A Great Start to the Year

So far I love 2010.

My story "Screamcatcher" is up at Untied Shoelaces of the Mind

And "Thrice upon a Time" is up at Afterburn SF

Oh no! Not the comfy sofa.

Sheila's nose was bunged up. Sheila's ears were bunged up. Her eyes watered and her joints ached.

“I don't know why people say they've got flu,” she muttered. “The blasted flu's got me.”

She set the washing machine going, and sat down for a bit. She herded stray mugs into the dishwasher and turned it on, and sat down for a bit. She washed up the few pans that wouldn't fit in the dishwasher, put them away, and sat down again.

At least the new sofa was really comfy. So comfy that she didn't want to get up again. Really it would be much more sensible to go back to bed and have a proper rest.

When her eyes opened, her throat was as dry as the Sahara and the shadows had moved. Water, she thought muzzily. Or a hot drink would be better. Water and then a hot drink.

She tried to stand, but sagged back onto the sofa. Curious. It felt as though her behind were glued down. She tried again, with the same result.

Goodness, she needed a drink. The kettle was only ten metres away, in the kitchen. Three, two, one, GO!

Sheila heard something rip half a second before pain flashed across her rear end. She staggered to her feet and cautiously touched her bum. It was covered in something spiky, like Velcro on steroids. What on earth?

She turned to look behind her, and forgot to breathe. The seat cushion of her nice new sofa was riddled with a ball of broken roots.

Cecil

Cecil scratched his armpits and trouser snake while the van was stopped at the traffic lights. He farted as the light turned green, put the van into gear, and drove off.

He was sweating again. At the next traffic light he opened the window: cool air in, stink out. The petunias on the roundabout wilted.

At the next red light he absent-mindedly popped one of the spots on his chin, then burped.

He'd arrived. He parked on a double-yellow line and went into the charm school for his 20^th lesson.

New Laptop

Once there was a writer who got a nice new laptop which she could take everywhere. This meant that she could finally write in all those odd little moments which previously got wasted. Since she had very little free time, the odd moments soon became at least half of her writing time. So did her output double?

Oh no, it was much better than that. She finally got some momentum going, and her productivity soared. She finally finished her novel and became rich and famous and bought laptops for all her friends.

What's a Few Tentacles Between Friends?

UK		USA

And we interupt our usual service with some breaking news. Volume 2 of Cthulhu Unbound is now on sale, featuring my story "What's a Few Tentacles Between Friends?"

Bonfires: part 2

"WHAT?" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "You must be joking!"

Janet took an involuntary step backwards.

He grabbed her sleeve. "Come here. I want to show you something."

And he dragged her along the side of the house to the back garden.

"Look! Look!" he yelled, pointing at the bonfire, which belched choking smoke. "I do all this work -- the weeding and the raking and the planting -- and all you can do is complain."

"Mr. Docherty I --"

"Do you think I do it for the good of my health? Do you?"

Janet thought he did it because he was a control freak who needed the garden to stand to attention, but she wasn't reckless enough to say so.

He went on, "And none of you help. Ever."

Janet took a deep breath, and promptly choked on the smoke. At last she gasped, "I tried to help and you said I --"

"Don't interrupt me!" he wagged a finger an inch under her nose.

Before she could say anything, he went on, "And what about that stinking dog?"

"It was only here overnight." Months ago, Summer had brought home a stray dog, and taken it to the shelter in the morning.

"DON'T SHOUT AT ME!" he roared. "THAT BLASTED DOG. CRAPPING OVER HERE --" and he actually dipped his rear towards the ground in a mini squat "-- CRAPPING OVER THERE--" another mini-squat "--THAT'S NOT CLEAN--" wagging his finger under her nose again. "IN FACT, IT'S FILTHY."

The smell of smoke was very strong now.

Gareth Docherty's eyes began to bug out and his face turned a fiery red. "YOU FILTHY PEOPLE HAVE GOT NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT!"

Janet could have sworn she saw wisps of smoke coming out of his ears. But that would just be his grey hair, wouldn't it?

"NOTHING AT ALL!"

With a soft whump the smoke turned to flame, and Gareth Docherty spontaneously combusted.

He burned out in less than a minute, before Janet could believe her eyes enough to scream for help. She was left staring at a new patch of burned grass on the manicured lawn.

Bonfires

Janet stared at the half match in her hand with a sinking heart. Her flatmates, Summer and Dee, stood with whole matches, looking relieved and guilty.

Janet forced a smile, even though she felt sick. "The sooner I get it over with, the better, right?" Because if she stopped to think about it, her legs would refuse to carry her.

Summer and Dee's faces scrunched as they tried to think of something to say. But the plain fact was, it had to be done, they were all equally scared, and Janet got the short match.

Janet walked out before the other two found any words. Moments later, she stood outside the door of the downstairs flat.

She'd rather have poked a rattlesnake with a short stick than touched the door bell. She clenched and unclenched her fists several times, shut her eyes, took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and rang it.

All too soon the door opened. Gareth Docherty smiled his most charming smile. “How lovely to see you, Janet.”


Oh no! He was feeling flirty. OK, so he looked after himself and his eyes were still blue, but he must be over sixty, for goodness' sake. Janet was nineteen, and she didn't want to know.

Stick to the point, she thought. “Um, Mr. Docherty. We were wondering if you could possibly cut down on the smoky bonfires so close to the house on Saturdays?” Damn, it was coming out in a pathetic little squeak. But she'd promised to deliver the message. “With us being at work all week, it's when we like to hang out the washing, you see.”

Gareth's smile switched off to be replaced by wide open eyes and mouth, as though she'd put on a chicken suit and laid an egg.

To be continued...