Howard Halsall

“Entertaining Arthur” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #276

Yesterday’s Christmas family gathering felt like a year ago as I waited for Arthur in a soggy meadow, wrapped in my new woolly hat and scarf. My father once described Arthur as an eighty-year-old jazz fan whose eventful life read like a boys-own adventure book of twentieth century history. He had a lifetime’s worth of exploits and wasn’t shy about recounting untold anecdotes. I admit Arthur was amusing, it’s just that I questioned everything when I was thirteen-years-old. I thought his stories were far-fetched and made the mistake of sa...

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“The Thunder Beast” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #274

The afternoon had been bright and cloudless as we trudged on horseback across the featureless moorland, hauling rough-hewn pine logs in our wake. However, by the time we arrived at the raised earthworks, the sun had dipped below the rock-strewn embankment and a diaphanous mist appeared as if offering moral support. After settling our horses, a pitiless breeze caught the prairie’s desiccated buffalo grass and it trembled in the darkness. I rubbed my hands together to revitalise numb fingers and edged closer to our flickering campfire. Th...

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“The Unravelling” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #273

I wasn’t surprised when they told me Danny had vanished from sight at the retreat. It felt inevitable ever since he embraced meditation to escape his everyday existence. Sure, life can be tough, but I felt forsaken, jettisoned like cargo from a sinking vessel. Christie had spotted the signs and suggested we kept diaries during my pregnancy. Trust me, darling, she’d said, knitting her brow. Journaling will keep you both sane. As a mother of four, Christie said it had saved her marriage time and time again. * * *I discovered Danny’s diary...

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“The Guinea Pigs” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #271

Doctor Travers ticked all the boxes on my consent form and peering over his glasses assured me an arm transplant was standard practice. I perform ten a day, he said, handing me the paperwork. They’re a piece of cake. Really? For sure, he said, indicating where to sign. It’s just brain surgery that gives me a headache. Stella the anaesthetist rolled her eyes, sighed and asked if I’d any allergies. None, I replied, scanning the small print. That’s just perfect, she said, clearing her throat. Would you prefer gas and air, or the full works? Wha...

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“A Winter’s Tale” by Howard Halsall

Suzie and Mark weren’t the first middle-aged couple to escape a gruelling lifestyle in London and seek tranquillity in rural France. They’d always dreamt of transforming a derelict property into a perfect home and achieved their ambitious goal in six years. Now, with time to relax in a little piece of heaven, their deepest concerns resurfaced to hold them hostage.* * *Suzie’s spine stiffened the moment we heard the purposeful, Rat-a-Tat-Tat! on the kitchen door.    “It’s the Woodentops,” she said, through clench...

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“Vital Signs” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #260

Leicester was the first city in Britain to go into lockdown due to its high infection rate, and the social restrictions remained for eleven months. However, despite the growing number of bodies waiting to be interred, the authorities relaxed the strict rules at Christmastime to allow family gatherings. After three days of merrymaking, the city’s population returned to a state of suspended animation and awaited a miracle.* * *There was a nip in the air and a dusting of hoarfrost on the asphalt outside the Newbury and Cookson Funeral Home. Yes...

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“Starr Hills” by Howard Halsall

I’m exhausted, struggling across this carpet like a geriatric tortoise. It was Alice who chose it, of course. She always had an eye for quality fabric. It’s pure wool and was a bargain at the time with a lifetime’s guarantee. It’s outlasted her lifetime that’s for sure, and it’ll still be in good nick after I pop my clogs. I shouldn’t joke about that at my age, especially after today’s debacle.* * *It's such a daft thing to have done. I should have left well alone. Daphne says to me every time she comes, ‘You’re not to dust, Arthur. That's w...

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“His Big Break” by Howard Halsall

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #257

I couldn’t bear waiting at home all week, but I didn’t want to miss the call. They told me they were interested so the phone might ring at any time. Maybe they weren’t concerned about my availability or they were playing hard to get? I’ve had important roles before, of course. No sign of a romantic lead, but that could happen. Whatever part I’m playing, even if it’s a walk-on, I own it and make my mark. I’m a serious person and can’t help getting involved. But it’s funny, you know, because I never get the serious roles. Everyone remembe...

