• About

Martin J Frankson's The Noirista Lounge

~ noir, crime fiction, interviews, reviews, short stories, flash fiction

Martin J Frankson's The Noirista Lounge

Tag Archives: flash fiction

Heavy Clock

22 Sunday Apr 2012

Posted by Martin J Frankson in Short Stories

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

flash fiction, short story, The Heavy Clock


The heavy clock.
It never felt heavier.
Bea only ever held it a couple of times; taking it off the shelf for dusting and what have you.
Now she held it in both her trembling hands, hoping to drop it, to break the spell she cast for herself.
But she couldn’t.
It wouldn’t.
The heavy clock felt even heavier, fused to her under a dark annexation.
Shivers and heat fought over her skin. Everything was so still as she stood fixed to that spot in that hallway in that house.
At that time.
Time ceased to tick for her. She doubted it ever would again.
She needed to breathe. Fresh air was only feet away but she needed to walk to the front door.
Holding the heavy, heavy clock, stepping over a heavy, heavy man who lay at her feet.
Where the world once lay
 
Photo Claustrophobi by Cati Kaoe reproduced with kind permission from her website

Brown Mushrooms

22 Thursday Mar 2012

Posted by Martin J Frankson in Short Stories

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

brown mushrooms, flash fiction, Martin J Frankson, Noir, writing


He checked his watch.

5pm.

A rather serious programme on Radio 4 about council tax rebates had just finished  He felt drained and rather uninspired. It was Radio 4 or nothing and Radio 2 just would not do.  He turned the radio off but the seconds of thick silence that followed stuck in his windpipe.

Panic.

He shot his hand over to the wall-socket and turned it back on again and changed the station to Classic FM.

But it was all so quiet.

He didn’t hear a thing.

He turned up the volume to ‘Max’ and sat down on the chair beside the kitchen table. It was still quiet. He wondered if he had broken the volume control. As soon as he got up, cacophony and mayhem ensued.

A blatter of blind oboes and the caterwauls of strings broke the silence into hundreds of pieces of anxious moments that lay invisibly on the floor.

He ran over and switched it off.

Bloody classical music, he thought. Either as loud as the cracks in the sky of judgement day or as quiet as plotters in the alcove. He liked classical music but he always found listening to it on the radio frustrating.

Too wide a symphonic range.

Heart pounding, he checked his watch again.

It’s around this time he made supper for both himself and his wife. He went to the fridge and took out a packet of rindless bacon, eggs and a punnett of mushrooms and set the food down on the worktop next to the sink. It was then that he noticed that the mushrooms were turning brown around the edges. He peeled back the torn cellophane and held the packet up to his nose and sniffed a few times.

Detecting nothing noxious nor foul, he removed ten mushrooms exactly and nipped off the brown bits with his finger nails.

He sliced the bacon and chopped the mushrooms and fried them for about five minutes before adding the whisked eggs. Five minutes later he served the omelette onto two warmed plates and laid them down on the dining table.

 “Freda!” he called out.

Freda and he were not on the best of terms. They had an almighty row only a couple of days earlier and hadn’t spoken since. It was over something stupid. Freda wanted to watch Coronation Street. He wanted to watch the History of Mathematics on BBC4.

He sat down to his supper and tucked in, wolfing it down.

Omelettes get cold so quickly.

Before he knew it, he was nearly done. Freda’s plate remained untouched

“Freda! Your dinner’s getting cold”

Within seconds he finished his meal. He lifted Freda’s plate and touched the omelette with his fingers. It was more luke than warm. He placed it in the microwave without turning it on for sake keeping.

Knock. Knock .Knock

On the front door.

 He sat still, not saying a word.

Knock

“Who is it?” he shouted

“It’s Gertrude”

He ran out of the kitchen and down the hallway to greet Gertrude.

He pressed his left ear, his best ear to the door.

“What do you want?”

“I want to see Freda; I’ve come all the way from Huntsville you know”

“I don’t know where she is, let me go and find her. You wait there a second”

“Oh”  she said.

He turned around to Freda .

“Do you really want to see Gertrude while you wait for your omelette to be heated up?”

Freda smiled but she was smiling for days.

Freda lay still and quiet on the hallway floor, smiling but without knowing it.

“It’s nice to see you so cheerful love”

He bent down and kissed her on the lips.

“You’re very cold, dear. Let me get you a blanket”

Gertrude knocked once more

“Let me in this once”

A film of sweat formed on his back, sucking his shirt towards it to form a second skin. He lifted a porcelain clock from the occasion table and held it in his hands. It was a wedding present but had suffered minor damage just a couple of days earlier but nothing that anyone would notice close up.

He held the clock with his left hand,behind his back and reached over to the latch with his right.

“You can join Freda very shortly!” he said.

He turned to Freda, caressing her limp yellow hair.

“Gertrude is coming to stay with you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

 Image ‘Black and White Photo of a Bench in Elizabeth Park in West Hartford, Connecticut, at Night: Photo by Sage Ross’ courtesy of http://www.annedarlingphotography.com

Categories

  • All Things Writing
  • Cinema
  • Competitions
  • Discussions
  • Forensics
  • Harrogate Crime Literature Fest
  • Interviews
  • Language
  • My Collections
  • My Favourite Poets
  • Mystery and Thriller
  • Photography
  • Review
  • Self Publishing
  • Short Stories
  • Society at Large
  • The Arts in General
  • Travelogue
  • Uncategorized

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 2,727 other followers

Archives

  • November 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • April 2014
  • July 2013
  • May 2013
  • February 2013
  • December 2012
  • October 2012
  • September 2012
  • August 2012
  • July 2012
  • June 2012
  • May 2012
  • April 2012
  • March 2012
  • February 2012
  • July 2011
  • June 2011
  • May 2011
  • March 2011

Recent Posts

  • Black Friday
  • Off The Cuff : The Bad Guy
  • Off The Cuff Part 12 : Literary Conversation with Dietrich Kalteis, Sam Wiebe & Samantha J Wright
  • Off The Cuff Part 7 with Dietrich Kalteis, Robin Spano and Martin J Frankson
  • Off the Cuff : Part 6 with Dietrich Kalteis and Martin J Frankson

Follow me on Twitter!

Error: Twitter did not respond. Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page.

My Favourite Blogs

  • Connie Haag
  • Crime Always Pays!
  • Dave Jackson Crime Novelist
  • Derek Flynn's Blog
  • Dionne Lister's Blog
  • High Heels and Book Deals : Mel Sherratt's Blog
  • Keith B Walter's Blog of Books and Writers
  • Louise Phillip's Website
  • Pam Reader's Blog
  • Rhian Davies's Blog of Literary and Publishing News and Bizz (Crime)
  • Safina Desforges
  • Samantha J Wright
  • The Crime Fiction Blog
  • The Crime Writer Rebecca J Bradley's Blog
  • The Noir Journal
  • The Rap Sheet – Blog from LA
  • Valerie Sirr

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Cancel
Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy