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Howard Halsall

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2020

Stories (134)
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134 Stories

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The Timekeeper

  “Is this your husband, Sylvia?” asked Doc Morrissey, adjusting his spectacles.   “Yes, that’s Austin,” she said, turning her head into Doc’s shoulder and away from the harsh smell of bleach. Doc put his arm around her shoulder, unperturbed, as she clung onto his jacket. Not given to easy sentiment, his gesture was precautionary as much as consoling. Sylvia’s white knuckles matched her pallor in the radiant glow of the morgue’s fluorescent lighting.   “It’s time to go,” he whispered.   ...

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Auld Hornie’s Wirk

Shortlisted for Contest #233 ⭐️

Glasgae’s dry January always ends on th’ twenty-fifth night o’ th’ month. That’s fair enough, fur na parched Glaswegian kin sustain such perverse cruelty beyond that hallowed date. Th’ end o’ that thirsty month can’t come quick enough, fur then we raise a cup o’ cheer tae Rabbie Burns. Th’ Bard’s rousing words on that night ne’er fail to restore oor tortured souls anew, banishing th’ self-inflicted drought fur annur year.* * *However, Burns Night is an age from Hogmanay’s tolling midnight bells and the thunderous arrival o’ th’ New Year. The...

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The Northern Lights

Submitted to Contest #232

Cecilia sits at a desk most days, surrounded by a forest of reference books. We ran out of shelf space for her library some time ago, but instead of extending her domain, allowed the books to become the room. Low piles of them function as tables, vertiginous stacks decorate the walls and a couple of her horticultural catalogues double-up as door stops and window props, but only in the summer. During the endless winter months, when it’s minus twenty outside, we lock all our windows, turn up the heating and convert our home into an arboreal re...

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Mad Caps, Nuts & Crackers

Waiting outside a psychiatric unit at half seven in the evening isn’t an ideal way to end Christmas day, but it’s worse for my three teenagers. They’ve waded through floodplains of grief since our family fell apart ten months ago and their washed-out faces are beyond more tears. It’s stressful living with a mother who’s either roaring toward the stratosphere or drowning in oceans of despair. *  *  *Our marital relationship was like living in New York City; it was full-on twenty-four hours a day. That sounds like fun ...

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A Moment on the Lips

Submitted to Contest #228

   “Is there such a thing as too much tiramisu?”   “We’ve still not found the one that beats your grandma’s recipe.”   “I can’t face another spoonful.” I sigh in defeat. “That’s me.”   “Ha!” Jenny laughs, poking my stomach. “Lightweight!”   “You’re joking, love,” I say. “The diet starts tomorrow.”  * * *Jenny and I had agreed to sample as many varieties of tiramisu as possible during our anniversary weekend. It’d started off as a joke, but once we’d embarked...

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O Unholy Night

Submitted to Contest #227

Iceland’s winter festivities are a perfect excuse to feast and make merry, and I partake with an insatiable appetite. I adore the endless nights wandering abroad and relish chance encounters with hapless stragglers trudging home. They all laugh when I tell them, “Carol singing’s not to my taste,” and chuckle when I say, “Choristers are delightful and sweet.” But how their mirth dissolves as I envelop them in my cloak and whisper. “What a toothsome treat you are. You’re good enough to eat.”* * *I despise summer like all cold-blooded creatures...

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No Man's Land

Submitted to Contest #225

Nurse Hamden wheeled me down the wood-panelled hallway in a creaking wicker bath chair while I clutched my walking cane and a shoebox of personal effects. At the end of the passageway, she opened a door to reveal a room full of furniture shrouded in dust sheets and tea chests stacked three high. Straight ahead, a frail evening light peeked through French windows and cast the autumnal trees beyond into stark silhouette.   “Well,” she said, standing before me. “What do we think, sir?”   “Hmm,” I said, snorting beh...

