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John Newcomer – Monongahela River 1755 by Frank Sonderborg

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Newcomer primed his weapon as quick as he could. He could manage three shots a minute from his long rifle. All of them hitting a target. He had pulled his Pennsylvania woodsmen into the trees as soon as the ambush happened. And they watched as the pride of the British army got shot to pieces by savages fighting a different war, than the Redcoats were used to. Braddock was an idiot, and Newcomer had said as much to Washington. But was ignored. The Redcoats Brown Bess Muskets blasted out to no effect. Just hitting the dense trees in the forests. The Shawnee, Mingo and Delaware just hid and then returned their deadly fire. There was Canadian militia men in there with them as well, giving us all hell. Newcomer watched Washington galloping up and down trying to rally the troops to no avail. The Redcoats lined up as they had been trained and followed General Braddock’s outdated orders. But this was wilderness fighting, with wilderness rules. Hide then shoot, ambush, flanking moves, and not t...
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Searching for my dad. A story by Charles Roberts

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          I was about four or five, if I remember correctly, when a man, strangely dressed in either green or brown, pressed a small key into my hand.   My mam told me to put it in the small box I kept in the top drawer of my bedside cabinet, that way I wouldn’t lose it. I suppose it really started when I was seven or eight, possibly even nine, I know that the war was over and people said that we’d won, and there wouldn’t be any more wars.   I raced from the house and down the street to where Davy Hughes and Tommy Randle were messing about on the corner of Albert Street.   I strode up to Davy as mad as anything and slapped his face with one of my mam’s gloves.           “What you do that for?” he asked, all surprised like.           “I’m changing you to a duet and that’s what the Frenchie’s do.   I seen ‘em on the pictures.” ...
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The Hat Factory - a longer story for Remembrance Sunday

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  It was an estate agent’s nightmare. Never had Nigel needed to dissuade a client from selling a prestigious property. The penthouse covered the entire top floor of the converted hat factory and featured a stunning roof terrace, complete with outdoor kitchen and mammoth, party-sized hot tub. The indoor kitchen was a cavernous temple to industrial décor and the master bedroom incorporated a huge waterbed, whirlpool bath and walk-in wardrobe. There were his and hers washbasins in the ensuite, but the ‘hers’ basin was rarely used, and its toothbrush holder remained empty. Simon, the owner, preferred it that way. Simon’s property development company had transformed the hat factory into luxury apartments and awarded Nigel the contract to sell them all, bar one. Nigel smashed the brief and cleaned up on commission, whilst Simon enhanced his already colossal fortune. In the process, mutual respect had turned into a sort of friendship, which was why Nigel could not stand by and let Simon s...
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Without Trace - a short story for Halloween

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  In the Oxfordshire village of Great Wenderby, Halloween is a big deal. Parents clamour to ensure their darlings are spookily yet charmingly attired. Amazon costumes don’t cut it there. Specialist suppliers are de rigueur, unless one can afford the ultimate status symbol - a costume handstitched by a stay-at-home wife - but these are rare. No one can do Great Wenderby on one salary. Not unless there’s family money. PR guru Annabel Bright is transforming daughter Aurora into the perfect Wednesday Addams. She glues fat false eyelashes onto her eight-year-old, applies styling wax to her blue-black plaits, then stands back to admire her artistry. She had wanted to accompany Aurora dressed as a sexy, slinky Morticia, but she has a massive pitch the following day, so must delegate to husband Josh, who is cruelly, but not entirely inaccurately nicknamed ‘Dim’ by his fellow investment bankers. Annabel suggested in vain that they take her surname when they married. Their ten-year-old son A...
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Location: Mojácar, 04638, Almería, Spain
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Strolling to the Pier on Halloween by Mongolita

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It was the end of a hard-working day. I took the road along the seafront to get home. The sun shone brightly on that crisp October afternoon. The sea was calm, smooth, mirroring the blue sky. It looked like it was wrapped in a blue blanket. I parked the car somewhere along the seafront to walk down the promenade to the pier to chill, to unwind, to clear my head after a long challenging week at work.  Crickey, I was surprised to see the promenade buzzing with people, children running, playing, laughing, celebrating the beginning of Halloween.  In front of me I noticed a mother walking with her two young children, skipping happily alongside her. One of them stopped unexpectedly when she spotted a van selling funny, scary candy floss, and she turned round to her mum. “Mummy, mummy!! I want a Halloween candy floss with a spooky ghost face,” pulling a puppy dog eyes-face.  The mum smiled, “Yes, you can have one each as long as you both promise to eat your dinner ...
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Visiting Mama - a short story written by Berni Albrighton

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  “Okay, okay, I hear you. It’s too salty. Phew, you are impossible to please. And don't look at me like that, as if I killed your pet cat or something. What? No, no, pussycat is still alive. I know. Yes she is doing good, her teeth aren't great, not like yours. You always had great teeth. Have some Concha. There, that nice?  No you haven’t got crumbs on your chin. I have? Okay, there, is that better? What about your hands?  Mmm, we can try with some cream, but I think we’re past the point of no return with your skin. Sorry.  Yes I made your favourite Albondigas soup, it’s just cooling down, I don’t want you burning yourself. I know that's why you didn't want to be cremated.  I know Mama, how can I forget you told me a hundred times, and didn't we have you at home for 3 whole days. We didn't poke and prod you Mama , we were just making sure you were dead that's all, just like you asked.  Yes, here we go, open wide. Oh, sorry, that was uncalled for.  Ni...
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