Planning his next escape from Springbrook Retirement Home, George wakes early, just as the first-shift staff start their rounds, so it isn’t surprising he is the only resident to observe Fred leave, zipped into a body bag, covered with a… Continue Reading
It started with a whisper in the rear-view mirror. Not the kind you hear, exactly — more the kind that curls under your skin and waits. Dean adjusted the mirror. Empty backseat. Just trees blurring past. Just the heat. He… Continue Reading
What happens. I drive to the store. Read in a coffeeshop. Pretend to work. The drama having subsided, the sad affair, the hero dies, a little heroically, the other left alone. How to end it. Had a small success. Child… Continue Reading
I was enjoying a little drink in the Dog and Blanket in Nether Sodbury. “Hey, Scruples, I want a word with you.” I recognised John Donaldson. He frequented the Dog and Blanket and after a skinful, he would entertain them… Continue Reading
Two dark-haired girls with makeup to match, and look, they’ve found something. An oeil-de-boeuf at the gable admitted a circle of afternoon light that fell on nothing and illuminated even less, catching only the turn of dust motes. Mary pressed… Continue Reading
When a client I’ll call Fred first came to see me, he complained of feeling ugly, unimportant, and vastly underappreciated. He said that he’d once been a grand personage — exalted, even — but a dreadful event had transformed him… Continue Reading
Lately, Lucie woke with the ability to hear the thoughts of strangers. Restaurants and buses were the loudest places. No one said what they meant, but they thought it awfully loud. Now, waiting at a table among a crowd that… Continue Reading
“They say He lives in Tibet,” she told me. She was still digging in the tan, dusty ground with her hands, even though we hadn’t found another turnip in almost an hour. “Where’s that?” I asked. The shaded tree bark… Continue Reading
Wife #11 arrives for her shift, struggling out of the rideshare with a bulky chrysalis of luggage. In photos, the house had been impressive. In person, breathtaking. A citadel of concrete and glass. Unlike anything back home. Amika waits, tugging… Continue Reading
Tuesday morning Affie walks into class with her arm wrapped in a white cloth. A bruise darkens her cheekbone. Cuts run across her palms. Her shirt is wrinkled and her short hair sticks up. “Julie,” she says, waving as sunlight… Continue Reading