The following are some of my stories which have won or been placed in competitions.

Drift

Lon was almost overwhelmed with pleasure. This was the best Christmas yet. Everything was in place, exactly as he’d wanted.

Sighing with satisfaction, he curled into his armchair, next to the warmth of the great log fire. As he settled, there was a small scatter of sparks as a log settled comfortably into the glowing centre of the hearth. There was a companionable murmur around him, his family, his wonderful family doing a jigsaw together, the smaller children shrieking, playing a game of snap. The chestnuts roasted by the open fire and in the background, the huge Christmas tree glimmered with baubles and lights against the great window. Outside against a black sky, glowed the shimmering whiteness of the snow-covered lawn. It had been a truly perfect day and now Christmas carols began to drift from the front of the house. The carol singers were…

This time the cut-off was abrupt. Sometimes it was lingering and his dream blurred gradually so that he had time achingly to relish his surroundings as they turned to haze around him. Today, the loss was brutal and immediate. It was over. He was alone again.

The grey metallic cubicle in which he sat was shabby and grubby. He was sitting on a plastic scuffed seat. His trip ticket had ejected itself from the slot in the wall. A flashing panel over the door echoed the mechanical tones of the voice surrounding him. “TIME UP – EXIT NOW. TIME UP – EXIT NOW”

Still half enchanted, he pressed the button and the sliding doors opened. He was almost mown down by the next customer who thrust his trip ticket into the wall and sat in expectant silence on the just vacated seat.

He stepped out. The doors shut behind him.

Lon stood in silence. He did not look up, he was intensely conscious of the eyes he knew were watching. The corridor in which he stood was beige. Beige walls, beige shiny floors and low green lights interspersed with surveillance cameras. These hummed and moved and stretched into the distance. Along the corridor, orderly queues of people stood in silence by other sliding doors. Occasionally a door opened and one person emerged and another disappeared. Keeping his head low, Lon walked briskly down the corridor and into the escalator to take him down to the fifteenth floor.

His face was impassive. He was a technician, nothing more. He had been programmed to be efficient and emotionless. He was highly efficient; he held the technical knowledge and expertise that gave the great community around him security. He valued his prestige, his position but it was no longer enough.

How and why he had become so fixated on the old ways and old values, he did not know. All citizens had the opportunity to coast in dreams. Many of them, like himself, used old movie clips from long ago to explore environments and emotions which had long since lost their meaning and value. It was a source of amusement and a little pornographic to be part of a world where you related intimately with another human being. Lots of people did it. It made a change from relying on drift tablets to get away from the necessary boredom of serving the state. Relationships were unfashionable, unnecessary and unacceptable in a modern society. The whole concept of “family” was in itself repugnant and uncivilised. He knew that.

But he was not like the others was he? For him, the images and emotions of the past had revealed an aching chasm of longing for a world of love and companionship, a world that had disintegrated long before he had existed. Did others feel like him? How would he know? He wouldn’t dare to reveal his thoughts, why should anyone else? Perhaps there were hundreds of frustrated citizens all yearning to be loved, staring at each other with cold eyes, each of them isolated in misery.

He knew that his secret thoughts were dangerous.   He knew that he had probably been unwise using the same experience so often. He had relied on the inefficiency of those who monitored the systems that he continually repaired, to fail to pick a recurring pattern. Perhaps he should intervene and change his records, it wouldn’t be difficult.

Lon had underestimated the watchers. It was too late. They had already picked up the recurring pattern.

“What do you think?”

The overseer leaned back in his chair and looked critically at the surveillance screen in front of him.

“He’s been sound enough so far.”

“He’s accessed the same experience seven times now, that’s hardly normal. The man’s obsessed.”

“With what? Lots of the operatives repeat experiences – admittedly they’re usually obsessed with some sexual hang up but he’s hardly showing dangerous propensities, is he? His hang up is banal – it’s hardly a threat.”

