Growing Nightmares and Dreams , livre ebook

Troubador Publishing Ltd - G Thompson Oliver

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72 pages

English

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Growing Nightmares & Dreams is a collection of ten, hard-hitting stories written about dark subjects. They do not shy away from exploring subject matter that are as unflinching as they are raw. All of them tackle the harsh-realities of life, and are not for the faint-hearted. Written in a fresh and exciting way, each story is read from a new and different perspective. While some are written in a traditional format, others do not follow this convention. 'The House With Morals' is told from four different perspectives in a household over the same period of time. 'How're You Feeling' has been written in third person narrative and is one day in the life of someone with anxiety issues, but also has first person sections to better explain the thoughts and feelings of the individual. 'Impressions Are Lies' has been written in reverse chronological order to allow the reader the opportunity to absorb the story by looking at it with a different approach. 'Five Minutes to Save a Life' is written both in first and third-person narrative. The aim is to give the reader the initial first person narrative in the present tense to allow them to experience the first part of the story alongside the main character.

Sujets

Short story

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Publié par	Troubador Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	22 janvier 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781838598006
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Copyright © 2020 Oliver G. Thompson

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 978 1838598 006

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

For Dad & Adam, you are sorely missed.
Contents
Stories
1. The Adventures of Frog-Lady
2. Swing Your Own Way
3. Impressions Are Lies
4. Five Minutes to Save a Life
5. Our Cute Meat
6. Now Do Ya Believe In Karma, Kid?
7. How’re You Feeling?
8. The House With Morals
9. Echoes
10. X/Y/Z

Poems
1. That Never-Ending Feeling
2. “You’re too late…” it was a complicated dreamscape
3. Going In Circles
4. Brother
5. Thanks for Reading

