Short Stories to Entertain

  The man sitting astride the tall, well-groomed black stallion, its croup and quarters gleaming, said with a long Texas drawl, “ W hy’d you cut your grass so much? Yo’always seem to be cutting your grass. Is it necessary?”  

  Tuesday morning at nine-thirty Ricky is returning from the post office, looked both ways, saw the gap and crossed the road. The Jaguar coming too fast honked but he was already stepping up the opposite kerb. Sitting nicely teed up on the grass verge he kicked the empty coke can twenty feet down the pavement, jumped up a bit and yelled, “Goal.” He caught up with the can, picked it up and lobbed it the six feet into the black metal bin with “rubbish” stamped on the front. Mouthed, “Goal” and turned left to cros s the car park in front of the superstore. Ricky Delaney tall, fit and full of life. His dark hair quite long but styled to suit his masculine good looks. Thirty, single and as all will tell you, worth is weight in gold.

Sidney Brown struck the brass plate with the lion head knocker three times then stepped back about two feet. Only silence emanated from inside. Then he heard the muffled sound of a door open and shut. As the front door slowly opened, he was suddenly immersed in a brief sensation of intense cold, an unseen blast that chilled his soul. Nervously holding up his warrant card he said, “Inspector Sidney Brown. Are you Michael Finn?”   “Sure, I’m Mike Finn. How can I help you?”   “I am making enquiries about an incident that has come to our attention and your name is involved. I was hoping you might be able to help. Can I come in?”   “Sure.” Sidney hesitantly stepped into the eerily dark hallway of the large Victorian building, its shuttered windows and steep, dark, tile hung gables adding an almost sinister feel. The door clicked shut behind him. A stained oak door with damage around the lock that had been hastily and inexpertly repaired, “Follow me please.”

Staring wistfully out of the bedroom window Winston listened to the hail and rain machine-gunning the window panes . There was a lot for him to worry about these days. If the glass might smash was one of them. Watching the trees unnaturally bending was another and that made him shiver. Not to mention all the other things that persistently got him down. His face carried that lack of sleep look making him appear haggard. Were those worry lines? Or just the effects of age. With a quiet subdued voice aimed at the window, he said, “Sunday…. they are coming today. I hope this storm will not stop them. We have always looked forward to them coming.” Looking towards the bed, he continued, “I’ll go and make breakfast.” And slumped off down the stairs gloomily staring at the treads.