she said, pushing past her daughter and sitting on the end of the bed.


Behind Molly, Samantha gasped. ‘It worked! It really worked.’

‘Samantha, be quiet. We need to keep her calm,’ Molly said.

‘Where…where am I?’ Annie asked.

‘This is Shadesview House, child. It has been my home for many years, and now it will be your home too. I’m sure you have many questions that I will gladly answer, but first I think you could do with a nice strong cup of tea.’

Annie put her knees down, and turned to sit with her legs dangling off the bed. She looked at Molly. ‘Do you have any biscuits?’

Molly chuckled, a cackling, pot boiling chuckle that made Annie draw back slightly. ‘Yes, child, we have plenty of biscuits.’

Short Stories


Esh paced across the wooden decking, lit by the moon’s brightness. The dockside was empty, the only thing near was his shadow. Kivuli watched his master, listening to every step he took, knowing that soon someone would join them. Malkov.  Kivuli’s dark form paled slightly at the thought, for Malkov was a man who commanded complete obedience, an obedience that even his master now gave.

A second set of footsteps sounded in the night. Esh stopped his pacing. A figure was approaching, walking erect and with purpose. As the light hit him, Kivuli saw his face.  Strong cheekbones jutted on either side, and his hair was long and straight, framing eyes so bright that they seemed to burn with an inner fire. A perfectly trimmed goatee sprung from his chin, and despite the warmth of the night he wore a thick cloak with a rapier belted at his side. He stopped in front of Esh, who bowed low before him. ‘You have a task for me, my Lord?’

Malkov said nothing. Instead he looked around, and his bright eyes locked on Kivuli for the faintest of seconds, boring down on him as if he knew that the shadow was more than a grey form on the floor. He turned back to Esh. ‘You were not followed?’

‘Of course not, my Lord,’ Esh replied.  ‘My methods are not so lax.’

‘Good. Your skills have served me well in the past. I have use of you again.’

Kivuli stretched away from Esh, unable to stand Malkov’s terrible presence. He suddenly felt someone beside him and jumped back, merging with the shadows of the docks.

‘Calm yourself, Kivuli, it is only I,’ a voice said next to him.

Kivuli recognised it. It was the same as Malkov’s, but there was no hint of hardness in it. ‘Ombra?’ he said.

‘Indeed. Surely you were expecting me? After all, is it not my master with whom yours now speaks?’

‘I- It had not occurred to me,’ he said.  ‘You know how your master makes me feel. I cannot concentrate on anything when he is near.’

Ombra chuckled lowly. ‘You should take comfort then, Kivuli, for there are many who fear him. There are times when even I tremble in his presence.’

‘Truly? You fear your own master?’

‘He is cruel and ruthless. If he does not get what he wants, his anger is unquenchable. It would be folly not to fear him.’

‘But what does he want? Twice now my master has carried out tasks for him, and both times he has come across danger. I fear for his safety, Ombra. I must help him,’ Kivuli said.

‘No.’ It was one word, but it struck Kivuli silent. ‘You know our laws, Kivuli. You must never reveal yourself to him. Never let the humans know what we are capable of. Only a fool would think of exposing us.’

Without a word more, Ombra slid away to his master, who now turned away from Esh and strode back into the darkness of the night. Esh stayed for a while, watching the tide swell in and out, but eventually he seemed to grow tired. With Kivuli behind him, they made their way to into town.

Esh’s footsteps sounded loud on the cobbled street, but it was lost among the drunken bawling from the taverns. Half-clad whores called out to him while kicking at the rats nibbling at their bare feet.  Kivuli drifted closer to his master, but Esh ignored them and turned away down a back-alley. Kivuli followed him along to a rotten staircase that jutted out into the street. Esh darted up it and unlocked the door at the top.

It was black inside, but he struck a match and lit an oil lamp just inside the door. It lit up the narrow corridor they were in, and they headed through the single door at the end. Inside, the room was small, with a straw mattress at one end, and a crude desk and chair at the other. Papers littered the floor, some sketches of people that Kivuli recognised, others old letters from when Esh had lived a respectful life.

