Dicing With Death (Story)

It was a cold and frosty night when Death knocked on my door. He stood eight feet tall, dressed in a ragged black cape that dragged across the floor. He silently lifted a bony finger and pointed. Decaying skin hung on a body of bones as he scraped along the cold floor of a long hallway. He took my hand and I felt bits of skin flaking off as we walked. He led me up a flight of steps and I found myself looking around a rotting sailing ship. Masts lay broken on a dusty deck. I heard wailing coming from below. A high pitched squeal caused me to turn. In a dark corner two rats were fighting over the remains of a flea-infested dog. Death looked at me through eyes that were black sockets in a blooded skull. He reached into his cape and brought out a set of poker dice.

"Play for life."

He spoke in an unemotional whisper. I knew what I had to do. Gambling had been my life's work, so what better way to end it than to dice with death. I raised an open hand.

"Best of five?" I asked trying to avoid his stare.

Death nodded an approval, shredding more skin from his almost skinless head. I was in no hurry so I took my time to throw the dice. I knew I was good. In my line of work you do not lose. My only worry was did Death know how I made my money.

I beat Death's first throw of two pair with a full house. The second and third throw Death easily beat my pair and short straight. I won the fourth with another full house. My fate would be decided on the last throw. By now I was shaking with fear. I still could not tell what Death was thinking. I was sweating as he handed me the dice for the last time. Death had just thrown four kings and a ace. If I was going to do something it had to be now. I slowly put my hand into my jacket pocket and brought out a handkerchief. As I mopped my brow I looked up at Death.

"The deal is I go free if I win?" I asked feeling a little easier. I had found the answer.

"Yes," he answered blankly, and if you lose we sail for the land of no return."

He pointed a loose finger at a misty horizon. For the first time I thought I saw an emotion appear on his face. A hint of a smile. I suddenly realised what Death was doing. He did not need to play this game. He just wanted to see how much I wanted to live and whether I was able to use my skills to save myself. My wife had left me and I had hit rock bottom, so this was just a test Death had taken me to his door and I did not want to enter.

As I threw the dice I knew I had won.

I was back in my penthouse suite sitting in a leather-bound armchair, a glass of malt whiskey in my hand. The remaining bottle stood on a small coffee table close by along with a quantity of sleeping pills. I picked up the bottle and went over to the drinks bar. As I was replacing the bottle something caught my eye by the door. I bent down and picked up a small piece of rag with mouldy skin attached to it.

It wasn't a dream after all. I thought. I sat back down in my chair. I reached inside my jacket and took out my dice. My special dice.

As I threw, each die each rolled to show an ace..

"Never fails." I laughed.

A Dead End Job (Story)

It was a clear moonlit night. In a deserted graveyard two friends, Syd and Clive sat on a headstone discussing their nights work. They often stopped here for a chat as their homes were nearby. Syd spoke first., his eyes blank as he stared through Clive.

"Well Clive, he said adjusting a rope around his neck, "how was your night?"

"Don't ask," replied Clive resting his head between his knees. "My heads been on and off all night, but do they notice? , no they don't."

"I know what you mean Clive, I've been haunting for two hundred years and lately some of my clients take more notice of the spirit in the bottle."

"I blame the younger ghosts myself, said Clive carefully combing a parting in his red hair before replacing his head on his shoulders. "They just don't seem to have the enthusiasm for being a phantom these days. They're killing the job for the older ones."

"Yes, I agree with you there, Take that young Charlie for instance, always throwing things about, a right poltergeist, no finesse at all.!'

"Well, let's be honest Syd, haunting is a dead end job now."

"You are not wrong there Clive, It's a dying art. Still. it's better than lying down all the time just wasting away. That would bore me stiff."

Syd took one of his eyes and polished it on one of his sleeve.

"Clive, do you remember the woman who haunted the Manor?"

"You mean Penelope, The Lady In White?"

"Yes, that's her, she was really good, the way she rattled her chains was enough to wake the dead. Do you know what happened to her?!

"I believe she was sent to the gym"

"You mean....?"

"Yes she was exorcised."

Clive adjusted his head and looked at Syd for a few seconds.

"Are you feeling okay Syd? You don't look as pale as you usually do."

"Yes, it's just that I've been walking round the graveyard tonight and these shackles are killing me."

"You should take it easy Syd you're not a young ghost anymore. Where are you tomorrow?"

"I'm down for the Pig And Pen to catch the drunks as they come out, although I think it's a waste of good haunting time. Some of the drunks only want to talk to you and if you start wailing they think you are as sloshed as they are and start singing Nellie Dean or football songs."

"I agree with you about the Alive not being afraid these days, Clive said, "I was at one house last week and this young woman - very beautiful I must say - made a pass at me."

"She never did?"

Yes, right after I'd done my walking through the wall act. She told me it would be a turn-on to be made love to by a headless ghost.

"You didn't did you?

"Of course not, I'm a married man. Besides if the missus found out she would kill me again."

