The echo of static, noise, light. And so, it was as it had ever been. A quiet town that had forgotten that sun lay below as dark clouds coiled endlessly across the coastline. A heavy grey seafoam lapped against the wood covered beach in languid pall as the grey rock of the harbour stood next to … Continue reading A Place of Fog and Morning: Part 1
Author: Jacob McCray
The Copperpot Inn: On Millers and Highwaymen
Two friends sat by a flour cart in a dampened glade of hanging willow and watched as the distant sun made its way for the lantern of the moon. The day became warm as the rain slackened, and a soft light now filtered down into the grassland, moving about the shadows gently as if it … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: On Millers and Highwaymen
The Copperpot Inn: A Tax-collector Approaches part 3
A small scream was barely audible over the heavy tumble of the rain that fell in puddles upon the farmstead of the Dryfords. It was a laughing scream, an oscillating wail of such conflicted emotion that many ears would have scarcely believed it to have come from the small rat clutched in the talons of … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: A Tax-collector Approaches part 3
The Copperpot Inn: A Tax-collector Approaches part 2
'Please…one moment…I Just need…one moment.' Four droplets of rain fell lightly against a cutting of sail cloth, pulled taught over the flour cart of Helga Miller. The mass of clouds overhead burgeoned with rain and grew heavy as they approached. The morning was held in a sullen kind of mood, a greyness that lived in … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: A Tax-collector Approaches part 2
The Copperpot Inn: A Tax-collector Approaches
A heavy cloud loomed over the green hills and filled the day with the urgency of rain. Colours receded below the overcast pall and the meadow's lush grass was bent southward with dew. There was a storm developing in the air; a crisp burst Autumn wind pulled lowly across the ground and mischievously stole a … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: A Tax-collector Approaches
The Copperpot Inn: The Wolves of Velik Mountain
The redwood fell without ceremony.It was not the largest within the Huxley-shire Forest, but Errol never felt at ease when cutting down a tree that was too tall for his means. In his days as a Lumberjack, he had been given the nickname of Cottonwood: a tall tree, thoughtful in how it shaded the land, … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: The Wolves of Velik Mountain
2: A Moth
UPDATE: Going to leave this season of horror unfinished for the time being, so this is the last one for 2022. and just a quick note that this short story is a bit more horror-y than the normal Sunday Short Stories vibe. Always remember to make some time for yourself. 👍 Cheers, --- There was … Continue reading 2: A Moth
1: An Empty frame
Just a quick note that this short story is a bit more horror-y than the normal Sunday Short Stories vibe. Always remember to make some time for yourself. 👍 It's late. Slumber's bow creaks upon frigid seas as the familiar tremble of an approaching migraine crawls from the deep like something formless and unknown. I … Continue reading 1: An Empty frame
Balendup AM: Football Finals 1986
Balendup finishes strong against Dundelong rivals. As taken from the Balendup Tributary September 25, 1986. For a stenographer's typeset recording of all Northern Flats League matches, please apply to your local library for access to archive 03T13. This is presented as originally broadcasted on 1642 Balendup AM without further context. Good morning, and welcome to … Continue reading Balendup AM: Football Finals 1986
The Copperpot Inn: Friars and Millers
The Friar was terrible at funerals. Not the words, he was great at words. Sprawling sonnets of unfurling intrigue would readily leap from his melodious tenor as he spoke. He would enrapture the assembled crowd, beguiling them with vociferous language and canny parable. He would express his speeches with care, curating them toward the spirit … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: Friars and Millers
Sunday Short Stories 