Stories
Story 1
The Adventures of Frog-Lady
I walked down the street. It was dark and dank. I was surprised I didn’t get high off the stench of cannabis.
It was spitting; I like rain. I like it so much that when I was in a small boutique the other day and the salesman offered me a cut-price umbrella, I said no, not because he was an overweight, grotesque and slightly lecherous fellow but because I love rain. It makes me want to release my inner Gene Kelly and start “ Singin’ in the Rain ”.
I turned into the dingiest of dive bars and I certainly got my fair share of awkward stares from the punters. I could practically hear them thinking, W hat the hell? What’s a greying, forty-year-old woman doing in here? How flattering, I’m fifty-eight. I thought my hair would give it away, but I can see where that impression would come from, if I dare say so myself.
I have a tall, slim figure. I was wearing long leather boots and tights. That day, I was wearing a black turtleneck, didn’t want to give away too much. In spite of the rain, I had my long trench coat on; I was going for a classic detective look. At least that’s what Max, my sixteen-year-old son, reckoned, although I don’t think he intended it to be a compliment.
I approached the bar slowly and in as unseductive a way as I could. I wanted to avoid attracting as much attention as possible. I shuffled and side-stepped my way around the room, avoiding eye contact with as many drunkards, motorcycle club members, gangsters, pimps and drug lords as I could, even walking further out of my way sometimes to get to my destination.
The barman was a large man; muscles, moustache, black shirt, black trousers and a white towel over his shoulder. Isn’t it ironic that often the most sober and therefore the most sensible person in a bar is the one closest to the alcohol?
‘What can I get you?’ he asked, with a look that suggested he wondered what I was doing there. Ultimately, he’d seen all kinds in his time, all shapes and sizes, and he knew there was a drink for everyone out there.
I reached into my pocket, took out my phone, opened the photo gallery app and slid it across the bar.
‘No drink. Have you seen this girl before?’ I replied.
He picked up my phone and looked at the photo quizzically. He used two fingers and slid them away from each other on the screen to zoom the image in. I knew that meant I was getting somewhere; he recognised her. It was a young girl, Katie, sixteen. She had pale blue eyes, a bright smile, freckles and blonde hair in a tight ponytail. It was a traditional school photograph.
‘Yeah, she was here, last week, fake ID. I can spot them a mile off, sent her out. This place might not look like the most respectable, but I don’t serve anyone underage. She asked if there was a bloke about twenty-ish looking for her,’ the barman said.
‘Twenty?’ I asked quizzically. Her only brother, her stepbrother, is thirty-five. The barman nodded. ‘Did she give the man’s name?’ He shook his head this time. I waited a moment to think then I pressed for more information. ‘Did she attract any unwanted attention?’
‘Of course she did, pretty young girl like that. She was wearing a tight red cocktail dress, didn’t leave much to the imagination, you know?’ he said. ‘The eyes you got when you walked in weren’t half what she got. Something happen to her?’
I hesitated.
‘Missing.’
‘Oh, shit,’ he sheepishly mumbled. His face went pale and his eyes shut.
‘Don’t blame yourself. She came in here of her own volition. Thanks for your help.’
‘Hang on, I’ll ask Dave. He’s in here all the time.’ He turned to two men sitting at the end of the bar. ‘Here, Dave, do you recognise this girl?’
I showed the picture to this Dave; a big fellow, beard, untidy clothes. The guy next to him; skinny, lanky, greasy long hair. He took a look over Dave’s shoulder at the picture and immediately grabbed his jacket and darted to the exit. Could he have made it any more obvious?
I gave chase, brushed past the punters – I didn’t give them a second thought this time – and followed him out. He started jogging. I’d say I was walking at a brisk pace. He turned down an alley and was heading towards a car. I put my mask on. I was about 10 feet from him; he was roughly 10 feet from the car. Now, bear with me here, this might get a bit unbelievable. I jumped 15 feet into the air – I know, not far, I’ve made 22 feet before – I landed in between his car and him. I’d cut him off. He stopped dead in his tracks, stunned. That’s how I like to leave most men, wink. He pulled out a 4-inch kitchen knife and jabbed it out, warning me to stay back.
‘H… how did you do that? D… don’t come any closer, I’m armed. L… look, I didn’t do anything. I was only the middleman,’ he muttered in disbelief. He was a frightened boy.
I rolled my eyes. I then shot my tongue out at him; it extended the remaining 8 feet between us at a speed almost too fast for the naked eye. I wrapped it around the handle of the knife, ripped it from his grip, threw it to the floor and retracted my tongue, all in a flash.
‘Ahh! What the…’
We’ll go on a tangent here and I’ll explain: I was born with the ability to jump and extend my tongue like a human-sized frog. No, I don’t know why. A frog wasn’t involved in my conception, I wasn’t bitten by a radioactive frog, I wasn’t the outcome of some kooky science experiment; it just happened. I’ve kept this pretty well hidden. I never showed it off at school for fear of being bullied. My parents kept it quiet; they didn’t want me to be poked and prodded by scientists. So I was never found out. I began “detective work” at twenty-nine. My sister was killed. It was made to look like a suicide and the police agreed. But I knew there was more. It was her boyfriend. He hired a hit team to kill her because he thought she was cheating. She wasn’t. So I hanged him with my tongue. The police were a little confused to say the least, and it was never traced back to me.
I do wear a mask to keep my identity private a bit. It’s green and sparkly like a burlesque mask, but no, I do not wear a spandex suit or a cape, thank you.
Day-to-day I work as a counsellor in a secondary school, listening to the gossip, problems, issues in the students’ young lives. Which brings us to this day. I was following up on the disappearance of a young girl, from my school. She was a glamorous sixteen-year-old, Katie Snyder, world at her feet – and most of the boys – she was definitely one of the popular ones. She always had lots of friends around her, but she never spoke to me, avoided me, you could say. The police had all but given up on their rather lacklustre investigation and so I stepped in. From asking her friends, I discovered she had gone out Friday night, last week, dressed up but not with them. She had just said, “I’m going to some grotty bar, meeting my brother, then he’s driving to some boring family do.” This was the twelfth bar I had been to in town. Honestly, I was about to give up, just like the police. Luckily, this lead practically fell into my lap.
I kicked him a little, not hard, just wanted to show him who’s boss. He spat at me and it landed right on my trench coat. It was raining still so I didn’t really notice it. I tried not to react and instead gave him a stern look. He edged backwards while on the floor. I walked with him.
‘So how do you know the girl?’ I asked.
‘Never seen her before.’
‘Oh, okay, sorry, my mistake…’ I turned slightly as if I was about to walk away. ‘… I suppose you’re just running away and spitting at me for fun.’
‘Nah, it’s ’cos you’re a freak, ain’t it?’
I slowly extended my tongue and wrapped it around his collar and pulled him up to his feet.
‘Tell. Me.’
He punched me in the face. It knocked me back and my nose started bleeding. I was fuming now and I let him know it. My tongue grabbed him and wrapped tightly around his neck. He was starting to scramble for breath. I threw him into the wall