We’ve Seen Them

They tell us to ignore the noises. Just the old house creaking with old age, they say. The trouble with parents is, they don’t see things. Not like we do. We’ve seen the creatures that make the noises and they’re not happy.



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Trick Or Treat?



“There’s the front door bell again Charlie. Must be the third time tonight. Them kids are busy this year with their tricking and treating. Shall I go love, or will you?”

‘I’ll get it love, you have a rest. We could be in for a busy night. Now, what do you fancy this time dear, trick or treat?”

“I think I’ll have a treat Charlie. I’m feeling a little peckish. A couple of fresh,  plump little children will make for a tasty little snack. I’ll put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea to wash them down.”


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The Old Sofa

It had been a long day. This was  my last job. A few  quick notes and I’d be finished.

“You look exhausted, sir. Why don’t you sit down?  Take the weight off your feet.”

I turned around. The voice seemed to be coming from an old, battered sofa in the corner of the room.

“You look confused, sir. My fault entirely. Let me explain. I’m a sofa ghost and I haunt this particular piece of furniture. I can’t be seen, only heard and felt.”

I edged a little closer to see if I could make out any shadowy forms or shimmering lights. “So you’re saying if I sit down on this sofa I’d be able to feel you? Will it hurt? ”

“Not at all, sir. Would you like to try?”

I slowly ran my hands over the full length of the sofa. There was definitely nothing there. I perched myself on the edge of the seat.

“Why don’t you lean back, sir. Make yourself more comfortable. When you’re ready I will demonstrate what I can do. To begin with I’m going to blow in your ear. I often use this trick on people who talk too much, it soon shuts them up.”

I shivered as a cold blast of air went through my right ear. For a moment it seemed to swirl around inside my head, numbing my thoughts.

“Next, I’m going to run my hand down your spine. I find this quickly gets rid of those boring visitors.”

I trembled, as something icy cold slid slowly down the full length of my spine. I felt paralysed from head to toe. “Stop!” I shouted, “Please stop, I get the idea.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Without knowing why, I found myself telling the ghost who I was and what I was doing here. “It’s my job to do the final survey of these old houses,” I explained. ” Once I give the OK, the demolition can begin.”

“When will that be, sir?”

“Next week,” I said, “Any bits of old furniture still left around will be cleared this weekend and the bulldozers will move in on Monday.”

“That soon! What exactly will happen to the ‘old furniture’?”

“It’ll all be burnt,” I said, somewhat sheepishly, realizing I was talking about the old sofa in front of me, his sofa.  “I’m sorry but I’m afraid that’s how it is. Is there anywhere else you can go?”

“Oh don’t worry, sir.  Everything is in order. I’ve been given a new haunting.”

“Well I’m glad to hear that,” I said, as I made my way towards the door, “It’s been nice meeting you but I really must be off. My wife will be wondering where I’ve got to.”

“Of course, sir. We don’t want to keep the dear lady waiting.”

Before I could ask what he meant by ‘we’ there was a cold rush of air and a whistling sound in my ears and my head felt as if it was going to explode.

“Don’t panic, sir. I’ve merely taken up a little space inside your head, purely a temporary measure. Once we’re at your house I will leave you and take up residency in your sofa. I’ve been told it’s very new and a lovely shade of red. I love red. It’s my favourite colour. I’m ready when you are, sir.”



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The Late Night Phone Call

Gillian picked up the phone wondering who on earth it could be calling her at this time of night.

“Hello. Mrs. Peterson? Mrs. Gillian Peterson?”

Before Gillian could answer the voice continued.

“So sorry to be calling you so late but it’s been a rather hectic day. I’m afraid this is the first chance I’ve had. If I could just check a few details with you. Make sure I’ve got the right person. It won’t take long.”

Gillian was tempted to just put the phone down. She seemed to be getting more and more of these cold calls. They were such a nuisance.

“I’m not interested,” she said, “Whatever it is your selling, I don’t need one. Goodbye.”

“Please Mrs. Peterson, don’t hang up. I promise I’m not selling anything and I do need a quick chat with you.”

Gillian sighed. It as always the same old patter. She supposed they must all have a script that they have to follow. At least this one seemed a little more gentlemanly like, not like some of those youngsters who phoned. A part of her felt sorry  for him. It can’t be a very fulfilling job trying to speak to people who didn’t want to talk to you.

This moments hesitation had been all that the caller had needed.

“Thank you Mrs. Peterson. I promise I won’t keep you long. If I can just confirm that you are Mrs. Gillian Peterson, born in Manchester on Monday 29th October 1931 and that you are a widow?”

Gillian was shocked. Who was this person? 

“Who are you?” She whispered, “How do you know these things? What do you want?”

“I’ll take that as a yes shall I Mrs. Peterson? Wonderful! This is just a courtesy call. My name is Peter, Saint Peter, from Pearly Gates Inc. I just wanted to confirm that your place with us is now ready and my staff and I are looking forward to your arrival. Which, according to my records, should be in about ten minutes from now. Speak to you soon Mrs. Peterson.”

Before Gillian could say another word the phone line went dead and she fell to the floor clutching her chest.


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42:The answer to life, the universe and everything.

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Something New

I’m always looking for different ways to share my Flash Fiction. Here is one way of adding some pictures to my Twitter stories using Haiku Deck and SlideShare.

Let me know what you think.

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Let’s Talk

Not sure when it happened. One minute we’re sitting there, watchful, suspicious. Then we’re talking. Hesitantly at first, unsure of ourselves. Next thing you know, it’s like we’re friends. Still don’t know who made the first move. Was it us or them?



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The New Job

“Sorry mum, can’t really chat right now, it’s manic here. The new job? Great. Honest mum, it’s good. I’ve got an amazing view across the city from my office and my boss is a dream. In fact I’ve just got a promotion. They’ve put me in charge of marketing. Tell dad I’ll soon have enough saved to pay him back what I owe. Not sure I’ll be able to get home this weekend. Going out with some people from work and then looking for somewhere new to live. Sorry mum, must go, got an important meeting with some new clients. Speak to you soon. Love to dad.”

Maureen felt a tear trickle down her cheek as she put her mobile back in her bag. Sitting there, nursing her third latte, she looked through the crowds outside, watching her daughter lug her billboard across the busy street.


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I’m Off. Who’s Coming?


“Get off my back! Stop screaming at me like that! What’s the matter with you? It’s not my fault we had to up roots and leave. Seems some of you are too quick to forget what was happening to us back there.

You forgotten what they did to Big Brenda? It was a harrowing time for us all. Don’t know about you but I can still see the look on her face when they started on her with their chain saws. I can still hear her piercing screams. Then, when she fell, I can still see them leaping on her, hacking her to pieces. Remember? Don’t none of you have the dreams I have?

If we hadn’t left, we’d have been next. They wanted us out to make room for more of their precious homes. The fact it was our land and we’ve been there for hundreds of years meant nothing to them. Nothing we could do was ever going to stop them. And it’s no good you going on about us being enchanted. People don’t care. The magic has all gone. Nobody believes any more.

So I’m off to find somewhere quiet. Some place well away from those mad humans. You can follow me if you like or you can go back. Take your chances. The choice is yours.”


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Screw You!

“Screw you!” I shout through bloody cracked lips. He stares at me, slouched on the cold granite floor, and smiles. The ash from his cigarette drops onto his cheap suit. Slowly, he bends down and spins the bottle again. I watch its slow revolution, desperately praying for it to point to someone else. The silent prayer is wasted. In the dim light I can see the relief on their faces. Once again it was my turn to be cleansed of all sin.

half-light and silence
fills the confessional box -
my turn to repent


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