Paul Littler

“Singing Bells” by Paul Littler

Submitted to Contest #231

Singing Bells Paul Littler             Bernhard’s eyes opened, or at least he thought they did, as he could see nothing.  Am I blind, he wondered, did my fall from the horse rob me of my sight?  He tried to lift his head and cracked his forehead on a wooden surface only inches from his nose.  He could smell something familiar; resinous wood, pine at a guess?  And something else, dirt, soil, earth?  Bernhard tried lifting his hand...

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“Toxic” by Paul Littler

            “Faye’s raving about the starter,” said Andy, dumping a stack of plates into the sink.             “I was just about to strain the potatoes in there,” Emma wailed, “Just go and get some more wine.”  She was stressed.  Out of the blue Andy wants a dinner party for his new boss, Faye, and her husband, Ed.  Emma disliked Faye the moment she met her three months ago.  All tits and ...

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“Winter’s Edge” by Paul Littler

Submitted to Contest #227

Please be aware, this story contains references to themes including addiction, violence, threats to children and suicide.             Sam’s eyes flickered momentarily then closed again.  Minutes passed before she stirred in her car seat, eyes slowly opening, confused.  Snow was falling, big heavy flakes tumbling from a pewter coloured sky. “Pretty,” she whispered as her car bonnet turned from red to a soft white.  Her head hurt, as did her neck an...

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“The Tin Horse” by Paul Littler

Submitted to Contest #226

Archie Button desired just two things in life; having what he wanted then wanting what he had.  It was the latter bothering him outside the filthy window of a rundown junk shop, draped in dust coated cobwebs and stuffed with piles of faded newspapers, battered furniture and sad looking, worn-out toys.   “You already have too much junk” Linda, his wife, reminded him.  If he wanted more, he’d have to make space by getting rid of some of the tat littering what he referred to as his ‘workshop’. Archie loved hi...

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“Killer Mirror” by Paul Littler

Submitted to Contest #225

“I’m a huge fan!” “I get that a lot.” Eunice was shivering inside her large fur coat, eyebrow raised, watching Barry drop his pen. “It’s cold in here,” he said, “I expected something more, you know, glamorous…” Eunice smiled behind her oversized sunglasses, “Yeah, well, welcome to showbiz.” The studio for weekly music show ‘Jamboree’ occupied the hollowed-out space of a frosty Victorian church in north London.  1967 was both the best and worst year for ‘Jamboree’ and what happened to The Freeway Girls during the live performan...

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“itch” by Paul Littler

Submitted to Contest #224

            As the helicopter circled the island on its second approach Astrid placed her phone face down on her lap.   Too many uploaded videos of people erupting in a painful spiky death, spines tearing through bruised swollen skin.  She must have watched hundreds as the pandemic raged, death rate soaring.             “If I can’t land this time we’ll have to try tomorrow,” the pilot yelled over th...

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“I Now Know” by Paul Littler

Submitted to Contest #222

I NOW KNOW PAUL LITTLER Carsten stepped ashore at Alesund.  The sun was already low in the sky, a late November afternoon and the air felt chilled.  It was good to finally find Honore, so close he could almost feel her, so close his slow heart beat faster as he thought about tearing her to pieces. The hotel receptionist smiled a practiced smile at the thin, pale skinned man with a German accent, “Room 111, first floor, turn left, the lift is just off from the lobby.”  Carsten took off his sunglasses and ga...

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“Aim High” by Paul Littler

Submitted to Contest #221

*Please note, this story contains adult themes including child death and suicide, please be aware“What is that damn noise?” Council Leader Clive Peters growled to no one.  He was the only one in County Hall if you didn’t count the cleaners and Clive Peters didn’t.  Jumping up from his desk and leaning through the open door he could still hear it, coming from the main staircase.  Voices?  Sounds like a kid, maybe?  Whoever it was he’d give them something to moan about.  He went back ...

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“Cell Thirteen” by Paul Littler

Submitted to Contest #219

Cell thirteen Bob blew out his cheeks as he climbed the prison stairs for what felt like the hundredth time that day.  There was that noise again!  Like something heavy was being rolled around.   He’d only been volunteering for a week (mornings Tuesday and Wednesday, afternoons Friday as he had bowls that morning and liked to keep his hand in).  “This’ll keep me fit at least”, he grumbled to himself, stopping on Landing B for a breather, wondering where the noise was coming from? The community...

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