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“Always Next Season” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #256

The first televised FA Cup Final occurred in 1938 and it was a lacklustre affair. After 29 minutes of extra-time with no goals, BBC commentator Thomas Woodrooffe said, “if there’s a goal now, I’ll eat my hat.” Thousands were already on their way towards the exits, when Preston’s inside-right was brought down and the referee pointed towards the penalty spot. Wembley stadium was silent when George Mutch set the ball in place with aplomb and retreated a few steps. He raised his head, picked his mark and darting forward, hoofed the ball, which t...

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“Expendable Losses” by Howard Halsall

Nurse Talbot swiped her ID card through the access reader, opening the doors to the surgical centre. She greeted Ward Fifteen’s weary night staff, finishing their shift and trundled her meds trolley down the taupe-painted corridor to Thomas Travers’ recovery room. Biting her lip, she raised a clenched fist and rapped a jaunty rata-tat-tat with her knuckles.    “Come!” Tom grunted in response. “Don’t be shy, nurse.”   “How are we today, Tom?” she said, unlocking the trolley’s metal door as he fumbled for his...

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“To Have and To Hold” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #254

Madam Pearl De Vere wanted me to look eye-catching on the night of the ball and provided a new gown for the occasion. Its hand-embroidered satin and plunging neckline flattered my slim waist and hips, without drawing excessive attention to my cleavage. I had no reason to advertise my wares.   “Tighter, Eliza!” I said, as she strained behind me. “Pull with all your might!”   “That’s as tight as tight can be, Miss Teresa.” By the time Eliza had secured all the laces and buttons, and powdered my tresses, it wa...

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“Rest for the Wicked ” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #253

It’s taken me fifty years to appreciate being alone, but it doesn’t do to mention it in public. I was always a social drinker and never enjoyed imbibing by myself. The doctor suggested, Naltrexone, but said, ‘The best remedy is to stop drinking. Period’. ‘That’s not easy, Doc’. ‘Enjoy some quality time,’ he said. ‘Go on holiday or get a hobby.’    Alas, my hobby was the problem. They prescribed Naltrexone at the clinic, but after I got the all-clear, I ditched the last tablets. The side effects were fairly unpredicta...

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“Nightingale Court” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #252

Mrs Cockroach, my neighbour from 507 Nightingale Court, had a distinctive door-knock. It was like the first four notes of Beethoven’s fifth; three quick taps and one solid rap.    I’m coming! I said, closing my laptop. Hold on, Cally! Her dishevelled straw mop and skimpy summer dress made her look like a knock-kneed scarecrow after an autumnal storm.    What’s up, neighbour? I asked.    There’s a taxi on its way, she said, scratching her blotchy elbow. I need help to move out o...

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“Talking Books” by Howard Halsall

Sidney Proctor had a lifelong affinity with books; a connection that entertained, amused, and even scared him at times. They were like old friends whom he consulted most days for words of wisdom and worldly advice. However, two weeks ago, while Sidney was reading chapter three of ‘1984’, the narrator’s gravelly voice diverged from the text to forecast a winner at the Epsom Derby. In furtive tones, it said to put money on Winston Smith riding Comrade Ogilvy at 30 to 1. Now, I’m no gambler, but with those long odds, who’d resist a fl...

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“Paradise Lost” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #248

The familiar green outside the Pathfinder gives way and we’re in the fire zone, struggling to get our bearings in an alien landscape. I catch my breath and slow down to a crawl, staring wide-eyed at the devastation. Blackened tree trunks stand rigid, stripped of their outer appendages. They’re like limbless sentries in a macabre guard of honour along the side of the road. Landmarks and road signs have disappeared, and the ones that remain are off-kilter and charred; their paint has bubbled and flaked. A fine white ash has collected in drifts...

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