Smooth jazz played low from the vintage jukebox in her office. She was typing up the last of her report from her last case when she heard the bell on the door chime. Blair Kierkessen looked up and saw with her so brown they were black eyes, a woman in a blue evening gown and white fur stole. Her brow furrowing her perfect line-less face. “Detective Kierkessen?” “That’s correct, how can I help you?” “My name is Zelda Chamb...

He reached the top of the stairs and paused to regain his breath. He sometimes wished that the small block of six flats had a lift, but then walking up and down to his home was, other than sometimes walking up to six miles a day, his only form of exercise at seventy-two. Switching on the hallway light, he made his way across to his flat door. The light barely illuminated the hallway, but it was enough for him to see what...

No matter how long he stared at the fuel gauge, he knew that it would not budge. Out here in the middle of the countryside, in the middle of a forest, in the middle of the track that doubled as a footpath and road, he was stranded in his brand new Vauxhall, faced with a long walk. He'd even forgotten to bring his mobile phone, so there was no way of communicating with anybody unless he walked to the nearest phone-box, or...

It was, and still is, one of the great mysteries of its time. ‘The Bazookas’ were a rock and soul five-piece band, who, in the late sixties, simply vanished. Books were written, documentaries made, and even a TV docu-drama was made, but they’re still out there, their legacy written in the history books. There were bands that were bigger than them, but they towered over all other bands below them. Three number ones and two...

At 3.23 a.m. on the 27th of November 1998, the body of 64 years old Norton L. Broadbent was found on the quayside beneath the old Cosborough Bridge. Given the extensive injuries there was little doubt that he had fallen the twenty feet from the bridge. Broadbent, a widower, managing director and owner of Broadbent Industries, and a member of a family whose business skills could be traced back into the 17th century, had no...

I can’t remember exactly when I first saw the factory. I know I always passed it on my walk to school. Even without looking at it, you were aware of its existence. For a start, there was the smell. Not a smell that is easy to describe, just a smell. It wasn’t there all the time, just when the prevailing winds allowed it to drift over our house. And then there were the sounds. Once again, I find them hard to describe. If I...

I don’t know why I am apprehensive, I must have interviewed hundreds of people, but this person for some reason causes fear to flow through me. I am Duncan Clifford, 47, a journalist working for a local free newspaper, and I am to interview Edward Mills, a famous recluse. I’ve never understood that, why celebrities shun the limelight. You’d think most people would crave it, yet some simply become famous without asking, wh...

The Road Not Traveled I know it’s an awful cliché, but it truly was a dark and stormy night. The rented car I was driving didn’t make it any easier, either, as the defroster didn’t work worth a damn. As a result, I was almost driving with one hand, and wiping the windshield – I mean “windscreen” – with the other most of the time. It seemed like such a nice idea to drive from Sligo to Donegal in the afternoon. An easy driv...

Late in the evening and the light of the near full moon pierced through the quick moving dark smokey clouds. It seemed so strange to see the moon just hanging as low in the sky as it so happened to be. I have never noticed it being so low or remember seeing it seem so big and bright before, it just caught my attention, that and the mist hovering over the lake I passed by gave me such an eerie feeling, as if I were starrin...

As the wind carved its way swiftly across the sand and rocks of the Wirral side of the River Dee, seagulls tried desperately to maintain some sort of stability as they circled in the air, and a few dogs that were out still played and jumped around as though not affected. One of those dogs, ‘Baron’, a three-year-old border-collie sniffed around the rocks and pebbles for nothing in particular, its owner near the shoreline,...

Back in the spring, my husband and I went to visit a 1940s Weekend. There were many people there dressed in the fashions and uniforms of those days. There were vehicles and stalls and it really was a wonderful weekend. An escape from the humdrum repetitiveness of my daily life. As I walked, arm in arm with my husband, Philip, I took in the sights, sounds and even tastes of the Forties. The corned beef hash was delicious!...

Altering the frequency of the radio he had built himself, the noise of static could be heard once again, but turning the tuner further, he came across a voice that he was expecting, as he had been here many times before, trawling through the fm, am and medium wave frequencies to try and discover a signal, sound, or even voice, that did not come from this world. The voice he heard now was that of a taxi firm, telling one o...

He just could not fathom it.  It just looked all wrong. In the darkness the spider's web glowed in the moonlight.  But it was wrong somehow. He thought that there were to be too many concentric cirlces, too closely woven together towards the centre, it was too densely populated. Were they red leaves clinging to it? He considered touching it. Maybe to tease out the sticky fibres and set it right. He remained still, fascina...

    Lifting the receiver she dials, waiting as each ring seems to take an eternity, then he answers. "He doesn't suspect a thing. I promise." "But he seems to look at me like he knows. I keep waiting for him to say something." "Don't lose control, he has no idea; I would bet my life on it." "If you're wrong, you already have. You know what he'll do. You've seen him in action." "Just stick with the plan. Do you remember?"...

Stony Lane is a long, narrow, dead end street. Stony Lane is connected to Main Street, which is a very long street with many small roads connected to it. There are hills on both sides of Main Street beyond the small roads. Stony Lane is about 300 feet long from Main Street to the end of the street. Stony Lane is not connected to any other street. John lives alone in a one story house on Stony Lane. He has been living alon...