Esh stood looking at them, but then sat at the desk, letting his head drop on the rough wood. Kivuli watched from the wall, wishing that he was more than a shadow, wishing he could break the laws binding him so he could help his master.

The sun had risen high before Kivuli saw his master begin to stir. Realising how late it was, Esh jumped up, quickly making his water in a pot in the corner before striding out the room and through the door into the sunlight.

He headed to a tavern in the centre of town that Kivuli had never noticed before. Inside, the floor was littered with straw and the smell of stale sweat and vomit made Esh’s brow sweat. Kivuli looked around at the other customers, and noticed that both men and shadow alike had an unsavoury aura. Shaking a little, he stayed close to his master, who had chosen to sit in the corner, as far away from them as he could get.

A serving wench, wearing a dress so filthy it should have been burnt, came over to see what Esh wanted. ‘Ale,’ he said, trying to hide his involuntary shudder at her closeness. Her eyebrows raised a little, but she said nothing and left.

As she came back with his ale, a man walked in wearing a rough-spun cloak. The hood concealed most of his face, but on seeing Esh he lowered it to reveal an angular jaw and a nose that had obviously been broken. He walked over, grinning as though meeting an old friend, but Kivuli was sure his master had never met him before. He looked around for the man’s shadow, and saw it just a little way away from him. It too was angular, and Kivuli didn’t recognise it.

‘Fancy seein’ you ere, friend,’ the man said, sitting down at the table next to Esh. His voice was slurred, with a dryness to it that Kivuli didn’t like. Then he put his hands on the table and interlaced his fingers, dropping both index fingers down quickly and then up again.

Esh swallowed and held his arm half under the table, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the brand mark he had received from Malkov barely a month before. The man nodded, and drew a small package from inside his cloak, passing it to Esh under the table. Kivuli moved closer to look at it, but the man’s shadow clawed out at him with a hiss. He drew back quickly, just as the man got up again.

‘Sorry ta leave ya so soon, friend,’ he said. ‘Tho I ‘spect we’ll be seein’ each other soon enuff.’


Back in their room, Esh opened the bundle. Inside was a bag containing a strange powder, and a note. Putting the powder aside, he unfolded the note and read it aloud. ‘All is set. Ignite the powder when you reach the drop off. Once the light appears, leave.  Do not stray, we shall be watching.’ He inhaled deeply and scrunched the paper in his hand.

Sitting down on the floor, he looked at all the sketches and letters littered around him. Now they were the only remainders of his past life. He smashed his fist against the wall and gathered them all up, throwing them in the grate. He took a match from his pocket, ready to strike it.


‘Who said that?’ Esh said, turning around. ‘Is someone there?’ He stood up and opened the door, looking down the corridor, and then shut it again. With no-one replying, Esh went back to the fireplace. Kivuli tried to clench his jaw, but then his master struck the match.

‘No, master, please!’

Kivuli couldn’t stop himself. His master was a good man, he didn’t deserve to be dragged down by the likes of Malkov and his men.

‘Who’s there?’ Esh said again, his skin paling.

Kivuli shook slightly, but he had made his choice.  Speaking to one’s master was forbidden, no matter what the circumstance, but Esh was too important for him to care.  ‘Master, please. Look at the wall next to you,’ Kivuli said. In the light coming from the window, his outline was distinct against the wall. His master looked at him, still uncomprehending. ‘Master, I am your shadow.’

Silence. His master didn’t move or waver so much as an inch. He just stood, staring at Kivuli, his expression unchanged. At last he spoke, wetting his lips with his tongue. ‘My shadow?’ He walked closer to the wall and held out his hand, touching Kivuli lightly as though he might suddenly attack.

‘Yes, master,’ Kivuli whispered. He lifted his arm independently, with deliberate slowness so as not to cause more alarm. His master’s eyes followed it, growing wide and glistening slightly.

‘No. This isn’t real. You’re a shadow, you can’t move on your own, and you certainly can’t talk on your own either.’