“I don’t know, something’s not right. The meters are picking up definite vibes from him every time he comes out of the cubicle – something’s not right. It’s not as if he’s just any technician, he’s special. If he goes wrong, it could give us real problems.”

“Well – you’re being over anxious I think; if we do need to exterminate him, have you got a replacement?”

“No-one as good, or who knows the systems fully.”

“Well, do something about it. Get another operative to work alongside him and make it clear that everything must be shared. Tell LON11M that he’s going to be transferred to another area to set up their surveillance systems. Tell him the new operative must be told everything urgently, absolutely everything, about controlling our central systems. Once he is disposable, we’ll decide whether to keep him or not. It would be inefficient to waste him if we don’t have to. In the meantime, keep up supervision.”

“Do you want me to keep you updated?”

“Yes.”

Lon knew, as soon as the new technician arrived. He was under suspicion. The question was, what should he do about it?

Over the next four weeks, he got out of his night pod and went to the central computer as usual. The new technician was as silent as he was himself and they worked side by side, pausing only when Lon needed to show something particularly intricate or unusual. There were few problems, the central systems had been running a long time now, glitches seldom happened.

The control system raised, fed and cocooned the inhabitants of the city, not from cradle to grave but certainly from cradle to incineration in their own sleeping pods. Lon understood now that he would not be able to go back to what, he increasingly thought of, as his real life. It was too dangerous. However, without his other existence, there wasn’t any point to his life.

He increasingly felt a burning anger and resentment that anyone should separate him from his family. Of course, on one level, he knew that families no longer existed, that his own family was a pastiche from ancient movies, displays of Christmas cards and piped sounds. He couldn’t even explain to himself why these particular images, fleeting images amongst the thousands used to entertain and subdue the vast armies of people packed neatly at night into individual space saving capsules, had become the centre of his existence. But they had.

At the beginning of the fifth week, a sudden power surge caused a problem within the system. Lights flickered and a few seconds of camera surveillance were lost. Painstakingly and swiftly, Lon showed his companion how to deal with it. Having done this, he sent clear instructions to the operatives who should have prevented the surge affecting the central system.

The watchers were reassured.

“He is good isn’t he?”

“Yes, he seems to be fine. Has he asked for another trip?”

“No, but he won’t have enough points yet.”

“Keep watching him.”

When his work was done, on his way through the corridors, Lon stopped at one of the vending machines. He used his card to withdraw his full quota of Drift and then walked, head down as usual, to his pod. The watchers were further reassured. Drift was issued to subdue and amuse the citizens. Those who took Drift were compliant and placid.

However, Lon did not take the Drift that night. He was saving it. He rested, still in his pod, watching the time laser move the minutes towards ten o’clock. He had no doubts. He was patient and comfortable waiting for Christmas. And it came, exactly at 10pm.

Lon had rigged the central computer. No one, not even the new technician on night duty could figure out how. The central computer beamed Lon’s perfect Christmas experience into all the locked sleeping pods. There was no way out. No escape, Christmas had invaded every capsule and every mind.

Those few citizens who had not been in their sleeping pods did what they could, but without access to the computers, they were ineffective. No records were accessible to tell them exactly where Lon was stored, and without him, they were powerless.

When hunger became a problem, Lon took all his Drift at once and he eventually dozed to death. He passed away happily, in the midst of his family, surrounded by the quiet glow of the Christmas evening.

The other citizens were less fortunate.

Lon’s Christmas came for all of them – again and again and again…

This was one of the first stories I wrote and I submitted it to Dark Tales http://darktales.co.uk who chose to publish it on-line. I was delighted.

 

Green Velvet and Porcelain

As soon as she opened her eyes, Ahuvah knew it would be a good day. Today 23rd November 1940 was her birthday. However bad things were, birthdays were special.

She jumped out of bed, ran to the window and rubbed off the thin icy film. It was a nice day, bright sunshine and a clear blue sky. There were a few thin yellow leaves fluttering still on the almost bare branches.

