Short Story Sunday: Garlands and Glühwein

Jonas carried the last of the logs to the stack beside the hearth. "That should last until New Year's Eve, at the very least."

"Thank you, dear. I'm sure we'll be fine. And my grandsons will be here for Christmas, so I'll enlist them if we need more fuel." She smiled at him. "You're sure you won't stay for a cuppa? Carrying wood is thirsty work."

"I'm OK, thanks, Mrs Evans."

She shook her head. "Well, nobody can accuse me of being a bad host. I've left your money on the table at the front door."

"Much obliged." Jonas tugged his beanie over his ears and went to the entrance. "See you at the Christmas Market?" he shouted down the passage.

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

Jonas smiled. He pocketed his earnings and pulled the door shut behind him. He could see his breath ahead of him as he walked to his pick-up. It was just after four in the afternoon, and he could already count the first stars on the horizon.

Short Story Sunday: The Bridegroom's Oak

For three months, Norah tried to ignore her grandmother, but the elder lady, having lived through more than Norah could imagine, was persistent to a fault.

Letters at Christmas

A gap in the curtains beamed a slither of light onto Christine's pillow. She groaned, shifting her face deeper under the blanket. It was unusually bright for winter, everyone said so. She gave up the fight to stay asleep and began her morning routine. There was a lot to do today, and if the transport routes were clear, the delivery she and half the neighbourhood were expecting would arrive.