‘Please Master, I understand that this is a shock, but you must listen.’

Esh tightened his lips together and shook his head. Kivuli sighed. He walked around the room, moving from wall to wall and across the floor, merging with the static shadows and then reappearing again. ‘You see?’ he said.

Esh had seen. He grabbed for the wooden chair and slumped down on it heavily, still watching Kivuli with a wild look in his eyes. ‘How?’ he breathed.

‘That does not matter, master. Please, you must reconsider your involvement with Malkov.’

‘Malkov?’ Esh said, blinking. ‘I’d forgotten.’

‘Master, I have spoken with Malkov’s shadow—‘

‘His shadow can speak too?’

‘All shadows belonging to living creatures can speak,’ Kivuli said, as if it was common knowledge. ‘As I was saying, I have spoken to Malkov’s shadow, and he has told me that Malkov’s only desire is to get what he wants. He is using you, master, and I have no doubt that he thinks of you as expendable.’

Esh stood up and picked up a dusty wineskin from the floor. He opened it and took a long drink, wiping his mouth after. He took a few steps away from Kivuli, but then turned back to him. ‘I know that Malkov’s using me. And I know that he’s dangerous. But tell me, shadow of mine, what is it I’m supposed to do? If I back out now, he’ll only hunt me down.’

‘Then go to him.’

‘That would be suicide.’

‘Not necessarily. Malkov is a man who expects to get what he wants. If you hold your ground, you will surprise him. He may just let you go.’

‘He may…or he may not.’ Esh paced around some more. ‘Damn it! Alright, shadow, have it your way.’


Kivuli and Esh were sitting in a tavern across the street from Malkov’s townhouse. It was the evening Esh was due to carry out Malkov’s plans, and he knew that soon the rest of Malkov’s men would be leaving to set everything up. Malkov himself would be alone.

Twenty minutes passed before the doors of the townhouse opened, and five men came out and made their way back down the street. With a slight smile, Esh noticed the man from the other tavern at the back of the group. He waited until they turned the corner, and then he and Kivuli went outside to Malkov’s townhouse. Following Kivuli’s idea of surprising him, they avoided the main door and went around the side, where they knew there was a door leading to the cellars. Down there was where Esh had been branded. It wasn’t a memory easily forgotten.

When they reached it, they found it locked, but Esh took out a thin knife and a stolen hairpin to try and pick it open. To help him, Kivuli slid his hand into the lock and told him which way it needed to be turned. A moment later, it clicked open, and they descended into the cellar.

Inside it was completely dark, but with Kivuli’s help, his master made it through to the small staircase leading up into the main house. Once they were out in the hall, they listened for any signs of Malkov. Loud voices were coming from a room further down, and a manservant came running from the room, holding a blood soaked cloth to his arm. Kivuli and Esh shrank back as he passed, but then edged down the hall to peer through the door.

‘I should have had a report back by now,’ they heard Malkov say. ‘Something is wrong.’ He sounded panicked, and the dominance had completely disappeared from his voice.

‘You fret much, Malkov. All shall go to plan.’

‘But you said his shadow was concerned. What if—‘

‘Kivuli does not possess the courage to break the Laws of Shadow. He will never reveal himself to Esh.’ It was Ombra speaking.

Before he knew it, Kivuli had slipped into the room. There they were; Malkov, sitting in a fur backed chair near the fire, his eyes now dull and his goatee untrimmed. Ombra was on the wall next to him, stretched out to his largest form, distorted so much that he barely resembled Malkov at all.

‘Ombra?  Kivuli said.

Malkov sat up, startled by the voice. He looked around, and his eyes locked on Esh as he stepped inside the room. ‘You!’ he said, half standing, but Ombra silenced him.

‘It seems I knew you not, Kivuli. To think you broke our laws so easily. And you,’ he said, rounding on Malkov. ‘You assured me that this scoundrel would be too fearful to back out.’

‘Ombra, this was all you?’ Kivuli said. ‘Why?’