"What did you do then?"

"Well, I replaced my head, spun it around a few times, did a crazy laugh then slowly disappeared through the floor leaving a trail of green vapour behind."

"I bet that put the willies up her."

"You bet, she didn't know if she was coming or going. I just hope she got the message that I'm not that kind of ghost."

"Who is?" Syd said sadly.

"To be honest Syd I was very tempted. What really stopped me was some-one coming up the stairs. I was in an Old Nick mood that night. I did go back the following night but she wasn't there."

"You certainly know how to pick them Clive."

"By the way, how did you get on with that apprentice the other night Syd?"

"Not very good, she was very nervous."

"What actually happened to her?"

"She was murdered by her husband. He chopped her into little bits then fed her to to his dogs."

"That sounds hard to digest Syd."

"Well it didn't go down too well, Clive. She was very angry with him. She only wanted to to haunt him, visit him a piece at a time, she told me."

"So naive, so naive. Clive said.

"I had to explain to her that we don't work that way and we don't always get to choose who we haunt. I told her that the Dream Spirits would take care of him and after a few restless nights he might even join her. Then she could give him hell."

"Do you think she'll pass?"

"I certainly hope so Clive, she was going to pieces at one time. I had to tell her to pull herself together."

"With you as her tutor she'll be ok.. remember how we were on our first night?"

"Yes, I was absolutely livid. What made it worse was that people actually thought I had hanged myself. I don't know how my wife explained the fact that my hands were tied behind my back."

Well she was the daughter of a judge wasn't she?"

'Yes, and he was also the local squire. Anyway I'll have to be floating, the sun is coming up soon. I'll see you again."

"Is my head straight Syd?" Clive asked as he sunk into the ground.

"Yes perfect Clive." Shouted Syd from over his shoulder.

"Good luck with the apprentice Syd."

"Thanks Clive."

As the two friends melded into the early mist a pair of shadowy figures rose from a nearby freshly dug grave. The first gave a sigh of relief.

"At last, " he said, "I thought they'd never go. Now what were you saying happened the other night?"

The young woman sat on the edge of the grave next to the baby-faced youth. She rested an elbow beside her whilst the rest of her arm floated up from the grave.

"Well I was in my bedroom lying on the bed starkers waiting for my hubby to come home. He must have entered the house without me hearing because when he came into the bedroom he said he had heard a man's voice. I told him there was no bloke with me. He never believed me. He reckoned he could smell the presence of another man."

"Had there been some-one with you?"

"Yes, but how could I explain it to him when he was in that mood?", Anyway, it was then he lost his temper.. Why did I have to marry a butcher?"

She moved closer to her companion and put a hand on his knee.

"Charlie?, does your head come off?"



-------------------------THE END-----------------------

The Inheritance (Story)

Jamie Foggarty watched in silence as the priest administered the Last Rites to his father. Outwardly Jamie displayed all the emotions of a grieving loving son. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with a silk handkerchief. But deep inside his heart he was smiling.
At last he could collect his inheritance. It was not his fathers accumulated wealth that Jamie wanted, but his huge collection of vintage wine, which included a case of unopened red from Lord Nelson's flagship, and some bottles that had survived the Titanic.
Jamie recalled his father's promise three Months earlier just before his first heart attack.
"Jamie, my son, I know you have had an eye on my wine for some time, so when I am gone the bottles will be left to you."
This is what he had been wanting to hear. He did not care about the house, that would go to Ruth, his sister who had looked after their father since their mother had died. No, the wine would solve all his problems. Jamie had built up a huge gambling debt and his taste for the good life attracted women with expensive tastes.
A few days after his news about his inheritance Jamie was called to the house. His father was recovering from a near fatal stroke. The doctor called Jamie to one side.
"I'm putting your father on a course of tablets to combat his heart condition, but I must warn you that he should cut out his alcohol."
"He likes the odd whiskey." Jamie replied.
"Well that must stop at once," the doctor said, "the next drink could be fatal."
The words stuck inside Jamies head as he spoke to his sister.
"Ruth, I think I'll move in to help with father."
"You don't have to. I can manage."
"No, Ruth I insist I want to take care of father too."
Even as he spoke he realized the words had a double meaning. while Ruthaccepted them as concern Jamie only saw them as the inevitable.
Over the next three months his father suffered 4 more strokes. Each time Ruth called the doctor or administered treatment in time. Each time he apologized to the doctor for not stopping his father from having a whiskey.
"He won't listen to me doctor, I am not always around to stop him."
"Maybe I had better have a word with him." Said the doctor.
"No, I'll tell him." Jamie lied.
After the fourth and final stroke the doctor said there was nothing more to be done.
As the doctor closed his father's eyes for the final time Ruth buried her face in Jamies shoulder. He led her out of the room into the lounge. Leaving her alone with her grief he went into the hallway to the phone.
"Clive, it's Jamie, it's all over. The wines mine now. Are we still agreed on the price? Ok good. I'll let you know when you can collect. Got to do some mourning first."
The day of the will reading came . Jamie and Ruth were told that it would be held outside in the grounds. When asked why the lawyer said it was the instructions in the will. As expected Ruth was left the house. The lawyer hesitated as he read further.
"This part is most peculiar." he said, "it says, 'my wine collection will be be split, half going to my son Jamie."
At this point the lawyer stopped and proceeded to open the bottles which had been stacked outside, He then began pouring the wine into a nearby drain.
Jamie stared open-mouthed for a moment then jumped up from his seat.
"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted.
"Sorry Mr Foggarty, Just following the instructions to the letter of the law. It says here 'If that greedy no good son of mine thinks I'm stupid enough to let him touch my wine then he's mistaken. I promised him that he could have the bottles and that's the half he'll jolly well get.'

