'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
Tag: short fiction
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
The Copperpot Inn: On Lamplight
The world was to be called Lamplight.In the stretching infinitude of time, the name Lamplight was only a minor part of creation's splendour. It was the title of an intricately woven tapestry, a mural of light and sound that each hand had a role in shaping. Ten-thousand threads of harmony that were laced between every … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: On Lamplight
The Copperpot Inn: Accountancy and Contracts
'A rat!' shrieked Myles Honeywort, with a falsetto that he would be later embarrassed by. Myles had recently been employed as chef of the Copperpot inn and had also just as recently retired from a low-class career of being a high-class highwayman, The rat, a neatly brushed, white and brown accountant by the name of … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: Accountancy and Contracts
The Copperpot Inn: Rats in the Basement
Errol hadn’t always been an innkeeper. In his youth he knew of himself as a lumberjack, his days spent joyously forging through the mighty pine forests of Velik and walking unafraid of the dangers that existed in every action. He had wrestled with wolves for the warmth of a knitted cap, he had seen unfellable … Continue reading The Copperpot Inn: Rats in the Basement
Sunday Short Stories 