The man in the postbox

As a child my brother tormented me. They would hit me, steal my toys and make my life a living hell. The worse thing they ever did though was convince me that a man lived inside the post box. They told me that I should never put my hand too far into the post box because if I did he would grab me and never let go off my hand until he pulled me into the box and ate me. My mother oblivious to this torment frequently sent me to post letters. Each time with each letter I slowly fed the box, fearful that I might lose my fingers. As I got taller I tried to peer into the slit in hopes of seeing the man in the post box, but nothing came to light. It was only in my teens when I posted a letter without a stamp by mistake did I dare force my hand deeper down. The moment my wrist caught onto something cold and sharp I screamed and ran away in fright. Thankfully the days of email made such adventures increasingly less frequent. It was only in my twenties did I finally discover the truth. As I was about to post my vote for the upcoming election, did I see the postman. He opened up the post box and emptied all the letter into a sack. An empty box with no man inside. On the rim of the slot were metal spikes that I later learned had to do with stopping thieves, and were not in fact to terrify young children. It’s strange how obvious it was a lie, but I guess I never realised the real monsters were my brothers.

The monster in the metro

An elderly woman was approached the packed 47 bus. The replacement service for the trams had been full each journey and people were complaining. The top bosses had made it clear to start sending people to the 641, a bus that took 40 minutes longer to finish the route. Without the 641 running, the bus company was losing money. So when this little dear lady was about to head to the 47 it was the job of the three pigs in blankets to enforce the will of the top fat cats. They spun the lies and promises of the 641, and she accepted it. Of the three guards, one then approached the woman and told her the truth. Something had pulled on their heart strings. The old woman smiled and asked when the next 47 would be. Twenty minutes. The old woman nodded and merely said she would kill some time. It’s surprising how much blood comes out of a head. Yet as the 47 approached , she pulled out her soaked bus pass and walked onto the buses. Behind her were three pools, two of blood and one of piss.

Fear at the Wing

Hi everyone so I been a bit quite for the last week. I was on holiday in Spain with my two best friends. Saying that haven’t been on a plane post 9/11 so it was quite an unnerving experience. It didn’t help that as we waiting boarding they wound me up about how the plane was ‘unsafe’. Dicks. So sit back, relax and enjoy the following flash fiction. 

 

It was Bennett’s first time flying. He had never been on a plane before and his crippling fear of heights had meant he had always been grounded. Yet he needed to face his fear head on his he was going to take control of his life. He took his window seat and nervously tried to buckle himself in. A flight attendant saw how nervous he was and helped strap him in. She then comforted him by explaining that the plane would shake, but that was just turbulence. The best thing to do was keep calm and try to rest. After half an hour in the air, Bennett decided to look outside the window. There he saw fluffy white clouds, a blue ocean and some sort of hairy demon clinging onto the wing.

‘Monster! Monster on the wing!’ he screamed.

The flight attendant looked through the window and saw the creature.

‘Oh that’s just Shimmy, don’t mind him,’ she said.

‘What?!’ asked Bennett.

‘Sorry did you not read the on flight pamphlet? We hire Shimmy to well… shimmy… across the wing during flight while he paints the planes. They get a new coat and the speed we go at dries out the plane.’

‘But he’s digging his claws into the wing?’

‘Yes, we are going quite fast. He needs to hang on.’

‘But… the holes… the damage…’

The flight attendant reached over and closed the blind.

‘Problem solved,’ she said.

She then moved out of sight into the cockpit. There she took out a rifle and loaded it.

‘God I hate these gremlins,’ she said getting into her harness.

She opened the door, leaned out of the plane and took aim at the fuzzy beast on the wing.

Outcasts- my first novel

So I wrote a novel a few years back and placed it on Amazon to download as an E-book. Please give it a read and help support my future projects (mainly the front cover for my next book.)