‘How many thousands of years have we shadows been but servants?’ Ombra hissed.  ‘It is time for change, Kivuli. Humans are weak and filled with greed and hatred, we can let ourselves be ruled by them no longer.’ He slid over to Malkov, who withdrew visibly. ‘Dispose of these buffoons, Malkov.’

Malkov got up shakily and drew his rapier from its scabbard. Kivuli saw that his eyes had grown watery and knew that his heart was not in it. Still, he could not see a way to stop him, and with Ombra controlling him, words were useless. He looked at his master, who stood still despite Malkov’s advancement. Then he knew. He swept up and whispered something in his Esh’s ear, speaking quickly.

‘But what’ll happen to you?’ Esh whispered back.

‘Do not worry, master. Please, you have no time.’

Nodding slightly, Esh drew out the powder that had been in the package. He charged at Malkov, driving him into Ombra, and threw it into the fire beside them. The flames leapt up, and a white light burst, engulfing them all.  As it hit Ombra, he let out a roar of agony and vanished.

The powder’s effects finally dulled, but it was an hour before both Malkov and Esh had recovered their sight. When they were able to look around, they found both Kivuli and Ombra missing.

‘They have…gone?’ Malkov said, pivoting on the spot.

‘I think so,’ Esh said. He sighed.

‘Why so solemn, master?’ Kivuli’s voice came, sounding faintly amused. ‘Could it be that you felt a loss for me?’

‘Kivuli? Where are you?’ Esh said.

‘Open your tunic, master.’ Esh did so, and Kivuli’s grey form poured out of it and onto the floor.

‘And Ombra?’ Malkov breathed, suddenly fearful again.

‘He is truly gone,’ Kivuli said. ‘There was no chance for him to hide as I did. You are free now.’



Short Stories

Ed’s Summer Leave and Inuyasha’s Confusion – Crossover Fan Fiction

‘Brother, are you sure you should be doing this? What if Winry finds out and refuses to fix your automail for six months like last time?’ I said, watching brother mark out the transmutation circle on the floor. His gold eyes were full of determination, ignoring the strands of hair falling in his face.

‘Relax, Al. She won’t find out, she’s busy fixing up the dog’s automail. It’ll keep her busy for sure. Besides, haven’t you ever wondered if there are other worlds beyond the gate of truth?’

I thought for a moment, my armour creaking slightly. ‘Maybe once. I had a vision of my body, it was looking through the gate at the countryside. I thought it might have been here in Amestris, but the people were dressed in strange clothing.’

Brother looked at me, his eyes narrowed. ‘You never told me about that,’ he said.

‘It was a long time ago, right after you sealed my soul to this armour.’

Brother looked away. He sighed and shook his head. ‘Well, there’s no use talking about it now. The circle’s finished.’ He knelt down and put his hands on it, causing it to activate. The blue sparks of his alchemy rippled across the surface like a swift storm.

Suddenly, the room went dim. I felt uneasy, and I could just make out brother’s breath steaming into the air.

‘Brother—’ I began.

The door burst open. ‘Ed, what are you up to now?’ Winry shouted, brandishing her spanner, but before she could throw it at him, long, black hands came out of the circle and grabbed us. I heard Winry shriek, then everything went dark.


‘Kagome, where are you going? Kagome—’

‘Inuyasha, sit!’

A loud crash brought me to my senses, and I came around to see a boy a few years older than brother, face down in the dirt. He was dressed all in red, with long silver hair and what looked like…dog ears!

‘You didn’t have to do that, Kagome!’ he said, getting up angrily. He stopped and looked at me. ‘What’s this heap of armour doing here, anyway?’

He kicked at me and I jumped up. ‘Hey!’ I said, staring at him.

‘A person?’ His eyes narrowed and he sniffed at me. ‘Wait, you don’t smell human at all. You’re one of Naraku’s spies, aren’t you?’ He pulled out his sword and levelled it at me.

Just then, heavy footsteps sounded behind me and brother appeared, jumping over my head and kicking the dog-eared boy in the face. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, aiming that sword at him?’ brother shouted, transmuting his automail arm so that it now had a blade.

