Category: stories

It’s very dark. A door opens a little bit, spilling a glass of light down the stairs to pool on the floor, activating a defence system that is as ancient as it is broken. “This is a test” it announces,…

…and the ground felt strange beneath my feet. Less solid, somehow, less there. There was the sound of thirty children being very, very quiet, and I found that disconcerting so I opened my eyes. I wasn’t standing on anything. That…

The morning was crisp and cold when I woke up this morning, I should remember to turn down the fridge as it means I have to leave it to thaw whilst I have the epiphany. Ephiphany was good this morning…

This morning, a wormhole opened up in my tea cupboard. When I say “This Morning”, I don’t actually mean “This Morning”, obviously, it’s just that when I use the phrase “A wormhole willon haven be opening up in my tea…

It came in the morning, in the post like everything else, along with the bills and the statements and a magazine about something I don’t understand that I apparently asked for at a convention I didn’t go to. I missed…

So, Three hundred and sixty five days. Fifty two weeks, at thirty five pounds on bus tickets a week, four and a half hours every working day is… No, I’d better not think about it. Today is my first anniversary…

The rest of the world thinks me insane, I suppose. I’m not totally sure I’d disagree. It’s a game I’ve played with myself ever since I was small, a game everyone plays at some point or another. It’s the one…

(This happened sometime in 2002, while I was still in Cambridge. I wrote this for AFP, but decided to cross-post it here) It was a dark and stormy spring day in the calm and peaceful city of Cambridge. There was…

“Mr Bond?” “James Bond, yes.” “Good. I believe you have been sent here to retake your driving test.” “Yes. As a result of a mass-conspiracy against me by forces within the government, my licence to drive was revoked” “Less of…

“You know the drill, Name, Number, Tone” Beep It wasn’t a dark, or stormy night. This was depressing. “Hi, Chris? It’s Jane” It was early evening, and the sky was bathed in a golden pink that would cause grown poets…