Short Stories
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April's Fool, a humorous fantasy based in and around the Isle of Man, was selected to be April's short story in the Priory Press publication entitled A Tale For All Seasons - volume 1.
"A wave of white heat blasted from the furnace as the secondary burners ignited. Standing on the observation deck, high above the controlled conflagration, General Dawson shielded his eyes with a hand. Even three layers of tinted plasplex screen could not fully protect him from the effects of the burner. “Is it always this hot?” he asked the military scientist standing beside him, feeling moist patches spring to life beneath his arms. He tugged a finger under the collar of his shirt.
The scientist nodded, then pushed thick-rimmed spectacles back to the bridge of his nose with the pencil from his clipboard. The bald expanse of flesh on his head, fringed by woolly brown hair, glistened with perspiration.
Turning his head, General Dawson fixed him with a penetrative stare, smirking as the man shrank back. “Is that the last of it?”
To see how the story ends, visit the Priory Press website to buy a copy of A Tail for All Seasons.
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Durama Calling by Steve Westcott
"The inside of King Bran’s command tent smelled worse than a pig-farmer’s socks. A noxious mixture of bad breath, body odour, stale air and damp hide permeated the air. It was stifling, and almost too much for a man of Alwysyll’s delicate disposition to take. If the king did not make his appearance soon, there would be one chieftain less in the gathering, as he felt sure he was being slowly poisoned to death.
On glancing around the gloomy interior, he was disappointed to note that none of the other nine chieftains showed any sign of discomfort. Not that he could see them too clearly, the dull, orange glow from the central fire did little in the way of illumination, its flickering flames merely serving to make his companions appear more grotesque, if that were possible."
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Birth of a Hero by Steve Westcott
Reubin shuffled to the serving counter, careful to avoid the haphazard piles of magical oddities and artefacts that lay stacked around the floor. Capes, tunics and assorted garments were randomly draped over anything that didn’t move. Swords and daggers vied for floor space with armour, cuirasses and helms. Flimsy racks, full to overflowing with various bottles, jars and boxes threatened to buckle under the weight. In short, it was a right bloody mess.
To Reubin, however, it was an organised mess. He knew where everything was and could find any item in under a…
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Hell's Bells by Steve Westcott
"With a tub of popcorn clutched in one hand and a jumbo cup of juice in the other, his ticket stub clamped between thumb and tub, Deacon elbowed and shoved his way through the milling masses, oblivious to the curses and threats thrown his way. Murmuring brief but insincere apologies, he continued to barge his way into the auditorium, not caring whom he clattered into en route. By the time he fought his way through the main doors, up the stairway, and around the galleried landing to entrance BB3, he felt like he’d been trampled by a herd of rampaging Wildebeest.
Punch-drunk but still standing, Deacon paused inside the threshold, popcorn and juice clamped to his chest to save them being knocked to the floor, and took stock of his surroundings, trying to figure out where his seat lay. Never having been inside Dante’s Inferno before, he’d not anticipated the place being so huge. Or so RED. Or smelly, come to that."
What is it like in limbo? Download the story and find out.
 Hell's Bells
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Five Fairies of Apocalypse by Steve Westcott
"With an elbow firmly planted on rough planking, chin resting in a cupped hand, Mannanan Mac Lir lounged at the head of the table and took a swig of his ale, not caring that a stream of the golden brew spilled free to run down his matted beard. He was beyond caring about such matters. He was well on the way to getting totally smashed and was enjoying every minute of the festivities."
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