When she clattered her way down stairs she went straight into the kitchen. Her mother turned, and her thin anxious face brightened at Ahuvah’s excited expression.

“Ah, here’s my big girl. Fancy, seven years old. You were just a baby a few minutes ago! Come, give your mutti a big cuddle.” So she did.

It was a good day. Her brothers, both much older than she, were good-humoured for a change. Jussi even played a game of chess with her, although he couldn’t help rolling his eyes dramatically at her weaker moves.

Her father had slipped out before she got up. He often did that and she felt guilty because she was pleased he was not there. She did love him but instead of her seeing him hardly at all, now he was ever-present, in every one’s way. Most of the time he walked to and fro across the floorboards, frowning and debating with himself.

He came back as it was getting dark. He went into the kitchen closing the door behind him. Ahuvah could hear her parents talking quietly.

They gathered round the table for the evening meal. There was a tissue-wrapped parcel in front of her place. Father lit the candles and they prayed.

It was difficult to be patient but she managed to be still and quiet. Eventually, she felt Father’s eyes resting on her and as she looked up at him he smiled, “I believe our dear Ahuvah has a present to unwrap.”

She carefully parted the tissue paper to reveal a small, perfect porcelain face, framed by a pale green straw bonnet under which blonde plaits fell demurely. Breathlessly, she lifted the doll from her wrappings. She was wearing a moss green velvet dress with a white lace collar. Small round covered buttons fastened the bodice and pearl beads were stitched around the hemline. Her gasp of delight brought smiles to all the watching faces.

Her mother leaned over and touched the doll gently. “You are a good girl, Ahuvah. No complaints about leaving your dolls behind. Herr and Frau Wohlheim had stock still from their shop. Vater thought you’d like her.”

Her daughter looked at the flaxen haired beauty with delight. “I love her. I shall call her Minna and I shall keep her for ever and ever.”

…

It was dark. There was banging and shouting. Ahuvah sat up startled. It wasn’t time yet. They were going on the train to Switzerland early in the morning but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be quiet.

Footsteps padding down the hallway – her door opening – Jussi’s voice. “Be still, Vuvi, I’m here with you.” He sat on her bed, holding her hand and putting a finger over her lips to keep her quiet. She picked up Minna and held her close.

A door banged, voices were raised in the street and a vehicle drove away. Jussi crept to the window and peered out. Then, beckoning to Ahuvah, he crept out of the room and downstairs. Mutti was in the kitchen. When she saw them peering anxiously in the doorway, she opened her arms and hugged them close.

The rail tickets to Switzerland had been in her father’s breast pocket. He’d been seized as soon as he’d opened the door, so had her big brother. They had been taken away ‘under suspicion.’ Mutti went to the police station in the morning. They were already gone, sent to a work camp.

…

They sold mother’s pieces of jewellery, then relied on the charity of others as poor as themselves. They moved from the rented house to rented rooms, then to one room. Minna went with them, loyally moving beds and couches with Ahuvah, always calm and aloof, despite her reduced circumstances.

When the time came for them to go to a work camp, Minna was sheltered carefully under Ahuvah’s winter coat. The doll lay serenely against Ahuvah’s fluttering heart, unmoved by the rattling lorry or the stench and crush of the rail wagons. When they arrived at the country station and were taken to the showers, Ahuvah wrapped Minna snugly in her winter coat to wait for her.

…

Heidi hated this place. In Hamburg, there were shops and trips to the Aussenalster for coffee and cakes. Here there was nothing to do and nowhere to go. She kicked her feet sulkily against the chair legs. Elsa had plaited her hair too tightly that morning and it was uncomfortable.

“Heidi,” her mother’s voice was ominously calm. “I will not tell you to sit still again. Do not kick the chair. Read your book or colour in some pictures. We’ll bake this afternoon but this morning you must amuse yourself.”

“I don’t like it here. It’s boring.”

