Anybody Listening?

We’d clambered up to the highest point of the roof. The water continued to rise, lapping at our feet. We held on tight and prayed, just like mum had told us to.

Seems he was too busy making rain – he never replied.



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Almost Time

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Almost Time

“Is that it Captain?”

“Yes Commander. That’s Earth. Our invasion is planned to begin in twenty minutes.”

“It’s smaller than I was expecting. And what on earth are those ghastly lights and buildings? They’ll have to go.”

“As you wish, Commander.”

“What about the inhabitants? Do they know we’re coming?”

“I’m afraid not, Commander. We’ve tried communicating with them but their technology is far too inferior.”

“No matter, Captain. It was merely a matter of protocol. Have them destroyed and any remains tidied away. I’ll be in my quarters. Inform me when the place is cleansed, I’ll make a visit.”


A 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers.

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What A Day!

lempicka-saint-moritz-1929I’m telling you darling, it was dreadful, absolutely dreadful. I’d had such a frightfully hectic day. Shopping all morning and then lunch with Freddy. He’s such a dear. Have you seen him recently? He’s not the man he was. I blame that awful woman he’s got himself engaged to. Seems to be sucking all the fun out of him.

Then of course there were the text messages. Non-stop they were. All from him of course. I told him when he walked out on me there would be no coming back but he wouldn’t listen. He’s now finding that young tart of his more trouble than she’s worth. Begging me to take him back he was. Very maudlin and depressing. Once he started that silly talk of ‘ending it all’ and ‘life’s not worth living without you’ is when I finally switched my phone off. I told Freddy, it was the last thing I needed. I had the Johnson’s and the Peterson’s coming round for dinner that evening and I still hadn’t decided what dress to wear.

I must admit I stayed longer with Freddy than I meant to and probably drank more champagne than I should have. So you can imagine darling, by the time I got back to my flat it was getting late. That’s when I found him. Sprawled out in my favourite leather chair. That’s right darling, the new cream one. Any way, there he was, quite dead. His arm hanging down one side of the chair with his gun dangling from his fingers. The silly fool had shot himself in the head. Just above his right ear. The blood had started to congeal and was forming a bloodied crust over the opening. He didn’t look his best. Goodness knows where he’d got that shirt from. I certainly wouldn’t have let him wear it when he was with me.

As you can imaging darling, I was livid. There was blood and bits of his brain everywhere. All over the new rug and splattered up the wall. Goodness knows how long it will take to clean it all up. Of course my first thought was the Johnson’s and the Peterson’s. What was I going to tell them? In the end I had no choice but to phone and cancel dinner. I told them the dogs were not well. I know darling but it was the best I could think of in the circumstances.

The rest of the day was a blur. Those dreadful policemen were here for ages, taking photos and asking questions. I thought they’d never go. Fortunately Milo. You remember Milo don’t you darling? He’s that wonderful interior designer we met at the Longworth’s party last Christmas. Well, he was a dear and came round straight away. He’s got some fantastic ideas for keeping some of the blood stains on the wall and making them into a feature. He thinks he might even be able to do something bold with the bloodied rug as well. He’s talking about framing it and hanging it above the fireplace. I’m so excited. You must come over and see it all when he’s finished.

Well, it’s been lovely chatting to you darling but I must dash. It’s his funeral today. I wasn’t going to go. Had a week in Cannes planned while the work on the flat was being done. Then the dogs went down with something, poor things. So I had to cancel. Managed to find a lovely little black dress when I was out shopping yesterday and a beautiful hat. Seems a shame not to make use of them. Chow for now darling.



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My Super Hero


My fault Marge. I should have stuck to knitting him his usual plain, v-necked sweater. Just thought I’d try to perk him up a bit. He’s not been so good recently. Mind you, I never thought a blue sweater with a big ‘S’ on the front would cause so many problems. I keep telling him that the ‘S’ stands for his name – Stephen, but he won’t have it. Got this daft idea in his head that he’s a super hero. Silly bugger!

Caught him jumping off the shed roof  the other day. Lucky he didn’t break something. Then this morning, he goes missing. One minute I’m making him a cup of tea, next thing I know, he’s gone. The police brought him back an hour later. Out of my mind with worry I was. They said they found him on top of the multi-storey car park, ready to jump. Daft sod!

I’m telling you Marge I’m at the end of my tether. Don’t know what he’s going to do next. He’s even forgotten who I am. Keeps calling me Lois.


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The Lies Behind The Words

Tears streamed down my face as I read his gravestone.

Samuel Redford 1949-2013
Beloved Husband
Adoring Father
Rest In Peace

Was I the only one who knew what the words really said?

Samuel Redford 1949-2013
Wife Beater
Abusive Father
Rot In Hell


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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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