Howard Halsall

“Never Let Go ” by Howard Halsall

The metallic clank of the cleaner’s bucket woke Roddy and a harsh whiff of bleach caught the back of his throat, making his eyes smart. He blinked in the morning’s warm light and recalled the events of the previous evening. How Lydia’s tousled mane swirled round her serene face and the gentle laugh as he floored the accelerator. In the blinding glare of the oncoming headlights, she’d called out his name. There wasn’t much after that, except blue flashing lights and a siren in the night.    He tracked the janitor’s progres...

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“The Forfeit” by Howard Halsall

When I think of Halloween, I often recall the smell of stewed damsons and cat piss. The unwholesome combination takes me back to a late-night episode four decades ago, when I was a skinny and impressionable eleven-year-old. The incident occurred after my brother and I visited our Grandma’s house to listen to her bloodcurdling supernatural stories. It was a seasonal tradition we both looked forward to, especially as she welcomed us with a special hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and we departed with her delicious toffee apples.&nbs...

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“Work in Progress” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #150

The Everall household hadn’t been the same since Molly’s software upgrade last year. With customer satisfaction in mind, the S.H.E.M.A.I.D.’s enhanced program was designed to improve its work routines by learning from human activity. However, Maggie Everall soon found that Molly, her Synthetic Human Emulating Artificial Intelligence Domestic or S.H.E.M.A.I.D., had become increasingly reluctant to engage in household duties. It exhibited signs of slovenliness and a slack routine that bordered on indolence. The daily chores were poor...

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“Time's Echoes” by Howard Halsall

Hank spotted the familiar London Underground sign flickering in the distance as he drove alongside the brooding expanse of Clapham Common. He paused at the junction outside the tube-station’s cavernous entrance, turned right down Nightingale Lane and swung into the first driveway on the left.The apartments above Clapham South’s station offer four off-street parking spaces, however Mr Merrill preferred Hank to park outside his ground floor office.Hank pulled up and the van’s brakes screeched like an enraged raptor, announcing his arrival...

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“The Big Break” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #147

Patricia’s not been the same since she shot that intruder a year ago. She’s not prone to violence, although she’s passionate. We’ve had heated exchanges, but they’ve never ended in bloodshed. This shooting was on cue, in the heat of the moment and in the name of art. It feels funny saying ‘in the name of art.’ I’ve always viewed films as commerce rather than art, but I’ve never been a movie buff, unlike Patricia. #When we got married, everyone said, how on earth did you pull her, Ted? No one thought we’d last. They said I was old enough...

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“A Friend Indeed” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #146

Walter Waterhouse shut his heavy front door with a neurosurgeon’s precision, making as little noise as possible. Clutching a laptop bag in one hand, he breathed a sigh of relief and extended his free arm across the swirling floral wallpaper to flick the light switch. A soft overhead glow illuminated the vestibule and the silent corridor leading to the rear. Walter tiptoed over unopened envelopes, snaked his way past cardboard packing boxes, and entered the empty kitchen to be greeted by a familiar voice.“I worry about you sometimes.”“You don...

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“The Dearly Departed” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #145

There was only one thing Gerald loved more than a roaring bonfire and that was the thrill of watching an outsider overtake a favourite on the final furlong. Gerald Gerrison, or ‘G.G.’ as Joan nicknamed him due to his obsession, spent his weekdays in one of two locations. She’d find him either burning garden debris whilst mulling over current form or applauding the thunder of hooves on the racecourse’s finish line. #Gerald retired at fifty and with few pressing commitments; he could choose how to spend his time. He’d made his money after...

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“The Dry-Plate Pioneers” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #144

It was four o’clock in the morning when the hideous chorus erupted next to my head. My Westclox shrieked at me like a merciless automaton from hell sent to torment our wretched cadavers. I heard Carol’s muffled adenoidal protest and felt her playful elbow shove my ribs. ‘It’s your turn to get up, Ted,’ she said, pulling the blankets over her head to block out the awful din. I struggled to part my eyelids in the murk and extended my numb fingers towards the infernal clock. Fumbling in vain to stop the persistent racket, I sent it tumblin...

