Deborah Mercer

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2019

Stories (321)

321 Stories

9615 karma pts

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“The Breath Royal” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #88

Princess Philidora knew how privileged she was, and had always thought she knew where her duty lay.She was generally acknowledged as being kind-hearted and not a Princess Pushy, unlike her cousin, Princess Sarabanda, who tended to forget she was a minor royal, but she had a sharp tongue when she chose, and could outdo anyone in the Kingdom when it came to well-aimed sarcasm and the precisely targeted putdown. Anyway, she was a doctor of physics and literature and astronomy, and had already had several books published, which she had originall...

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“The Storyteller” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #88

Do you want to hear one of my stories? I have a knack for knowing when people do, you know, and it rarely lets me down. But you’re looking a bit dubious, as if you think you probably would, but you’re not quite sure. Well, I think I know what’s bothering you. You’re not in the mood for something whimsical and fantastical, about beings you don’t know if you believe in and don’t know if you want to believe in, nor for my legends and myths and all that business. You want me to tell you a story that’s set in the real world. Very well, then!I wan...

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“In Defence of Happy Endings” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #88

Up until recently, Lesley Brownlow had been content to merely collect her salary, which wasn’t marvellous, but was enough, and to not over-think things. But it was a chance remark from one of her fellow students –or former fellow students, for it was now, disconcertingly, five years ago – on the Creative Writing MA that made her start to have these awkward moments of self-questioning and introspection. She was sure, or as sure as she could be, that Kelly had meant no harm. Kelly was one of those people who were generally credited with meanin...

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“It Takes One To Know One” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #88

The trouble with Davey was that we couldn’t help liking him. We dreaded him coming in to use our public access laptops, and we braced ourselves against his screeches, demanding or plaintive, across the room, when he wanted – or more to the point demanded – our attention. Which often, in practise meant MY attention, and he had a way of doing it that, though I tried not to let it show, grated on me like the proverbial fingers on a glass window pane. My name is Polly, and he had a habit of preceding it with a shriek of EEEHHH, that was more sui...

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“Journey's End” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #87

It had seen like a good idea at the time. Well, either a good idea or a last desperate roll of the dice when the Eastern Eagles Line was on the point of losing its franchise to operate trains and be gobbled up by one of its larger rivals, though that was a phrase that implied it had any smaller rivals, which it didn’t. Of course, as the Creative Coordinator (who, credit where it’s due, thought the job title was pretentious herself!) Abigail Michaels, whom everyone called Abbey, yes, spelt like the monastery, pointed out, they would have to b...

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“The Newcomer” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #87

Whether people approved or disapproved of Luke Welsh, and there were strong opinions both ways, as well as those who affected to be unconcerned, there was a general consensus, spoken or unspoken, that he wasn’t the kind of person who generally came to live on Monterrey Terrace. There were various theories as to why it was called Monterrey Terrace, none of them especially plausible. Some unkindly or self-mockingly said that Mortuary Terrace might be nearer the truth. But let’s not give the wrong impression. There was nothing sordid or scary a...

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“Legging Up Time” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #87

Rhoda had got it into her head that she was going to give a new slant to the whole Secret Santa business. Well, in a manner of speaking! To start with, she most determinedly suppressed any thoughts of Santa. Rhoda was no Scrooge, and was fond of Christmas, but she wasn’t even fond of Christmas in October, when the shops decided it was time to start playing I wish it could be Christmas every day and the expurgated version of Fairy Tale of New York. And as for Christmas in April, well, the mere thought made her shudder. And Secret Santas gave ...

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“The Amphibian Analysis” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #86

Michele Merchant had once read a fascinating article about Imposter Syndrome, but it didn’t take long for her to realise that reading about it was one thing, experiencing it was another. Memo to self, she thought, accepting invitations just because they flatter you, at least without any further thought, is to be avoided. But it was too late to avoid this one. She had already been scheduled, and had already had a chat with the organisers. She was going to be one of the participants in Poets in the Park, whether she wanted to or not. Oh, it wa...

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“Flowers for Freddy” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #86

When Freddy Hayward was killed, everyone was deeply shocked. After all, the snatching of a young and healthy life is just something that shouldn’t happen in the order of things. But mingled in with this was a sensation that somehow, people had known he would die young. Freddy was what people sometimes called a loveable rogue, which is one of those phrases that means everything and nothing. His surname was too much of a gift and he had obtained, in some quarters, the nickname of Wayward Hayward, but it was said, at least most of the time, wit...

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“The White Hours” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #86

I had the dream again last night. I say last night, but it was really this morning. The time that is neither night nor morning, the time the French call Les Heures Blanches, the white hours, and although they are more often grey, even though dawn comes early at the moment, I can see why they are called that.The thing is, I no longer know, and wonder if I ever did, if it is a dream of something that was once real, or just a dream of a dream of a dream. I know some maintain no dream comes from nowhere, but that is one of those phrases that can...

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“Bella and the Beasts” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #86

There was once a young woman called Bella, who appeared to all intents and purposes to be a very ordinary and normal young woman, which of course does not mean that she was a boring or uninteresting one. She was the kind of woman described by her workmates as “very pleasant” and had a couple of acceptable quirks, like collecting anything to do with rabbits, though she had not had a pet rabbit since she was a little girl, and like having a taste for unusual earrings, though she was generally quite a sober dresser. She was extremely taken with...

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“Return to Limecaster” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #85

You can never go back. That’s one of the most common clichés THEY, that amorphous, admonishing THEY like to trot out. Or its slightly more wordy variant, You shouldn’t try to go back, which tells you that not only is it impossible (that word try!) it is also morally, or at least psychologically questionable (that word should!). Well, I don’t care. I don’t care in the slightest, and when I was told that the publishing firm I was working for wanted someone to be relocated to their new office in Limecaster, I almost literally jumped at the chan...

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“Readers' Rest” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #85

ROWENA I wish I could remember exactly where I had heard the phrase, but I know I definitely did, and it wasn’t my imagination, I do know it was either an overheard conversation, or something on the radio or TV, not something I was talking about to a friend. One of those phrases that is funny but in certain circumstances, can make you uneasy. Everyone thinks they want to own a bookshop, until they own a bookshop. Okay, technically I don’t own the Readers’ Rest. I rent it. But I have still invested a lot of my time and energy and – no point t...

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“Town Girl and Country Girl” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #85

Even though she would never have thought of referring to herself as a “girl” in other contexts, because she thought it was a bit silly when she was theoretically old enough to be a grandmother, though she doubted that would never happen, given that you had to be a mother first, Marsha Pendleton still happily and proudly referred to herself as a country girl. Often adding riders like a country girl at heart, or a country girl born and bred. Those who were more pedantic (a trait Marsha herself was prone to) could have pointed out that the born...

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“A Year in the Life of a Lounge” by Deborah Mercer

Submitted to Contest #84

JANUARY ELVIRA It will be a shame to take down the Christmas decorations that the girls went to such trouble with, and perhaps I might let Stella have her wish of keeping a few fairy lights around the window. It can do no harm. And I will admit, for all people say he is far too young to be able to focus properly, I swear Harvey is looking at the lights and liking them, with his big, solemn brown eyes. If anyone had told me this time last year that there would be an addition to our family, a December baby, then I would not have taken it remot...

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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