The dog-eared boy stood up, growling. ‘Why you! I should be the one asking the questions, you little pipsqueak!’

I saw brother tense up, ready to insult him back, but then a girl with dark hair came around the corner with Winry.

‘Ed, Al! I’m so glad you’re okay!’ Winry said.

At the same time, the dark-haired girl said, ‘Sit, boy,’.

The beads around the dog-eared boy’s neck glowed and forced him towards the ground with another loud crash.

‘Sorry,’ the girl said. ‘Winry told me how you guys got here. We—’

‘Kagome, don’t be fooled by them. The one in the armour isn’t human,’ the dog-eared boy’s muffled voice came from the ground.

‘It’s okay, Inuyasha, I know. They’re not from this world.’

She led us to their camp, filling the dog-eared boy, Inuyasha, in on our situation. He and brother took opposite seats, staring each other down.

‘Sheesh, Kagome, you really believe all that?’ Inuyasha said, scowling at us.

Brother looked as though he was about to reply, but he suddenly yelped and slapped his face. He looked down at his hand. In it was a tiny flea.

Inuyasha smirked. ‘Well, if it isn’t old man Myoga. If you’re here, then they can’t be dangerous.’

The flea hoped off of brother’s hand and onto Inuyasha’s shoulder. ‘Indeed, Master Inuyasha. I can attest that the small one’s blood tastes somewhat different to ordinary humans, but they possess no ill will as far as I can see.

‘See, Inuyasha?’ Kagome said. ‘All they want is help getting back to where they came from.’

‘We do?’ brother said, raising an eye at Winry.

‘We can’t stay here, Ed. Your summer leave is almost over and I’ve got to get back to Rush Valley and my clients. You were supposed to be spending time with granny and me, but instead you shut yourself away again!’

He sighed. ‘You’re right, I guess. Al, let’s draw up the circle and go home.’

He found a stick on the ground, and with my help, he marked the circle out in the dirt. Like before, it was a variation of the one for human transmutation, which was basically what he had to do to himself to open the gate again. He knelt down to activate it. Nothing happened.

‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘It’s like my alchemy isn’t powerful enough to open it, yet it worked fine when I transmuted my automail.’

Inuyasha got onto all fours and sniffed the circle vigorously.  ‘I don’t get how this stuff works or anything, but if you need more power, then maybe Kagome can help you,’ he said, sitting up to look at her.

‘You mean using a sacred arrow?’ she asked. ‘I can try.’

Picking up the bow and quiver of arrows stacked beside her pack, she nocked an arrow in place and aimed it at the transmutation circle. With a sharp exhale, she released the arrow. In a wave of pink light, it flew down and struck hit the circle’s centre. Brother whistled. Obviously, he had never seen anything like it either. Somehow, whatever the pink light was, it made me feel warm and calm inside. But the circle didn’t react at all.

‘That’s weird. I thought for sure that it would do something…maybe if I tried using a jewel shard…’ She pulled out a small bottle with shards of pink stone inside. She took one out and attached it to the head of an arrow. ‘Here goes nothing.’ She shot the circle again, and this time the reaction was instantaneous.

‘Get back!’ brother shouted to her and Inuyasha as the black hands erupted from the circle again.

I looked at them, barely managing to say ‘thank you’ before the hands wrapped around us and we were in darkness once more. The next thing I knew, we woke up in a heap in our own room.

‘Brother,’ I said excitedly. ‘That stone she put on the arrow—’

‘I know, Al. It was almost like a Philosopher’s stone. Do you think—’

‘Don’t you two ever stop?’ Winry shouted, tears running down her cheeks. ‘When I woke up in that strange world without you, I thought…I thought…’ She sniffed, unable to speak.

‘Brother, we made her cry again,’ I murmured.

‘Winry, I…I’ll make you dinner,’ he said softly.

‘What?’ she said, wiping her eyes.

‘I’ll…I’ll make you dinner!’

She smiled.