Short Stories

Fictional Stories
-from my imagination.



Unlike my blog that’s taken from my life experiences these stories are simply fiction.

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Friday, 24 August 2012
The Family of Grange Farm.

 

  Near her betrayers door she lays her head. The wind was icy and shrill, it howled like the sound of rabid wolves as it tore through the hall and into each and every room, bursting to find its way out and back into the night. Tap, tap, tap. It pelted against the single pane windows, at the very top of the cottage. Usually the wind and rain were trying to get in but not now. Not here. Not even the cold and callas weather wanted to stay here a moment longer.

  Grange farm wasn’t always so feral and tormented. The barns were once filled with the sound of cow’s being happily milked. The fields were once fruitful with the season’s crops and accompanied by village shows. This had been the case for many a year.

  The people of Skelton knew the family who ran the farm well. They were just your usual farming folk. Although one day life appeared to seemingly carry on as normal. The family sat down to breakfast at the large oak dining table where they ate the eggs the girls had collected fresh from the hens that morning, the bread the mother had baked before sunrise and they topped up their tea and poured the fresh milk on their cereal  that the cows had given only an hour before. After breakfast they set to work, even the children mucked in. their day was blissfully average, it wasn’t until late afternoon when it happened.

  They were rounded up and hushed into the barn. General Shilmer did not give an explanation to them he just ordered his men to shoot each of them and leave their bodies to the pigs.

  The head of the family was shot first as he posed the largest threat to a possible orderly task. The eldest daughter was next then the son and then to the twins. The mother was out to market. She had to watch from the stile as her family were murdered. It took everything she had not to scream, she stood there helpless and motionless. A farm hand from the next farm saw her and rushed her away; he knew he had to get them both away without being seen otherwise they too would meet their fate. She had dropped her basket of groceries and the contents began to roll down the road. He frantically collected them. If the Germans found the items he feared they would realise that they had been seen and surely come looking for them.

  Their bodies lied there amongst the hay and dirt. The men dragged the bodies into one of the stalls. The barn was closed and they joined the General at the cottage table.

  The orders had come from a higher place, to secure the farm and to use it as a standing base for German troops entering from the east coast. It was as simple as the farm being hidden far from anything in between two valleys.

  It was a cold November in 1944 and Frieda had decided to return from Vienna, where she was discovering the art of ballet to help her family through the winter months. Her conscience had plagued her from sometime. It had been four months since she last heard anything by letter. So she decided now was the time to come back.

  She arrived to discover the devastating events before her. She tried to run but she too suffered the same fate. The only difference being that she suffered a fatal blow to the head as she walked into her once familiar family home. Her head lay in the doorway.

  A buzzing of plane engines sounded as a large cluster of Lancashire Bombers flew overhead. Each of the soldiers rushed outdoor in an attempt to stop their position being discovered but they were too little too late. Each lost their lives. Our men defended their country well.

  The locals knew now what had happened. The mother must be sitting on the porch filled with sickness and sorrow they told themselves but a dull and lifeless body hung in the barn.

The End
A fictional story from my imagination.
 


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Friday, 17 August 2012


A Cup of tea, two lumps of trepidation with just a dash of a malevolent Mother-in-Law.

I just couldn’t sit still I was so nervous. I had no idea why, yet I couldn’t relax enough to bring myself to speak let alone make eye contact.
There she sat sweetly sipping her tea, adding one lump after the next and stirring in a rather un-nerving manner. I could tell she was just urging me to converse with her but I couldn’t engage my thoughts into connecting with my mouth. She seemed so effortlessly confident all of a sudden. This was so unlike her. This was not the shy, timid woman that I knew.
I got up and half jogged from the dining room. I hovered over the usually cold cumbersome, pot Belfast sink. But today I was glad for its icy demeanour and its heavy presence. Clinging to it cooled me down and I was able to hold on top it to stop myself from sliding to the kitchen floor.
I stooped over it just for a moment but I felt like I had been there an age. I still felt nauseous so I splashed some cold water onto my face and dried it roughly with a battered tea towel, one my Great Grandmother had given to me when I was a little girl. I used to play tea parties with it but it now found pride of place next to my Aga.
More fervent stirring tore through the air and I was suddenly aware that I should probably go back in. I called into the larder to collect the cheesecake I had prepared specially. I was on my way back when I heard her calling me in a rather dulcet tone. This only increased my panicked state.
It took everything I had to call back ‘I’m coming’ but what actually came out of my mouth was those words but in a rather bad and hideously accidental Irish accent. And as she was from Killarney her response was a chilling ‘I’m not amused, if that was your sorry attempt at trying to bond with me you aren’t doing very well’.
I froze; I just didn’t know what to do next. I grabbed the icing sugar in an attempt to at least get the presentation right on my cheesecake and scuppered back to the dining table.
As I began to cut her a slice I could feel her eyes burning into my back and my cheeks turned an awful shade of crimson. I nervously served her a slice and began apologising when she started sneezing repetitively screaming arrrgh pepper why is there pepper on this cheesecake. I finally summoned the courage to look at her. When I realised it wasn’t actually my Mother-in-Law but indeed The Queen, yes The Queen!! Sat before me crown wearing and all was Liz herself. I couldn’t believe my eyes, there beside her was two of her corgi’s, sat to her left was Prince Philip and to her right were Charles and Camilla I turned to look round to see half the Royal family staring at me.
The telephone rang and a butler I wasn’t aware I had informed me it was my Mother-in-Law confirming our engagement at three. As I approached the telephone it continued to ring and I woke realising it was in fact just a dream. I had fallen asleep whilst baking my cheesecake and my phone was ringing I looked at the caller display it was my Mother-in-Law.
It was unlike any other dream I had ever had before.

The End
A fictional story from my imagination.

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