Deborah Mercer

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2019

Stories (321)

321 Stories

9615 karma pts

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“Expected Visitors” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #49

The Men in Black will be coming soon. I’m quite resigned to it. It will even be a relief. I wonder if they’ll be dressed very formally, like the ones in the films and TV shows. Though I’ve never been one for formality, I rather hope that they will be. Nothing wrong with a bit of drama and a sense of occasion.      I saw it coming from the minute I witnessed the strange lights in the sky, floating and hovering, with a colour like none I’ve ever seen before. Oh, I’d heard about such things...

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“Making Horace Happy” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #48

I know it’s a very uncharitable thing to say when I work in a charity shop, but there are certain customers …. well, it’s perhaps as well they can’t read minds and don’t metamorphose into flies in the wall! Mr Rathbone – Horace, as he all but implored us to call him – wasn’t quite one of them. Not really. He didn’t make a mess of our newly-folded piles of bedspreads and pillow-cases and tablecloths without buying them, and didn’t come out with sentences beginning “I’m not racist but,” and never tried to persuade us t...

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“The Fourth Child” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #48

It isn’t always easy being the youngest of four children, especially when they’re quads. And at the festivities for naming and bestowal, I think our fairy godmother Donnabella (who is neither a fairy not our godmother) ran out of steam somewhat. This is how it went:     She took my oldest sister in her arms, held her heavenwards, and proclaimed, “Great spirit, look with mercy and generosity on this thy daughter Rosanna and grant her the power of reading thoughts.” Those who were present swore that rosy...

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“Mr Block Takes His Chance” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #48

Nobody has ever come out and asked me, sarcastically, if I’m proud of myself. But I know they’re thinking it, and not because I can read minds. I can’t. I believe there are those who can and don’t know if I envy or pity them.      But it stands to reason. And the answer is no, I’m not proud of myself. But I prefer to have enough to eat and prefer not to risk being imprisoned or worse. I was about to say that I’m just as much a victim as anyone else, but no, I’m not sorry I took those pil...

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“The Guy Who Couldn't Say No” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #48

“Ask Tim,” or “Ask Mr Sands,” people would say, depending on how well they knew Timothy Sands. But even those who didn’t know him personally at all (though in a small town most peoples’ paths did cross) knew about his reputation. Tim was the man to go to if you wanted something doing. Whether it was organising the annual carnival, or booking the British Legion’s trip to the war graves, or making sure that the children’s centre had a decent Christmas party, Tim would see to it. He was one of the regular drivers on the...

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“A Grey Day in the Turquoise House” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #47

You are not unaware of the irony of it. For years you had been cynical about weather forecasting, and then, a couple of years ago, you wished you had believed them when you were caught on a snowbound road during that weather event they called the Beast from the East, and that had been forecast in advance with warnings duly issued. After that, you became rather less cynical, and took them at their word when they said this weekend (and possibly the week after) would be warm and pleasant with just the hint of a breeze.  &nbs...

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“The Day between Winter and Spring” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #47

Author’s Note    I realised on a re-read that the second person authorial perspective had shifted. I thought about editing this out but then wondered if the characters and story were telling me this was the right way to tell it. Please let me know if you think this works or is just confusing – it’s fine to be honest about it!!! Just say it, or you’ll regret it. Just say it. Take a deep breath or gasp it on a shallow one. God knows you’ve rehearsed it enough. But talking to yourself, or to...

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“Is There Anybody There?” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #47

You’ll be the last to arrive. Of course you will. On principle. You might sometimes put on this act of being scatty and forgetful, or even come up with some story (which may be true once in a hundred times) about some unexpected delay. But when you do self-effacing it’s less than convincing. The truth is, it’s a mixture between a self cultivated “endearing quirk” and the certainty that your company, your conversation, and your very self are so fascinating that nobody will mind waiting.     &n...

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“A Tale of Two Sisters” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #47

Not long before you get on that train and I wave you off, now, Christa. Off on your way to that Outward Bound course you’ve looked forward to for months. You can’t see what all the fuss is about, and oh, how I wish I couldn’t. You were very kind. As if, somehow, you had turned into the older sister, you patted my hand and assured me it would be fine.        I’m sure it will. But to this day, and for the rest of my life, I suppose, “fine” is relative.      So...

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“Counterfeit” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #47

As you check your mail, you notice a letter that makes you stop in your tracks. Somehow I just know that even though it’s on a screen, you’ll still refer to it as a letter. That’s part of your “old-fashioned charm” I suppose. Still, even I did a double take when a radio channel referred to an “old-fashioned email”!       I hope you do notice the letter, but I’m pretty sure you will. It’s safely crafted, even the subject heading, Old-fashioned Girl Seeks Gentleman. That will appeal t...

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“Scribes and Scribblers” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #46

Leonie Prior was well aware that she didn’t quite fit into the Sunnythorpe Scribes and Scribblers. Oh, she was tolerated. She was humoured, and everyone agreed that she definitely brought the best biscuits, well, apart from Alison Montgomery’s home-made ones, of course. Even if they did wish Alison would occasionally vary the recipe.       There were no set rules and regulations about what the Scribes and Scribblers were supposed to write and present to their fellow-members as they met i...

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“Waverley Writers” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #46

One of my kinder Twitter followers (yes, I have Twitter followers, and some of them are kind) has told me that you know you’re really arrived as a writer when you’re invited to teach at a Creative Writing Course.      In principle, I don’t disagree, and not just because it massages my ego. But I could still wish that it was at a retreat on the Yorkshire Dales founded by a Poet Laureate or on a cruise ship (IN MY DREAMS!) or at least somewhere worthy like a women’s refuge or a prison. Though on reflection, t...

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“Ironic, or What?” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #46

I’ve just been massively complimented and hugely insulted. Ironic or what?      I didn’t send in Passive Voice with any great hopes. I don’t do optimistic. On principle. But there was still part of me that couldn’t help thinking it was pretty good for a first novel. Not that it was my first novel, of course. Not really. I was convinced I had penned a masterpiece (or several) before I left junior school. While others were just starting to read chapter books, I was writing them.&...

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“Twenty Years” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #46

I have a whole day with absolutely nothing to do, thought Marilyn. Of course there were things to do, the washing-up, a bit of grocery shopping, but they hardly counted.      She wasn’t used to having nothing to do. Even for the last couple of weeks there had been preparing for the funeral and giving Oliver’s clothes, well, most of them, to the local homeless shelter. Now she wasn’t sure if she wished she had kept more back or given every last one. What would he have wanted? For the last...

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“Prefab 5” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #45

“We are not there to sit on judgement,” Judith’s boss, Lydia, at the Ashbourne Advocacy Hub (nobody was quite sure if the acronym was serendipitous or vaguely ridiculous) reminded her. “Nor to pick and choose whom we think worthy of our help and support!” Judith would have admitted she was a bit of a grammar pedant herself, but she had never known anyone to – well, whom, the correct usage of whom came so naturally.     She liked Lydia and respected her, though at times the respect tended to eclips...

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Author bio

Hi, I'm Deborah, generally known as Debbie. I'm growing middle-aged disgracefully in a small town on the East coast of England where I work for a local charity. My passions in life are writing, reading, cats, chess, crosswords, cheese, and shouting at the radio!

Shortlisted 3 stories ⭐️

Contest #26
Five Years Afterwards – read story
Contest #16
The Big Surprise – read story
Contest #12
The Tangled Town – read story