Mother (A Sonnet )

--------------Mother--------------


When all alone, quiet, and lost in thought,
I see again the times when I was young.
I smile for attention I often sought,
Knowing if I was sad then you would come.
You would dry the teardrops that then would flow
Be my bedside nurse on a restless night.
A soothing word and I'd forget my woe,
Consoled that you were not far from my sight.
Your wrath confused me when I misbehaved,
Never believing I was ever wrong.
But now I see love through your stormy rage,
With your wise words I have grown Oh so strong.
So when I think of you, Mother and friend,
All regrets are over, all sorrows end.

The Fly On The Wall (story)

The fly watched in anticipation as arch-detective Lionel Broadsword gathered the four suspects into the drawing room.

It may seem odd that a fly could have the perception to take in the proceedings, but this was no ordinary fly. It was in fact a reincarnation of Sir Godfrey Mayfield, recently deceased with four suspects seated in the drawing room at the request of the aforementioned Broadsword.

Broadsword stood with two fingers in a double-breasted waistcoat. Leaning against a stone fireplace he turned to a smartly dressed women in her thirties.

The fly settled on a vase to watch.

"Now Lady Mayfield I believe your marriage with Sir Godfrey was not all that it appeared, in fact you would have left if it it hadn't meant that you would be disinherited." He paused as he stroked a long thin moustache. "I also know that you had taken on a lover, a Mr Bert Higginbottom and it seems you were being pressured to leave Sir Godfrey."

The fly took off and landed on the light.

" You bitch you two-timing bitch," he raged. "How long has this been going on Maud?"

No-one heard.

"Now sir," Broadsword said directing to a casually dressed young man, "Richard Marcus, well respected family man, Sir Godfrey's favourite nephew and a compulsive gambler."

Richard Marcus opened his mouth to speak but the detective put his hand up to silence him and continued.

"Your uncle lent you thousands of pounds only to see it fluttered away at the race-track. The last straw was when a horse that you said would walk it , did. Your uncle threatened to cut you out of his will unless you sought help.

"You were always an ungrateful sod Richard." screamed the fly.

No-one heard.

Detective Broadsword took a long pipe from his top pocket.

Taking a tin from inside his coat he carefully pressed a quantity of tobacco into the bowl.

"Jack Barclay." he said as he lit the pipe with a silver lighter. Jack Barclay a be speckled man in his late fifties looked up as Broadsword spoke.

"Here we have the good old family lawyer, business partner and most importantly an embezzler."

Broadsword puffed on his pipe blowing rings of smoke into the atmosphere.

The fly coughed. No-one heard.

"Sir Godfrey knew there were some discrepancies in the business and was about to launch an investigation. Even though you were not named in the will the business would pass to you in the event of Sir Godfrey's death. That is of course if your thieving was not found out."

"I never trusted you, you cad." shouted the fly landing on a curtain.

No-one heard.

The last person to face Lionel Broadsword's remarks was a good looking woman in her twenties.

"Mary Ryan, adviser to Sir Godfrey on antiques and part-time lover. In the past you sold several items to him which were not genuine. The last of these being a pair of pistols, one being a fake, it was in fact one of these pistols that was used to commit this dastardly deed."

"I did know that, I was there." The fly bellowed as he landed on in a sugar bowl.

No-one heard.

Broadsword picked up a pile of papers that were on a coffee table.

"I have here," he spoke in a stern voice, his eyes piercing into the four suspects, "I have here evidence that will put one of you away for a very long time.

"Come on, stop wasting time." Shouted the fly..

No-one heard.

The detective rolled the papers into a tube. He addressed each of the suspects in turn, pointing and then hitting an open hand as he did.

"I don't know if it was fate or conspiracy that brought one or more of you together on that fateful night, but you all had motive and opportunity, Lady Mayfield adulterous," slap, "Richard Marcus compulsive gambler, " slap, "Jack Barclay embezzler," slap, "and finally Mary Ryan fraudster," slap. I have now proof that the killer is," he raised his arm to point.

"Yes, yes" The fly screamed as he settled on a wall..

No-one heard.

"The killer is........BLAST that dammed fly."

SPLATT!!!!

The End