Pete Hartley: sometime dramaturg, perennial scribbler
Chapter 4 The door to 13A Bohemia Way was usually closed but never locked. This was because the key had long been lost and the bolts had been extracted from their barrels. They were somewhere, in one of the cupboards in one of the rooms, though no-one knew which cupboard in which room. There was … Continue reading Telescopic Titus
Chapter Three Nudge did not appear the next day, which was Sunday, 12th October 1969. Neither did she show up at college on the Monday. No-one knew where she was but Geraldine Garter said that was perfectly normal. No-one ever knew where Nudge was, even when she was there. Nathaniel was curious, then concerned, then … Continue reading The dogs of door
Nathaniel pushed his nose hard against the seam of his anorak hood, and inhaled deeply through his nostrils. The fabric flexed like a post-coital bat’s heart.
A short story of long ago.
The first instalment. “Today maybe your final day, yesterday is always your last.”
A short prehistoric fancy.
A warning for drivers using the M61 motorway.
Bracken rules the carrion roost. He’ll hide any cadaver. He’ll launder immoral earnings. He’ll raise an army. He’ll muster rebels. He’ll occupy territory.
Father and son discuss nature, nurture and the curse of creativity. Is storytelling in the blood? Plus where the weirdest ideas come from, where Guinea Pigs should never go, and the meerkats of the mind.
A ghost story for Christmas The bike growled as if in warning as he released his grip on the throttle. He braked gently expecting ice on the high moorland road. Freezing fog that night, the weatherman had said, and fog there was, and Mike was too wise to doubt the other part of the prophesy. … Continue reading Pillion
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