Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

   The security lights shine through the blackout curtains.   Strange, this has never happened before.   I climb out of bed, and pulling the curtains aside, peer out into the inky blackness of the night.   I must have been mistaken, yet everything seemed so bright.   My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I shiver.        The wind is whistling through the trees, and a full moon suddenly appears, casting an eerie glow across the garden.   I silently watch and wait.   What is lurking in the dark shadows?   A lonesome fox approaches, staring straight at me, daring me to confront it, eyes bright and piercing, but I remain still, and it swaggers on its way, soon out of sight.   The moon disappears and darkness envelopes the garden once more.        I sigh and close the curtains, longing to return to my welcoming bed.   I gasp at the scene before me.   I am asleep, buried beneath the duvet...

And so here I stand on a bridge between worlds. I’d have been grounded if my parents had known I was even considering coming out here, but that’s not what causes me to hesitate. The passion and defiance of my teenage years has brought me this far, hormones drowning out any thoughts of the consequences of my disobedience. What do they know anyway? I’m almost a man, almost an adult in the eyes of the law. I am my own person and no one can take that away, family or otherwise. My life is mine to lead, my choices mine to make, and they will just have to learn to accept that. Strange sounds carry on the breeze, creatures of the night screaming both threats and warnings. If I had any sense I’d turn back. Everything about the woods seems uninviting, yet they also carry a forbidden allure tempting me onwards. One more step and I will cross from civilisation to wilderness. Why is that so hard? I remind myself of the prize within and my uncertainty is swept aside by fresh determination. ...

It was on his fiftieth birthday that Frank’s mother began to haunt him. Which seemed a coincidence as it had been on her fiftieth birthday that she had died. Frank had just undressed and got into bed. Which is the truth but doesn’t really portray the way in which he’d ripped his clothes off and leaped on the naked girl who was the latest in a long line of similar ladies who had been attracted to his bed by a combination of his money and his…well, just his money, to be honest. She screamed and sat up, shivering with fright. Not from Frank’s actions, though they had somewhat startled her, but from his mother’s ghostly appearance by the window. And Frank found her arrival a little disconcerting too. “Mother!” “Hello, Frank.” The girl gasped. “Is that your mother?” “I’m afraid it appears to be, yes.” “But she’s a…” “Well, she would be. She’s been dead quite a few years.” The girl screamed again, scrambled out of bed and, gathering her clothes, while avoiding going near ...

It fell down the Moore West drain cover some time ago. A smooth grey plastic pebble with no features aside from the white speckles forming a ring around its centre.             It barely made a sound as it landed, a mere splash in muddy water. And yet it wasn't dragged off by the current. Instead it gained a strange heaviness and sank like all pebbles ultimately do.             And then, at the bottom of the cloudy brown, it malfunctioned back to life. It switched on without prompt and started to emanate bright white lights that cut clean through the water and reached out past the drain cover.             This light bent and shaped itself into something flat at the bottom but curved at the top: a gentle curve, the curve of a human foot. The light created a twin and these both sprouted up into thin legs that broadened in...

Mournful they toll, the church bells sounding their song of sorrow as the day dies and the sun’s light fails. And so it begins. Halloween they call it now. Halloween, just another seasonal holiday, over commercialised and made trivial in today’s society. The old ways have been lost to science, ancient truths replaced with the comfort of modern lies, sacred rites turned into childish fun and booze fuelled parties. But this is still All Hallows’ Eve, Samhain, the time of the dead. And there are still those who believe. As the veil between worlds thins and dusk falls, the bells toll for lost souls and Christians pray. Pagans light their bonfires and prepare their feasts, an extra place at the table set for the departed. But surely these are no more than silly superstitions, out of place in present times? Surely there’s no real danger to be had in walking the streets this night, or at least none more than on any other night? So you tell yourself as you make your way home, a late fini...