Background Noise

100 Word Challenge

This story is my first contribution for the ‘100-Word Challenge for Grownups’, (100WCGU,) from Julia’s Place. Click here to find more details.

This week’s prompt is:

…but where did the noise come from…

I’ve been waiting here so long. Silent and dark behind shutters and blinds. Hibernating – almost lifeless – shrouded in thick layers of grey dust.

But something is stirring, slowly bringing me back to life. Where is that noise coming from?

I hear a distant hum that rises to become the clear sound of a car engine. A vehicle is approaching!

The sound stops outside my door. Doors slam. Footsteps come towards me. I feel the front door opening, and light streams in for the first time in years.

I hear voices. A family! I close the door, and they’re all mine.

Target: Boston

This is my first attempt at a VisDare challenge! The Visual Dare Challenge is to write a story in 150 words or less, inspired by a selected image – see the photograph below. Please click on the VisDare Link for more details, and to read other stories entered in this challenge. Thanks.

VisDare 36: Implore

VisDare - Implore

Mark Boston, eccentric Billionaire Art Collector, confirmed that details of his plan had been published in full-page newspaper adverts around the globe. He finished the call to his legal team, and finally cut all ties with the outside world.

Mark sealed himself and his entire collection in the underground rooms he’d had constructed especially for this purpose. He took one last look around,  and with a wry smile triggered the sensor, that activated the statue, that fired the arrow straight at his heart.

His legacy: bequeathing a collection of art large enough to rival the world’s greatest museums.

The challenge: an elaborate and cryptic series of clues leading to his current location. Winner takes all – the finder will have legal rights to the collection.

The world’s greatest treasure hunt was now under way.

One Night Glove Affair

cane-shadePhoto: Cane Shade by Kondo Yukihiro

 

This story was originally written as an Writing Group exercise: to show only one side of a phone conversation, but still have it making sense. 

“So you want to look around and take a few photos? And you’ll be paying us. How much? Ooh, bless you! Oh yes, I’ve still got her gloves, she left them on my counter and stomped out, all of a fluster. Mind you, she had other things on her mind at the time. Pre-occupied you could say she was. Oh, I don’t think I could let you keep them, it just wouldn’t be right. But taking a few photos of them wouldn’t hurt. It’ll cost you a little extra of course, for my trouble. You just name the day, ducky!

I’m afraid we’re not at our best at the moment. Truth is, we’ve not been for a few years now. Look how nice the weather’s been. If it was always this hot, there’d be no need for anyone to go abroad, would there? Ahhh, the best summer we’ve had for years, but we’ve only got a handful of clientele in. Says it all really. My Arthur, God rest him, would be heartbroken to see how bad it’s got. To think, he fought in Korea to keep this place open. Even though we didn’t buy it until 1965. And no, before you ask, my Arthur wasn’t at the front line. But he never was a well man, even as a boy. People think he had it easy as a supply clerk, but wasn’t it Churchill what said ‘An Army runs on its motor oil.’ Or was it Napoleon? Anyway, it was my Arthur what ordered the motor oil, thank you very much. Enough said on that particular subject.

Ah, but it was always me what had to shoulder the burden on the Home Front, if you know what I mean. True, it was him what thought of the name ‘Central Hotel’, but seeing as we were only a hundred yards from Central Station, he didn’t have to work too much with that one, now did he? Not that work was ever his strong point, bless him.

Yes, back to this young couple you seem so interested in. I can always tell the ones that aren’t married. They’re all over each other, for a start. To be honest, it was her that was doing all the touching. Trying to grab his derriere, she was. And his unmentionables, I shouldn’t wonder. All with a big grin on her face, the hussy. What he saw in a stick insect like her I don’t know. She could have done with a good meal inside her. But I think she had other ideas. Why the interest in her anyway? And how did you know she was here? I hope this is all above board…

Oh yes, he was trying to keep it decent. My Arthur was like that. Decent. A bit too decent, sometimes. I remember saying to him, ‘Now it’s legal, you don’t always have to be the gentleman.’ Not that it made much difference. But as I said, he wasn’t a well man.

