Short Stories to Entertain

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. His father thought himself

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 th