Despite the sharp chill blowing from the mountains, the boy was sweating. He’d been watching the door of the Skyland restaurant for over an hour now, and looked on in dismay as it got busier and busier. He checked the barrel of his Grandfather’s Webley revolver one last time, then stowed it behind him, tucking … More Under the Counter
He was ever Herbologist ere priest, Felt sacred in the living green, Divine! His thirst for cures and antidotes increased, Yet plummeted his faith in scripture line. I was his greatest ever creation, Brewed only once, so deadly was my blood, Made to dispatch those long past salvation, Though toxic, my intentions were all … More Violent Delights
My cursed maker. They bound him within his forge till he finished me, and their goadings finished him. Thrice cursed was his mind, and his body followed. Rather than make any more of their cruel designs he beat his own eyes to pulp with his hammer, and cursing his Gods thrust his clever hands in … More Bane of Cawdor. II
A rotten butt, he called us. The vehicle of salvation for he and his progeny, and we were rotten to him. Warped we may have been, and old, but never rotten. For we work together, my knotted kin and I. Regardless of any stress or strain. We boat parts are old retainers. Whatever the weather. … More Against the grain. I
I have not always been thus. A macabre trophy. In my time I have lived many lives, and witnessed countless secrets. We handkerchiefs are confidantes. Conspirators. Carried in places that are seldom touched by others. Nestled deep in sleeves, or bound tightly to corseted bosoms. Always near the pulsing throb of life. Oh, and I … More If a handkerchief could speak. Part Two.
So I’m sitting at work in the office as you do. Opening the post, answering emails and I’m bored. The April sky outside is duck egg blue and I find myself wishing I was on holiday. So I indulge my guilty pleasure. Its on my desktop favourites as ICE. A live webcam from the office … More Overt Surveillance