I have the most marvellous brush, you see. Look here, look closely. The handle is made from densest wood, pitch black as the void yet light as the gleam of distant stars.
All in Flash Fiction
Knock, Knock, Knock
Everyone knew the Vickers house. No-one went near it, because if it wasn’t haunted to start with it surely had to be now. No non-haunted house looked like the old Vickers house.
Meat and Potatoes
Who is it? was the question unspoken; the light of dawn would illuminate who was missing. But until then, only one dorm knew who owned the voice, bundled up in shadows and carried far below, where the rats gnawed on the pipes and some mysterious, terrible dish awaited.
Storm Hunters
News networks latched onto the story like leeches on an unprepared bushwalker, warnings flashing in lurid hues across the screen. Phrases like ‘once in a lifetime’ or ‘largest in a century’ were bandied around, as though the newsreaders were discussing an upcoming sports tournament. Gleeful for the furore and the boost to their ratings.
Earth Pulse
If you went far enough down, you could actually hear the silence. That was what they said. Werrinbae didn’t think it was true at all, and no-one went deeper than him.
Angel's tree
Spring wind carried the scent of apples through the windows, so strong it seemed that they were close enough to bite. Firm, crisp flesh and fresh juices just a bite away, red and golden skin breaking beneath teeth to spill sweetness over lips and down chins.
Secret of the Oatlands
To look at, it’s nothing special at first glance. Agriculture, with cows and sheep plodding over gently rolling green fields, golden swathes of grains hemmed in by low rock walls on one side, wire or trees on the other. Oats, obviously. They grow a lot of them here.
Homecoming
The old oilskin had been cold and greasy to the touch when he’d put it on, but now as the wind dug icy claws into his skin and sought the cracks in his clothes, he was thankful for it. The old castle loomed above him, dark even against the blackened sky, and before him lay the path.
Why Snail Has a Trail
In the distant past, when animals wore human faces and magic lived in the soul, Snail was a powerful magician of great renown. Where other magicians made their livings performing healing spells or illusions to entertain crowds or hunting the great monsters that roamed the far reaches of the imagination, Snail had chosen a different path.
Eight good reasons
The day had started off well for professor Frank Rouass, but had taken an unexpected nose dive around lunchtime, when an alarm had been set off. What kind of alarm, Rouass was unsure - the knock-out gas had been piped through the ventilation at approximately the same time, and it left his recollection blurry.