The Bakelite telephone, a model from the nineteen-seventies, sat in the lobby of the abandoned three storey house. It was one of many items left to their fate when the owner had passed away a number of years previously. Its green colouring looked old and faded, its cable was twisted into an uncomfortable tangle and… Read more The Phone
The Orafiscle, upon whom they all depended, was a changeling. Unlike other changelings, he had not been seized from his cradle and replaced. Rather he had become a changeling through his own foolish, impetuous behaviour. He had failed to respect the teachings of the Sages when they told him never to drink straight from the… Read more The Orafiscle
1 – You wake in hospital, senses saturated by the fluorescent strip light overhead. Nearby you hear a doctor talking to your dad. Your father nods as he mentions psychosis and paranoia. The doctor says you’re suffering from Cinderella Syndrome. He has been trialling a new treatment. If your father leaves you in his care,… Read more Midnight
It cannot be said there was only once a deity that fell in love with a human because it didn’t happen only once. It was something of a fashion for gods to love their creations because they were narcissistic by nature, as all immortal beings were. But there was, however, one goddess who was too… Read more The Girl Who Cried Stars
High in the mountains, where the tree line fades and the cold air snaps, a diminutive figure flitted from branch to branch in the pine trees. The sunlight, caught on pale gossamer wings, refracted rainbows across their surface. “Skyna, look!” Peri nudged her companion and pointed. Her brown wings hummed with excitement. Skyna, sleepy eyed… Read more Through Woods to Winter
The fog rolls down the hills and into our village. It winds through our streets and gathers in the square. It reaches out with thick tendrils through open windows into careless homes. Whoever it touches turns to stone. Just for a while, until the fog retreats and returns to the hills. The fog avoids me.… Read more Whispers of Statues
Sister Lisbeth always told us she had eyes in the back of her head, and it was true. I remember the day we discovered them. Sister Lisbeth had fallen asleep at the teacher’s desk during algebra lessons, chin resting upon her ever-clenched fists. We were meant to be working equations, but little Johanna Graham snuck… Read more And It Was True
Past the city gate one walks seven thousand steps, all in one go with no breaks. One stop on the tracks once and the flower is missed. When the flower is seen, one turns to the right, through weeds and bushes, off the main road, walking eight steps. Turn to the left once, eight more… Read more Understanding – Enso part one
The air was acrid and thick with smoke but long accustomed to the ritual fires burnt at each execution, her eyes did not blink. The bare neck below her belonged to a young woman from the neighbouring village, barely come of age, now trussed and bound on her knees, found guilty of adultery with the… Read more The Executioner’s Cat
Nanna, why don’t your ganseys look like the other ones?” Peg looked up from her knitting, ‘what do you mean Caitlin? Sure, we all have our own way of building the pattern’. ‘Yes Nanna, but yours are more differenter’. Peg shifted uncomfortably in her chair and gave the girl a penetrating stare. ‘Tell me, Caitlin,… Read more It’s never just a pattern when Granny knits your aran
