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Madame by Tim Taylor

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  “ Attention madame, attendez, attendez!”   Jocasta stopped walking and turned to see a man running after her, trying to attract her attention. He was fifty-ish, dressed in a cream polo shirt, blue jeans and a shabby brown jacket. Whoever said the French have a great sense of style had obviously never been to this dull little town. The man reached her, slightly out of breath. She hoped he didn’t want to sell her anything.     “ Excusez-moi, madame, mais vous avez laisse votre sac à main dans la voiture. Il faut etre prudente dans cette ville. Il y a des voleurs.”   “I’m sorry. Can you speak English?”   The man’s face puckered as if he were trying to find something in a very deep pocket. Then he composed himself before speaking.   “Madam. You leaved your sack in the automobile.”   ‘Leaved’ – oh, that was so sweet, especially in that lovely sing-song accent. Jocasta didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about. ...

The Chase by Vivien Teasdale

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  ‘Are you sure this will work? ‘ he asked, giving Lucy a large, iron key. Lucy nodded. ‘I’m sure. It’s just a sleeping draught, but a strong one. If you pretend you’re dying, they’ll be ready to believe it, to believe it’s something infectious – the plague has been found in London, came in with the ships. They’ll accept it, Henry. I’m sure. I will be there tomorrow night to set you, to set both of us free.' He took the phial and stared at the dark liquid inside. ‘Just as it is?’ Lucy agreed, ‘Don’t mix it with anything else.' **** That evening, the manor house was filled with lamentations. ‘The young master’s gone,’ the cook cried and all the staff fell silent. ‘Never seen it hit so quick, sir,’ the doctor was astounded. ‘Right as rain one minute and now … gone.’ He looked up at the young man’s father. ‘It could be…the plague, sir.’ ‘And it’s high summer,’ Lord John, Henry’s father said. ‘We must arrange the burial immediately. And bu...

Sixth Sense - Part 2 by Judy Mitchell

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Thursday 28 December 1854 Near Scarr Wood, Slaithwaite It was a sombre Christmas at Marsden. Each day, Samuel Whitehead faced the sympathetic, enquiring gaze of villagers, looking to him for news of Sarah Lumb. His reply was always a slow, silent shake of his weary head. For Hannah Haigh, days and nights were filled with sorrow and self-blame. She should not have allowed her friend to walk part way with her that night. Why was it Sarah who had disappeared – why not her? Grief and guilt filled her head and her heart. Silent tears wracked her thin frame.   The dress skirt was found in the river below an aqueduct on the Thursday after Christmas, held fast by brambles that trailed their long, spiny fingers into the gushing waters of the Colne. Nearby, the bare, twisted branches of the trees in Scarr Wood seemed to shrug their black limbs in despair at the sight of the dwindling number of men searching the river, their steps heavy and slow as the distance from home increased each ...

Sixth Sense - Part 1 by Judy Mitchell

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Friday 8 December 1854 The Gymnasium Hall, Ramsden Street, Huddersfield Some thought it the most wicked sorcery they had ever witnessed. They were pleased to scurry home through the wet streets to bolt their doors, say their prayers and try to dispel the images of the piercing, demonic gaze of the man billed as a Lecturer in Mesmerism, Phrenology, Clairvoyance and Animal Magnetism. But these stubborn sceptics were in the minority. Most left the Hall that night believing they had seen acts of wonder and supernatural powers. They had watched volunteers being placed in a mesmeric sleep and then told to get into an imaginary rowing boat before being cast adrift on a stormy sea. As these entranced sailors held on to the sides of a boat only they could see, their bodies were flung from side to side on waves which washed only through their own imaginations. Under the influence of the celebrated Captain Hudson, others were persuaded to assume the identity of a steam train, their shushing...

Not Spoilt for Choice by Susie Field

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   Let’s see what’s on the television tonight.   Oh, this drama looks good.   Wait a minute, here comes a warning.    This programme contains violence and scenes of a sexual nature.   That’s put me off a bit.   I don’t think I want to watch anything like that.   I suppose I could start watching it and see how I feel.   No, I’ll look for something else.    Now, what about this one.   I love hospital programmes.   It sounds quite interesting.   24 hours in A and E.   Here we go again, another warning. This programme contains scenes of graphic medical procedures which some people may find upsetting.   Oh dear, how graphic?   That’s the question.   I’ll give it a miss.    There’s a cowboy film on some remote channel.   I’ve seen it before and I remember it was really good.   It’s quite old and pretty tame, so it should be clear from censorship.     ...

Fire Test by Owen Townend

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  This is a test of the fire alarm system. Are you ready to leave?   This is a test of the fire alarm system. Are all your exits free?   This is a test of the fire alarm system. Feel the floor warming yet?   This is a test of the fire alarm system. Is there flame up ahead?   This is a test of the fire alarm system. Is your panic blind?   This is a test of the fire alarm system. Did you fall behind?   This is a test of the fire alarm system. Have you enjoyed your burning?   This is a test of the fire alarm system. Scorch marks show you’re learning. The test of the fire alarm system is now complete. " Fire alarm pull station at Walmart in Laurel, Maryland " by  SchuminWeb  is licensed under  CC BY-SA 2.0 .

Interrupted by Tim Taylor

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  She took a deep breath, stretched all her limbs and assumed the pose. Left foot planted squarely on level ground, a good solid base. Right leg raised and bent, as if she were running – as, in a way, she was, though her performance would be over before that foot touched the ground. Its role of providing a second point of support was fulfilled instead by a staff of gnarled oak, painted silver and gripped firmly in her right hand. Cupped in a tangle of wood at its tip was a glass sphere, glowing faintly white from an LED beneath it. Her left arm stretched upwards and backwards, its hand holding an eight-pointed sun disc the size of a dinner plate, painted gold. Between the two hands and over her shoulders hung her robe, of which she was particularly proud. It gleamed in alternate pleats of gold and silver which swung down in twin parabolas from her arms, reaching to just below her knees, themselves clad in silver leggings. Her face, too, was all silver and above it was a cotton wool...