Search Results for: Daniel Soule

FICTION: Hope is a Rusty Knife by Daniel Soule

“we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars, as if we were villains by necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion” King Lear  Behind them lay the terror of besieged cities, and ahead? They did not know. Only that it was a better choice, the only choice they had. The whole country

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FICTION: Witchopper – Part IV – by Daniel Soule

6st June, 1989: Rob managed to get to sleep that first night after visiting the Witch’s Brew but not since. Sleep was only a memory now. They’d come home and Rob had run to the bathroom mortified at wetting himself. He ran passed his shocked mother, his dad on his heels, holding up a hand

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FICTION: Witchopper – Part III – by Daniel Soule

The air had been sucked out of the corridor. A cold spike ran from the seat of Rob’s trousers to the crown of his head. “Did you see that?” Rob whispered to his dad, fingernails biting into the faux leather of the camera. Richard nodded. “Hello, whose there?” called Richard. His voice had lost its

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FICTION: Witchopper – Part II – by Daniel Soule

19th May, 1989: “This was a good move, wasn’t it?” Jane Peters, had her head to one side drying her blonde hair on a white cotton towel, standing in the doorway of their en suite. The kimono style satin-polyester dressing gown, with electric neon patterning draped around her, had been a present from Richard. High

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FICTION: Witchopper – Part I – by Daniel Soule

  Prologue: “School children from the Nottinghamshire town of Southwell are wont to sing the following song in accompaniment to a popular playground game of eponymous nomenclature: Witchopper. If you see the Witchopper Then you’ll come a cropper Never mind how hard you try If you look in her cold black eyes When it’s time

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FICTION: Keep It Up Kid by Daniel Soule

No matter how much he might not want to, Jody was going to wake up today. His ex-wife was ringing the doorbell, impatiently slapping him into consciousness, along with a moderate hangover. A bottle of beer didn’t help. Sitting where his alarm clock should have been, the bottle took a dive when Jody swiped for

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FICTION: Mrs Webber by Daniel Soule

The sun is a memory that wakes me every morning, a child with an eye at the crack of the door to see if I am awake. But it is spring so it is not too early, and my aching knee would wake me anyway.The nights can be long and uncomfortable, but I always get

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POETRY: Christmas Claws By Daniel Soule

  The child slept and mum and dad snored, While Sparky cowered behind the living room door. When down the chimney came old Nick Claws, Crushing some coal under his paws   The Yule log was burning to keep him out Fire against the monster of night’s doubt But the flame is stifled, all light

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BOOKS: Best Reads of 2016 – List by Daniel Soule

Can you hear it? The Yule log burning in the hearth, hopefully warming kin and not a lonely heart. Soon spring will insert its chirps into our story, but for now winter holds court. So, pull up a chair, pour yourself a toddy, and light the shag in your pipe. It’s the end of a

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Daniel Soule: The Switch

Your killer is in this room; I have to be here. You are a ghost under sheets, holding on, still haunting us. Your strong face has sunk in, and those full lips thin and cracked, collecting spittle. No one has cleaned you up. What would be the point? We’ve all gathered to do the deed,

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