I often think.

Behind you something stands. Whilst you are reading these words you are not paying attention to what is going on around you. Someone or something could be and probably is standing behind you or in front of you and you wouldn’t notice. Your gaze is on this page, your attention is on this page, reading these words. In some corner somewhere near you a threat to your safety is lurking. While you are focussed on this page plans are being made to harm you in some way. Those plans may take fruition when your regard is on these words that are holding your attention. These words are holding you rapt and vulnerable to harm. At night the risks are greater to you, for there are now darkened places, shadows, for them to hide waiting to strike. In a place well known to you a spirit lurks that means you harm. They will be sharp of tooth and claw and waiting for your attention to wane from thinking that they are there.  They are there, do not doubt that for one moment. No one knows what they loo...

A taxi, an old enemy and Valentine’s Day The Day After You I hailed a taxi from the waiting line of black cabs parked outside Marylebone Station. A taxi pulled forward and I got in and slumped into the seat, pulled on my safety belt and looked at the back of the cabbies head as anyone does. “Might be an idea if you told me where we are going.” the cabbie barked into the passenger intercom. It seems I had picked the usual cuddly, friendly London cabbie. “Oh sorry mate, I need The Sherlock Holmes in Baker Street.” “Ain’t be anywhere else is it mate?” he barked back. I heard him laugh as he said it. There was something familiar with the back of this bloke’s head. That scar in his scalp was vee-shaped, it looked really familiar. His voice sounded a bit familiar too. Somewhere, sometime, some place I’d heard that voice. The cab pulled into the line of traffic crawling along the Marylebone Road.  As usual it was bumper to bumper and not moving. We crawled along at a few miles an ...

As the man came in from work he looked on the hall table as he did every night, ostensibly for any letters that had been delivered that day. There were none that day. There was, however, a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. The label on it was addressed to him, ‘With Love’ it read. It looked like his wife had bought him a book, which was unusual for her to even go into a book shop let alone buy him a book. He picked it up and felt its weight it was quite a weighty tome. He unwrapped the book and looked at the title: A Goode Wyfe: The Sojourn Of The Soul. He noted the archaic spelling of the title, she had chosen well. It looked very interesting and was certainly very old, the leather binding and the gold lettering on the spine and cover gave that away. It was well thumbed too and the pages fell open on their own.  He looked at the imprint,  last imprint 1818, first imprint 1313. It had been well used over the hundred or so years since it was reprinted. She knew what he liked...

Standing on the side-walk on a south-side street looking at what at first glance is an abandoned house, the shabby bungalow house stands alone. A Walnut tree is planted roadside. High above the roofline of the house the tree is in full blossom and the scent of it fills the air with a cloying spicy-sweetness.  On a lower branch of the tree a rope swing shuffles from side to side as heat from the scorching sun rises from the black scar of bare earth made by the dragged feet of children. An old worn, threadbare, tyre is the swing seat, it is so old it is spilling out its reinforcing wires. The rope has cut deeply into the bark of this old girl, she will have seen many winters and summers looking over this house.  In its heyday this area was known as ‘the shimmering south side’. There is notice gaffer taped on the door: It is a notice of demolition from the City Authority.  The only inhabitant in this housing wilderness is Roland Alphonse Junior lives here or exists here. I...