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Two Eggs for Breakfast

Submitted to Contest #223

It was nine-fifteen and later than usual when Mrs Prettejohn shuffled into Donald Musgrove’s dining room clutching a tray with his boiled egg and soldiers, and a small pot of Earl Grey.    “Your all-day breakfast, Professor.”   “Very droll, Mrs P,” he said, wafting his hand at the cluttered table as he read his mail. “Over there’s fine.”    The housekeeper hovered in abeyance to watch her dishevelled employer decapitate his egg and offer her culinary criticism.    Cru...

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Driving Ambition

It was a big surprise for everybody when I passed my driving test on the first attempt.I recall arriving at the test centre five minutes late and charging into the crowded office full of excuses. The patient receptionist shook her head and pointed to a gentleman waiting outside in a beige mackintosh and thick black glasses. “You’d better hurry,” she said, winking at me. “Mr Bantam’s keen to go home on a Friday.”I scrawled my signature on a couple of forms and dashed outside.   “Mr Bantam?” I offered my apology and mumbled nons...

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Vanishing Point

Submitted to Contest #221

Time stopped for me one Saturday night a year ago, at eleven-thirty-five p.m. I’d no sense of danger as I meandered home in the dark and if there was an omen present in the stars, then I missed all the signs. That’s not surprising because I’m not superstitious and my attention was elsewhere as I approached the crossroads.Sylvie and I had argued earlier about my impromptu night out, and she’d sent endless messages to my phone expressing her annoyance. It was nothing to get upset about and I ought to have apologised rather than exchanged ...

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The Golden Hours

Submitted to Contest #220

“Are you hungry?” A man’s hoarse voice interrupts my slumber. I prise open my eyes a fraction of an inch and shiver as I peek over my dew-covered bedding. A woman’s face peers down at me, checking for signs of life. Her dark brown eyes glint below a severe fringe and a starched white mob cap. Behind her, twin jet trails have traced a diagonal in the sky like tiny white water-ski tracks in an enormous lake. “Is he hungry, love?” The man enquires, engrossed in the background. She shrugs.  “Are you hungry, sir?” A questioning squint crinkl...

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The Lock Tickler

Submitted to Contest #218

The prestigious Bearing and Whitworth Building was silent except for the incessant chatter of the starlings roosting behind its tenth-floor fascia. The law firm’s employees had fled their Wormwood Street offices for the weekend, leaving the commercial district empty but for the occasional bellow from distant river traffic and the dissonant howl of a patrol car’s siren. However by mid-evening the scuttle of feral paws and the yelp of an urban fox added to the stark ensemble as members of the local wild life appeared from their dark ...

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The Menagerie

Submitted to Contest #216

Don Benway and his father were regulars at the hospital’s oncology department and on familiar terms with Gerry, the head porter. ‘Morning, handsome,’ Gerry would say as he approached. ‘How are we today?’‘A darn sight better than you,’ Walter would say, muttering behind his bandages.Walter had undergone regular surgery for over three years and during that time they’d snipped, sliced and cut away so many facial lesions he was almost unrecognisable.‘Your usual seat, sir?’ Gerry would ask, smiling as he pushed Walter’s wheelchair.‘Do I have...

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Clarence and Violet

Submitted to Contest #215

‘Clarence isn’t a well man,’ Violet said, handing me a square head shovel. ‘He can’t face the autumnal leaves this year and our rose beds are a sorrowful state.’‘I’m no Capability Brown,’ I said, resting my wheelbarrow. ‘However, I’ll do whatever I can, providing Cassie has her piano lessons.’ ‘I’m sure we’ll all benefit from the arrangement,’ Violet said, arching an eyebrow. ‘Clarence has his little ways, but your daughter will flourish if she’s disciplined.’#I first met the old couple next door after Cassie announced she wanted to lea...

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The Trouble with Terry

Submitted to Contest #213

I hadn’t seen Terry for over a year when we spoke last week, and he’d suggested a night out at his darts club. Yeah, sure, I’d said. I can drive unless your car’s back on the road. Cheers, I’d appreciate it, he’d said. My motor's out for the count and my trotters are playing up. No problem, I’d said, confirming the arrangement. How does Tuesday sound? Fine by me, he said. See you at eight.#It was a shock to see Terry dragging his feet down the footpath and struggling to maintain his balance with a walking frame. With his silver hair and...

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