FLASH FEAR

  FLOORBOARDS As a child I used to wonder what lurked beneath the floorboards. My uncle raised me, and my bedroom is in the cellar. It was laid out with these creaky floorboards. Of course, you can easily tell me now that it’s just pipes and dust. But as a child, I used to dream about a world under the floorboards. It started out as a pleasant and beautiful world of pixies and fairies but as I got older and my world became more of a hazardous and darker place, so did the world beneath. The world of the floorboards became darker and grungier and whatever lurked beneath it didn’t bear to think about. But I’d always hear it…. I’d hear whatever it was underneath the floorboards every evening…. Before I drifted off to sleep and the lights turned off, I’d hear the moans and groans of the demons stuck in some kind of phantom world underneath the floorboards. They would cry out frantically for help as soon as the night descended and when I used to scream and cry out in return, my unc

I was in a “DINER” – it was like an Ed Hopper painting. I’m English and we call them a cafeteria. But this has one of those truck-stop American vibes that you see in the movies (hell, I’d never even been to America) and everybody has trans-Atlantic accents. I hear the mumbled chat. The bikers were piling in, the waitresses chewed gum, the truckers wore those targeted T-Shirts that said how badass they are. I thought I was just turning off an A-Road from London and here I am in a diner in what felt like the middle of nowhere. The interior was lit with blinding artificial light and the outside was wrapped up in a fierce darkness. ‘What can I get you ‘hun?’ The waitress said. There I was pulling into a local eatery in my BMW and now I’m in one of those Twin Peak diners. There’s something amiss about this place. ‘Do you have a menu?’ I ask. She slaps one down on the table. She leans close into me. I feel the heat from her breath warm my entire body. Why am I so cold? ‘Where am I?” I ask. ‘

It started like any other day for Father Duncan. He’d read his book in the confession box, in pure solitude and wait for confessions. Attendance and confessions were fleeting and Duncan enjoyed nothing more than sitting in an empty church, hiding from the nuns in the box. Rapid frantic footsteps from the walls of the church gained urgency outside the confession box and Duncan was met by company besides the wooden partition. At last. “I need to get even with God.” A young man’s voice said. “Even with God?” What a strange way to phrase confession. “I have done some terrible things.” Duncan mutely laughed to himself. He’d heard them all. Whatever you can imagine, Duncan had heard - and that includes the unfortunate disgraces which are now synonymous with the church. “That is what confession is for my child…” “It has been twenty-six years since my last confession…” The voice uttered. “And how old are you now son?” “I’m twenty-six. I’d like to start from the beginning.” It started innocuous

  Lucinda loved feeding her pets. She had four. She had Lila - meowing, needy, comforting beautiful Lila. She had Rory - yappy, excitable and fiercely loyal Rory. There was Darwin - an independent and lonesome ferret; just oozing with personality and stubbornness of mind. And the last pet was Mac - Mac was the  black sheep  of Lucinda’s pet-family. Mac was recalcitrant. Mac was headstrong. Mac wasn’t a loyal, kind and loving pet like her other furries. But at feeding time - all was forgiven - Mac was part of the family once again. Lucinda  LOVED  feeding her pets - even Mac. Lucinda put the cat food in one bowl.  Whiskers ©  in a can - the brown gelatine sludge oozed out on the plate which she delicately mashed with a fork. Lila was doing her thing. Her tail erect -  meow, meow  - her soft fur brushing against the bare skin of Lucinda’s legs -  hypnotic . For Rory it was a mix of dried turkey and bacon bits with a splash of water on top for hydration. Rory’s excited tail wagged and yet

Esmeralda sat on her car and waited at the side of the road for a kind stranger on a dark night to help her. What she got was Stefan. Fat, hairy, belching Stefan pulling up in his Peugeot 3008 and smiling that toothless smile. “You got car trouble?... Stefan.” Stefan introduced himself and spat a blackened wad – wiping his mouth across his hairy arm. “Yes, I have been broken down here for awhile.” Esmeralda said. Deer in headlights Stefan thought, I can have some fun. He smiled that long toothless smile again. I can help you out if you really want me to. But what’s it worth?” Stefan rubbed his crotch and spat again. I could be in a real predicament here. Esmeralda felt that isolated, helpless fear creeping. “I just want my car fixed or I can wait for the breakdown service, that’s all.” Esmeralda said her voice a slight quiver. “Alright, alright – well let me see.” Stefan said. He walked over to the side of Esmeralda’s car and saw a perfect slash across her tires. “You have a tire out h

It was a pleasing ritual for Vivienne to cook a meal for her love Marco. Light a candle, put the player on and play a light jazz, stare into each other’s eyes. Tonight was a steak, boiled potatoes with a honey glaze and red-wine jus. A meal fit for a king, a meal perfect for a devoted-husband. Marco was once a worldly go-getter, constantly away on work. Now Marco spent all his time in that room with his books and his thoughts – a solitary, skittish-figure. It pleased Vivienne greatly to know that as Marco aged and responsibilities caught up with him, he had become more docile – content to spend time alone and less restless - this relationship would have died long ago had Marco always been elsewhere. The dinner ritual was important for them. A chance to communicate and lay down a foundation of trust. It also was a chance for Marco to be regular, not the hermetic creep he’d become. “So how was your day?” Vivienne asked; the way a good wife asks a good husband. Ask about his   day   – lik

  I am a creature of habit. I routinely do the same thing every day and if there’s a break in my routine, I’m very sensitive to panic. For example; if I am not having my dinner at 6.30 pm on the dot, I’m overcome with anxiety and worry. My routine is broken, and my nerves follow shortly. My wife knows this about me. Everybody in my family know this is  just  the way I am, and they cater to this. Because we have a deep understand for each other’s emotions and we know that the distress is beyond my control. I love my family more than anything. And I am so grateful that they can suffer me when I am insufferable. Every day I drive to the school at 8.15am and I drop my daughter off. Her school isn’t too far from my offices and I can drop her off at 8.15am and by time the drive from her school to my work – and arrive at work for about 8.45am. My shift starts at 9am, so the extra 15 minutes gives me time to make a coffee, start my computer and pull out the files I intend to work on for the da