“Nonsense. Your father’s work is here now. Think how lucky we are to have this lovely big house and beautiful countryside all round us. Tomorrow we’ll drive out somewhere nice. We’ll find somewhere to swim. You’ll enjoy that. Just don’t make a nuisance of yourself while my friends are here.”

“Can I play in the garden?’

“If you wish, but if you go on the swing, make sure it’s dry and clean.”

So she sat on the swing outside the big window listening to the murmuring voices of her mother’s visitors and pushing herself gently backwards and forwards as she dreamed of other times and places. She smiled at the sound of a car coming up the drive.

The big black car swept up to the front of the house, tyres scrunching the gravel as it turned into the parking area. The driver jumped out and held the rear door open for her father. How handsome Vater looked. The silver trimmings on his black uniform glinted in the sunshine as he stooped to get out of the car. He looked so distinguished in his carefully ironed black uniform and peaked cap.

He looked up and saw her sitting watching him. His face broke into a cheerful grin. He took his cap off and handed it to his driver, rubbing his fingers through his hair and he shouted out to her, opening his arms. Laughing she came at him in a run and he whirled her in a circle until she was dizzy.

Placing her gently on her feet, he smiled at her, one hand on her shoulder so that she wouldn’t fall over. “Now leibling, is your mother still entertaining or have they gone?”

“They’re still here.”

“Well, in that case, we’ll go to the kitchen. I have something for you, but it’s a secret.” Putting his finger to his lips he mimed tiptoeing round to the kitchen door. Giggling, Heidi followed him. She always had more fun when father was at home.

In the kitchen, Elsa the maid was preparing potatoes for dinner. She stopped when they walked in and stood awkwardly to attention.

“Elsa, come here to the table. I want you to do something for me.”

“Yes, Sturmbannfuhrer,” Elsa moved obediently to the large wooden table that dominated the kitchen. Heidi’s father put a cardboard box onto the table.

“You may look, Heidi but you mustn’t touch her yet because she’s dirty. I came across her this morning and thought you would like her, the face reminded me of you.”

As he lifted the lid of the box, he revealed a small, perfect porcelain face, framed by a pale green straw bonnet under which demure blonde plaits fell. The doll was wearing a rather crushed moss green velvet dress with a discoloured lace collar. Small round covered buttons fastened the bodice and pearl beads were stitched around the hemline.

Heidi gasped with delight. “Can I hold her?”

Her father moved the box away from her and handed it to Elsa. “Not yet, my dear. Elsa, wash the doll carefully so as not to damage the porcelain and then clean the dress thoroughly. Thoroughly mind!” His last instruction was a very definite order and the young woman shrank from him, eyes fixed on the death’s head emblem on his collar.

“Yes, Sturmbannfuhrer,” and she looked uneasily after him as they left the kitchen, Heidi complaining loudly that she wanted her doll now, not later.

In the morning, when Heidi awoke, the doll sat pristine and fresh on the table by her bed. Heidi reached out for her and held her gently; looking at the blank, blue glass eyes that stared at her.

“Aren’t you lovely?” Heidi whispered. “Your name is Marlene. You will stay with me for ever and ever.”

…

Jenny had never been on a boat before. She clutched her mother’s hand. She’d be all right as long as she was with mum. They went down metal stairs into a little metal room with beds in the wall. Mum told her to lie down with her clothes on under a grey blanket and sat with her and held her hand. There were grinding noises and she could hear an engine sound reverberating on the metal wall. The room began to move and sway. She drifted off to sleep.

She felt mum waking her up by rubbing her hands. “Quick,” said mum. “We’re arriving at the Hague, come and look.” Not really awake Jenny was stumbled up the metal stairs and found herself standing with mum in a damp mist. It was still dark. All around was black water but ahead of them were lights like stars ahead. “That’s where we land,” said mum. “Doesn’t it look lovely?” And it did.

