Short Story Sunday: Sakharov Gardens

"Come on, Rolf."

Ali looked on as the hound ignored her summons and continued digging his way to China -- or so it would seem. She wouldn't normally have minded, but they were in the public gardens and she didn't think the municipality would take kindly to having to fill in the craters he was creating at alarming speed. She tugged harder on the leash.

"Heel, boy!"

The voice came from behind them and Rolf abandoned his task, sitting guiltily at Ali's feet.

"I'm sorry about my dog," Ali began. "He just loves digging." She shrugged, hoping they would get away with a warning and a friendly smile.

"I know. I've been watching you."

Short Story Sunday: A Thousand Years

Lucy paused in the doorway of her apartment before entering. The door was slightly ajar and she could smell jasmine. It didn't seem as though the entry had been forced. She steeled herself and nudged the door with her foot. Had this been a horror film, she was sure it would have creaked on its hinges, but instead it swung wide until it bumped into the broom cabinet she'd installed behind it. On the carpet in front of her was a brown paper package. The red sealing wax looked liked blood stains on the string. 



"Hello?"

Short Story Sunday: Synecdoche

Ever since she was a child, Allie had possessed the Knowing. It was a trait that was passed down from mothers to first-born daughters since her ancestors made history as being among the first women burnt for alleged witchcraft. Knowing enabled her to perceive events before they happened, to have a sense of where things belonged or fit and to understand or have empathy on a deeper level than most.

Short Story Sunday: Quills

Before Max opened his eyes, he spent a few moments lying under the covers, doing what he called "savouring". He'd never needed an alarm. All his life, his body knew when it was time to rise. His mother found this trait especially odd and even resented it a little, given that she longed to inflict on him the same jolting announcement her mother had dumped on her every morning: "Hurry up, you're late! It's nearly eight o'clock. Time for school." Max was always awake before she got there, and greeted her with a smile, which annoyed her no end.

It was still his habit to smile on waking, despite the fact that he was long past his school days. And this morning was no different. He could hear the house warming up in the winter sun, popping and creaking as it shook off last night's cold. There was a swoosh of wings past his window as the birds gathered for their morning meeting on the lake. He squinted at the clock on his nightstand and sat up with a start. He'd overslept by two hours. That never happened. Panic pooled in a cold sweat on the back of his neck. He slumped under the covers and let the thought he'd been resisting surface.

Her.

Short Story Sunday: Garlands and Glühwein (Part 3: The Conclusion)

Amelia was stacking her packets of Lebkuchen, roasted almond brittle and marzipan sweets on the makeshift counter of her stall. She tried not to check her watch for the umpteenth time. Ella had left for the lot more than an hour before and neither hair nor hide of her had been seen since. She hadn't even been on her phone, according to the "last seen" time stamp. It's not that Amelia was worried. On the contrary, she was excited.

Short Story Sunday: Garlands and Glühwein (Part 2)

"Did you sneak out to a party last night?" Amelia hid her smile behind her mug of coffee.

"Sorry, what?" Ella was still groggy from sleep and there was a crease embedded across her cheek. "Coffee! Thank goodness." She poured a giant mugful and joined her grandmother at the table. "Oh my... Is that what my hair looks like?"

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.