Short Stories to Entertain

The Singer Wore White

The short delay entering through the glass revolving door gave those interested an excellent opportunity to view and assess visitors to the five star luxury Grand Hotel prominently located on the cliff top overlooking the sea. He is sitting, chuckling, in the expansive foyer on a really uncomfortable but clearly expensive blue satin reproduction Fauteuil chair. The position is particularly suitable as it offers the best view of the main entrance. And there is that stocky seemingly inconspicuous man again, in the dark blue suit and dark glasses going past outside. This is the second time, though until now he has not looked in. A good looking man carrying a dark brown attache case neatly dressed in an expensive grey suit and blue tie pushes through the door, dodges the lady in the red dress in a state of confusion,  and sits down next to him.  
The reason for his levity, the dark haired lady, expensively clad in pearls and full length red dress had made a complete …

30 - The Twisted Duck and a Missing Finger

Freddie Doogan is a guy mixed up with all sorts. He drifts happily between the legal and illegal depending on how much is involved and how much of that he can retain. Just about made it to forty so has seen his way round the block a few times and still manages to stay out of the constabulary’s clutches. Prides himself on being careful. “I’m still enjoying my freedom because I always check the already checked.” He will say. Grew up in the slums that back onto the railway line next to the old coal yard so is well versed in street law.
Freddie a six foot tall bundle of fun. Made to make the world go round in a riot of cheer. Swept back blond hair with long sideburns framing a strong and characterful face. Blue eyes that absorb a first glance in his direction. Not what could be described as handsome but irresistible to certain women nonetheless. Has a passion for boots. His favourites, the pale blue Cuban heel Chelsea's that usually cover his…

29 - Under the Clock

It is quite a long walk to Wood Green Tube Station from where Larry lives but that is what people who live in London do isn’t it? they walk, up to a point, then they get a cab or a bus or a Boris Bike. For Larry the thirty minutes did not seem too bad today mainly because it was dry. When it was wet the walk could be purgatory even with an umbrella. The driving rain, if it is driving, soaks his trousers and the drips from the umbrella get down his neck as he moves it to avoid poking people if the street is busy. But it is all worth the effort if you are going on a first date and are excited, nervous even.
And Larry was nervous. He is always nervous around women. There is no real reason, he just can find them intimidating sometimes, at first mostly. He is reserved, shy maybe, afraid of upsetting or saying the wrong thing or just simply making a hash of the whole date. It is not an acute affliction but bad enough to make the first date approach something of a challe…

28 - A Shoeshine in August

He had been waiting on the corner for exactly twenty four minutes. He knew that, the clock on the High Street tower said so. Ten o’clock precisely had been his arrival time. The bottom left hand pocket of his dark blue Mackinaw was feeling bulky and catching against his hip. The pocket flap loose. Standing there trying to look innocent but feeling conspicuous, just waiting and wondering if she would turn up. There was that car again. The same one, third time. The black Audi R4 with red wheels, the two men both not looking but still seeing. At least that was the impression or was it simply his imagination deciphering innocence as something sinister. Tapped quick dial. Straight to voicemail.
Time ticked past the thirty. That was his target so he turned around and strolled slowly down the High Street in the opposite direction to the traffic studying the cars looking for clues, wondering about the no show. “Hi mate want your shoes cleaned?” That was the out of w…

The Aspirations of Flash Gorden

The gas fire was hardly ever on. It was set into the open fireplace with a constant freezing draft from the open flue coming through the cracks of the ill fitting frame that froze feet - even those wearing thick socks. Only on the coldest winter days when condensation turned to ice on the inside of the windows was it lit. Flash Gorden would say whilst sporting a blue, dribbly nose, “I’m not cold, in fact it’s so warm I think I’ll open a window.” But of course the windows did not open. The two bed-roomed apartment converted within the roof voids of the large, old, rambling building had suffered years of inferior decoration resulting in the sash windows of the lounge being painted shut. Sash windows had a habit of being a nuisance. In the main bedroom the window opened but the ropes supporting the lead counterweights had snapped so it was propped open with a hardback copy of War and Peace which Flash had decided was the best use for such a tedious read.
H…

Whisky Galore and a Reluctant Racer

Stanley is standing next to the horse holding the reins in his right hand with all the horse’s luggage and feed piled nearby. His wife Clare is standing next to him although by no means still as she is clearly agitated. Mr Wagstaff’s brother is leaving, travelling slowly down the road in his four by four pulling his old, dilapidated horse box, his right arm extended out of the window attempting a goodbye gesture that lacks sincerity. Clare is wearing a dubious expression, the sort full of a thousand apposite questions which she is striving to arrange in a coherent order before enunciating the most important. She opened her mouth intending to speak, a frozen moment when just her jaw moved. She then turned and moved towards the open front door, slowly at first and then with increasing velocity until inside. Then she slammed the door shut. Not much had been said except, “what’s that?” to which Stanley had replied, “I think it’s a horse, at least that’s…