But they didn’t stop at The Hague because they weren’t in Germany yet. Every one was speaking words that she couldn’t understand. After a long train journey, they got on a coach with other English women with children, who’d been in different parts of the train. They were going into quarters too. Jenny didn’t know what quarters were. After a long while, the bus stopped. Dad was there. They went into a big white building and up some concrete stairs. He unlocked a door at the top.

“This is our home now,” said mum. They looked round the flat. Jenny had her own little bedroom. There was a white cover on the bed and on top of the cover was a brown paper parcel.

“What’s that?” asked mum.

“One of the lads picked it up. It was left in one of the German officer’s houses, near Belson,” said Dad. “Thought Jenny might like it.”

“Can I open it?”

“Course you can,” said dad. “It’s not much good wrapped up in brown paper is it? Jenny tore the paper quickly. Dad never bought her presents. She ripped off the top of the parcel to reveal a small, perfect porcelain face, framed by a pale green straw bonnet under which demure blonde plaits fell. She stopped ripping at the paper. Breathlessly, she lifted the doll from her wrappings. She was wearing a moss green velvet dress with a white lace collar. Small round, covered buttons fastened the bodice and pearl beads were stitched around the hemline. “She’s beautiful,” said mum. “A real German doll! Aren’t you a lucky girl?”

“There are a couple of pearl beads missing at the bottom of her dress,” said dad. “But she’s as good as new.”

Jenny was hardly listening. She gazed at the perfect face and the inscrutable eyes gazed back. “You’re lovely,” she breathed holding the doll close to her. “I’m going to call you Katie and you will stay with me for ever and ever.”

This story won  first prize in the Southport Writers’ Circle Annual Short Story Competition.

 

The Wrong Time for Jazz

She stepped into the garden. The air had that green smell, leaves gently warming in the heat of the sun. Under the true blue sky, the shadows of the apple leaves above her dappled and danced on the brick paving. Sparrows chirped and fluttered and somewhere in the house behind her, her telephone played a raucous jazz riff, over and over then silenced. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and called the dog. She closed the kitchen door behind them and locked and bolted it.

As he slurped his water from the bowl she checked that all the plugs were detached and everything was switched off. Her overnight bag and handbag were already by the front door. She picked up her phone from the kitchen table, glancing to see if there were any messages. One from her husband, Tim, GET OUT. She shook her head smiling. It wasn’t like him to panic, bless him. Nothing was likely to happen round here, not yet anyway.

She shrugged and went upstairs to check that she hadn’t forgotten anything. She could hear the dog’s claws skittering on the wooden floor as he ran backwards and forwards whining, he was anxious about her bag, didn’t want to be left behind. She came down and petted him, “Silly boy, wouldn’t leave you behind would I? I’ll pop you in the car, we’ve got a long drive.” She got his lead out of the cupboard and his whole body squirmed with delight.

As she opened the front door she hesitated, suddenly cautious. Her car, all packed and ready on the drive was the only one left in the road. Everyone else seemed to have gone. Anxiety twisted into a knot in her stomach. Perhaps she should have gone last night, as Tim wanted? The road was silent, except for Dobby’s frantic scrabbling as he strained against his leash to be first to get out of the door. She decided to put her overnight bag in first, and to his indignation left him in the hall while she opened the back of the car. Leaving it open she went back to collect him and her handbag and phone. She’d phone Tim from the car, tell him to stop worrying.

She paused as she reached the door. The birdsong had stopped, replaced by a groaning, grating sound. It was getting louder and it was accompanied by a thud, thud, thudding.

Shushing the dog she slowly and carefully closed the door. Dashing to the treats jar, she scattered biscuits on the hall floor to keep Dobby quiet and ran upstairs to the side window on the landing. She’d lowered the blinds earlier; now she edged a finger behind them and peered into the sunshine.

A steel grey tank, and a long line of soldiers masked in black crunched into the road.

She dropped her phone as it screamed jazz at her and then Dobby started to bark.

This story was runner up in Farnham Flash Fiction competition