So, this pair – they were all dressed in this flash sports gear. She was wearing a pair of those fingerless biking gloves. Rather appropriate, if you follow my line of thinking about her. Jezebel! Yes, I’m looking at them now – some modern material, I shouldn’t wonder. All sticky and sweaty. I shouldn’t like to think why. Oh, they’re not nice cotton ones like I used to wear when Arthur took me up Sutton to the tea dance. He always met me inside you know. Aye, I bet it saved him a fortune. You must know what a tea dance is? Ooh, it is hot today isn’t it? I’m quite perspiring myself!

But yes, this couple. I heard them whispering about what name to put down in the register. They must think I fell off the Christmas tree. He was wearing a shiny gold ring but she wasn’t. If she had anything about her, she would have bought herself a cheap ring, to fool the likes of me. Doesn’t happen these days, which is a shame. If we weren’t so short of guests, I wouldn’t allow them in. But I can’t afford to be choosy these days.

No, they’ve both gone. Just stayed one night and left. I saw her this morning, looking like she hadn’t slept a wink. Oh yes! She asked me something about her having a ‘mobile e-top up’. I says we’ll have no truck with druggies here! I threatened to call the coppers in and she was out like a shot. That was how she left her gloves here. I doubt she’ll be back.

He must have left earlier. Left me a nice tip in his room though. Nice looking lad. If I was a few years younger… I turned a few heads in my day, you know. Up Stanton Hill anyway.

So you say this lad’s been in the news? A footballer carrying on behind his wife’s back? Shocking! I’m not saying it’s all his fault, mind. It takes two to tango. And these modern women are more interested in their careers than looking after their men!

You never did say what newspaper you’re from. Oh, my! You’ve got to be joking! Actually, my Arthur insisted we only have the Mirror. Said it’s a cut above your shower. I don’t need your kind of publicity, young man. And I’ll thank you not to call me again. Good day!”

My Twitter Fiction

typewriter

 

A short selection of my Twitter fiction

 

Prof. Smith was suspicious of the Mayan 2013 calendar, offered for sale at the online auction site. He still bought it, though.

A Viking longboat burns brightly through a cloudless April night. Local teens have spoilt a good Friday night out. Again.

Do you need a novel idea to write a story? Try Astro Physics. It’s not rocket science, is it!

It was a civilized war. Both sides agreed for the maiming and killing to take place during office hours only.

Developer Maury Harty was mystified why his Baker Street apartments didn’t sell. He tried, but would never be rid of ‘Sherlock Homes’.

The Spartans were noble in victory. They toasted their captives, before eating their livers with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Why are some nutritional books so hard to stomach? They’d be easier as a digest.

Ancient Celtic shamans granted protection to a stone circle. Savvy local councillors broke the spell, and gave permission for a quarry.

I love working in the banking sector. The hours are good. The pay is phenomenal! When on CCTV, I never repeat the disguises.

Thomas compared family albums with his new neighbours. After gaining their trust, he stole more photos to add to his collection.

The Queen was presented with a wooden bench. Instead of bestowing it to a Royal park, she secretly sold it on eBay, just for the craic.

The politician’s integrity was questioned when the press revealed him as “Mr Leather 1999”. He foolishly claimed to have won in 2000.

He sounded so like Elvis. The judges spun their chairs, to find they’d been listening to an i-Pod and a set of speakers. It was Elvis.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step – and often ends with a long wait at Heathrow.

Make Yourself at Home

Home Photo: Home Sweet Home by Donna McNeely

Maureen was fed up of still being a show-house ‘meet and greet’. She should have worked her way up the ladder by now. Maybe if she’d learned better social skills. Or smiled a bit more. Maybe not.
But she could spot the time-wasters a mile off. And here was one of them. She could tell by the car he drove and the way he looked.
He wasn’t one of those young professional types that could afford an executive five-bed. He looked like a deluded dreamer, with a head chock-full of “Positive Thinking”, and this “Law of Attraction” malarkey.
Him! Making himself at home. Here?
“You’ve got to register, young man. Name and address. And occupation, if you’ve got one.”
There were two forms on the desk. Maureen threw him a pen. Dave smiled – he had his own, thanks. She didn’t bother looking up until he’d gone.
Dave didn’t even go and look at the house. He hadn’t registered – just filled in the competition entry form for the executive house. He must’ve got the wrong form. The sad loser.
A month later, Maureen handed competition winner Dave his house keys in front of the local press. She hated positive thinking!