Katharine Widdows

“When The Thunder Started” by Katharine Widdows

A two-toned brogue stuck out into the aisle as we pulled away from King's Cross at 21.33. My late grandfather had worn those shoes, just not in funky green and tan.‘I am sorry, I think I trod on your foot.’ It wasn’t entirely on purpose.‘No problem, I’m made o' stern stuff.’ He rubbed his knuckles on his lapel and made a show of blowing on his fingernails. A welcoming smile escaped his full, red lips, betraying his attempt to look cool.‘Stern, eh? You strike me as rather approachable.’...

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“Eye Spy” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #134

Pete’s feet stuttered through the shop doorway. His hands arced out and caught the corner of the wooden counter before gravity could floor him. Shoulders stiff, head turned away from danger, his knees bent and narrowly missed banging the floor. The stocky pawnbroker in front of him erupted into raucous laughter, one hand over his mouth, the other on his hip.‘Oh, Sir,’ said the infuriating man between giggles. ‘You’re the third one today to trip over that. ‘ere, let me take it up before someone sues me.’ He reached out a ...

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“Tall As A Cart'orse And Twice As Long!” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #133

TRIGGER WARNING: themes of grief and loss.Tom found opening his eulogy a lot harder than his pallbearing duties. Carrying the coffin was a bit surreal. It didn’t feel like Grandad Bill in there; it was just a box. A heavy box. But talking to the small crowd of mourners, when he was one himself, brought home the reality of the situation.Tom's mind wandered to his poor Grandma Ursula, as he collected his thoughts in the pulpit. The family had never had much money and he worried that care would be difficul...

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“The Gift Master” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #130

TRIGGER WARNING: Animal cruelty.‘Welcome, welcome. Leave your bag at the door. Don’t be shy. Come on in.’ The Gift Master fiddled with his gunslinger moustache. ‘Every guess is a good guess, and the right guess buys your freedom. Do you need me to tell you the rules?’ He towered above Anna, muscular form filling his tailored black suit.‘Yes Sir, yes please.’ Anna brushed tendrils of greasy hair behind her waxy ears.‘Your token, please.’Anna Bunn reached into the pocke...

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“The Locked Door” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #130

Mysteries had been presenting themselves to me since I was a child. So, I was hardly surprised when I found one in Mrs Pardon’s attic. And I didn’t intend to attempt solving this one either. The door to my imagination was firmly locked.‘Just bring down my old globe, no need to bother with anything else, Love.’ She’d croaked from her wheelchair as she fingered the black and white picture of her long-lost love. ‘Harry used to tell me about all the places he’d been. You know, in the army and such. Maybe it’ll jog my memory....

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“I See Bad People” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #127

ADDITIONAL TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDESilence fell as Professor Gale Henshaw stepped onto the stage of the auditorium. With her sharp business suit and severe, asymmetrical hair cut she commanded the space. All 80 hopefuls stopped fiddling with their intelli-pens. With an average pass rate of only 10%, the 8-week course would weed out 72 audience members by the last day. There was little point in getting to know your neighbour here.‘Welcome All.’ Professor Henshaw, President of the Agency, needed no introd...

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“Kitchen. Knife.” by Katharine Widdows

The crack of Carl’s head against the corner of the dining table was enough to make Julian take a sharp breath. Had he chipped the varnish? Maybe it was time to get rid of the hand-me-down, anyway. Susan had always detested the ‘monstrosity’ that only just fitted in the room.Carl grabbed at Julian’s legs, trying to unbalance him. Julian stood firm and casually looked around the room for something heavy. The hideous orange vase Susan’s mother had given them at Christmas would be perfect. He reached over to the outdated man...

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“Perfectly Almond-Shaped Eyes” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #117

TW – animal cruelty, death.Everything was ready for the ritual. I had counted down the days, or more precisely, the nights - since I turned eleven.Looking out over Delltree town, I stood back a little from the sandstone cliff. Holding my torch in one hand, I pulled newspaper and twigs from my rucksack. I roughly fashioned the base of a small fire behind the concrete trig point, partially sheltered from the breeze. Larger sticks and bits of branch from the tree line behind completed my construction.<...

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“Sit and Stare” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #116

Trigger Warning: grief, regret, death, disfigurement.The sun is drawing away, slowly at first, like an evening steam train. It takes the daylight with it and leaves my room in semi-shadow.‘Your mum, she left these for you, to open on your sixteenth birthday. I don’t know what they are, I promised I wouldn’t look. I never have.’I sit and stare at the white envelope and the red velvet box that Dad has placed before me on the dressing table. They lie in front of the mirror I covered eight...

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“Slutty Red Bikini” by Katharine Widdows

TW - Mental health issuesI scroll through my feed with a shaking finger, temples throbbing, until my fear rolls onto the screen. Hand clenched around my phone, scalp prickling. I knew it would be there, but the bile rises in my throat all the same. Patrick has liked another one of her pictures!I cough to prevent myself from heaving. She’s on the golden beach at Glenston, in a tiny red bikini, looking like a slut. She's licking an ice cream as big as her head. Her pose is intentionally provocative. I bet...

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“My Dreams - Your Nightmares” by Katharine Widdows

TW - horror sequencesThe curling leaves of the twisted oak scraped Emma’s window. Rain lashed the glass and the low rumble of thunder rolled over the sky. Lightning split the night and reflected in her gleaming teenage eyes. It was glorious. Her grandfather's funeral was almost forgotten.‘It’s ok Ben, it’s ok.’ Soothing tones drifted through from the next room. ‘Shhh, it’s just bad weather, that’s all.’Was it the ‘bad’ weather or the dead Grandad? Difficult to tell with a six-year...

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“Between the Black and White” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #112

TW - themes of grief / loss.The wipers aren’t enough. Water gushes over the windscreen in waves as unrelenting as my grief. But, unlike my grief, it is swept away in measured, sideways beats. The streetlights are blurry starbursts in my struggling vision. I steady my right foot on the accelerator and my left hand on the wheel.Black cloud hangs with menaces above, banishing celestial light from view. The bottle in my other hand is difficult to drink from without banging my teeth, even at this low speed. ...

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“The Mother Goose Murders” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #111

TW: murder, injury.The coffee was going cold in his hands but the conversation around him was starting to warm. Mr Williams shook the wide, white, frill of his cuff as it escaped the edge of his black legal robes. He lifted a brown cup to his lips, drained the final, lukewarm dregs and looked up.Mr George was pushing his way through the coffee house door, removing his hat to reveal his neatly tied-back hair. The bright yellow thread detail, contrasted against the dark green of his tail coat and caught t...

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“Danny and the Tin Snail” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #110

I love my tin snail. 29 horsepower, full length roll back sunroof, four gears, fun suspension. She may date back to 1971 but the front inboard mounted brakes are the same technology used in formula one cars. I have to say, I feel more like a rally driver as I throw her round the corners.Speaking of corners, there’s a guy with his thumb up at the bend, heading out of Talby.I’d love the company, I wonder if he’ll accept a lift from a 2CV? Some consider these old Citroens unsafe but, with their built-in cr...

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“Fired!” by Katharine Widdows

Submitted to Contest #109

Blazing jets of dragon’s breath blasted through the coffin-shaped box, melting Staleem’s amulet onto his forearm. A wave of exhaustion passed through his tortured body as his magic drained away into the flames, leaving him semi-conscious and only semi-breathing. The harsh stench of his burning hair, combined with the green smoke from his weathercloth gowns, filled the Punishment Room. The sickly concoction wound its way around the corners of dozens of torture and correctional implements, and hung in the air between them, thickening the at...

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