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“The Wisdom of Clouds” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #143

There are two reasons why I remember the drought of 1976. Firstly, it was the year I met Penny, my wife-to-be, and secondly, the summer months were plagued by swarms of ladybirds. We had no rain during June and I recall sweltering in a jacket and tie during my Year 10 exams. July couldn’t arrive soon enough and I escaped school to relax at the Hampstead Heath Lido. By early August, the pool had attracted vast crowds seeking respite from the heat and ravenous insects. Two weeks later there was standing room only in the water and swimming was ...

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“The Living Library” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #142

Despite our best efforts, Emily and I were no nearer starting a family or finding a replacement to manage the Library. She was eager for stability, and my unwillingness to commit and guarantee a departure date was a source of contention. Emily refused to believe that I couldn’t just serve my notice and leave.‘It’s not like you’re saving lives, Jim,’ she’d say. ‘You’re a librarian, for God’s sake.’#I’d accepted the post a year before meeting Emily and adored my work. The first time she appeared, I recall being on the granite steps outside the...

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“Foodie Heaven” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #141

Dear Reader, It’s with a heavy heart that I must report the ‘Queen of Culinary Criticism’ has left the building for the last time. I’m struggling to continue in her absence, despite my formidable reputation. It was she who provided the zest that made my weekly article so entertaining. My final despatch is both a farewell to you and a dedication to my dear wife. Very few food enthusiasts knew of Pamela, but fans of my column may recall mentions of ‘my lovely companion’ or ‘dearest Mrs Guillemot.’ #Reginald Guillemot was once a name ...

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“A Pocketful of Dreams” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #139

May Golightly rented her suite of attic rooms to Charlie for over twenty years. He was an ideal lodger, smart and courteous, and always paid his rent in cash. It was a convenient arrangement because his presence afforded her both peace of mind and financial security during her retirement. She’d never interfered in his affairs until one morning a letter appeared on her doormat. May recognised Charlie’s cursive script and opened it to discover a brief note, saying he’d gone away. Charlie asked her to secure his few valuables and box up his clo...

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“The Midnight Swimmers” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #138

It was midafternoon when the local police patrol found me shivering in my swimwear on the shoreline. My weary carcass was covered with abrasions; I had dried blood matted in my hair and fingers wrinkled like anaemic prunes. “He looks rougher than road kill,” the first officer joked, wrapping a heat reflective blanket around me, as if he was covering burnt barbecue scraps in tinfoil.The second officer offers me a plastic bottle. “This’ll help you, sir.”“No, it’s too late...” I whisper.“Suit yourself, sir,” he says, “I was—-““She was with...

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“Cigarettes: A Romance” by Howard Halsall

🏆 Winner of Contest #136

I remember our first cigarettes together were Rothmans, middle tar, with a filter, of course. It was ten o’clock on a Saturday night and we were attending a local church’s youth club disco. I recall that she’d gone outside for a breath of air.God, I could do with a gasper, she’d said, avoiding my gaze, as if we were on stage and I’d forgotten my lines while searching for a prop. I groped around inside my jacket for my pack of Rothmans. My awkward fumbling attracted her attention, and she smiled as I raised my head. She moved closer and ...

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“The Front Line” by Howard Halsall

Submitted to Contest #135

Bohdan Kozak had lived on the outskirts of Kyiv all his life and he’d seen Russian tanks trundle past his front door before. Thirty-five years ago, his house had trembled on its foundations as dozens of heavy old Soviet T-62’s retreated East to Moscow. He could still recall the thunderous approach and the sulphurous fumes left in their wake. His wife, Oxana, had compared them to a flight of cantankerous dragons suffering from acute halitosis. They’d laughed at the time and brushed off their home’s minor structural damage as one of life’s unf...

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