Short Stories: The Crash

This writing is based on a dream I had last night; I liked the dream so much that I felt as though it deserved a story similar to it. I found converting this dream into writing to be quite difficult: This piece started out great but it became harder the more I wrote and I don't think it's brilliant; that being said, please do let me know what your opinions are. Additional notes are included at the bottom.

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It was the early evening. Four friends — Ajith, Aly, Attin and Jenna — were travelling on motorway, heading back home after spending a long day out celebrating Ajith and Jenna's wedding anniversary. They had chosen a unique way of enjoying the occasion: Helping the happy couple pick out a new car to buy; the day had been a success and they were now driving in a beautiful and pristine hybrid vehicle.

"Ah, nice and smooth," remarked Ajith, who was the driver. "This is, without a doubt, the best car I've driven to date."

"Well, considering the only other car you've driven had pedals, that's not saying much!" joked Aly.

"Ha ha!"

Ajith's laugh was short; despite his initiation of the discussion, Ajith preferred his passengers to be quiet, as the silence helped him concentrate on the road. Until his offhand comment, nobody had said anything since he pulled onto the mostly-empty motorway; still, the occasional laugh while driving helped him relax.

"Thank you, Aly, Attin, for spending the day with us and advising us on a good car," said Jenna sometime later, while watching a truck slowly pass them. "Ajith and I really appreciate it."

"Hey, you're welcome," Attin replied, watching the truck that had passed them suddenly pull into their lane. "I'm glad we could help while enjoying your day."

"It was our pleasure," said Aly, 

"I hope we can do something like this again," said Ajith, now breaking his own "quiet" rule while keeping his eyes on the truck ahead, which was decelerating. "I had a thoroughly great..."

The truck came to an abrupt stop; Ajith slammed on the brakes but his and Jenna's new car hit the back of the truck, albeit at a slower speed than if Ajith hadn't been paying any attention. There was some moderate crumpling on both vehicles but neither was totalled; the other driver separated them when he pulled his truck forward slightly.

"Is everyone all right?" Ajith asked calmly.

The other three answered in agreement, although they were all clearly shaken. Ajith was about to get out of the car to walk over to the truck when the other driver had already come to him.

"H-hello," the other driver said nervously. He was menacing in appearance: he was tall and muscular, with various skulls and gory images tattooed all over his arms. His quavering voice, however, did not match his frightening impression.

"Is...is anyone hurt?" he asked. "This is all my fault; I was distracted."

"No one's hurt," Ajith assured as he got out of the car.

"My fault...all my fault, I'm sorry..."

"No one's hurt," Ajith repeated. "Everyone is okay, and by the looks of things..." He glanced at the damaged on both vehicles. "...Our cars are okay; we should be able to get off the motorway without needing to be towed. Let's swap insurance details and move on." The traffic was avoiding the accident but Ajith had no desire to be on the motorway for long; however, he had to spend ten minutes consoling the other driver before they both traded notes and returned to their respective vehicles.

"What happened?" Jenna asked when Ajith returned to the car.

"I calmed him down, we traded details," Ajith replied. "He erred, he owned up, he'll say the accident was his fault. Fortunately, we have the same insurance provider and use the same dealership. This isn't how I expected this anniversary to end, nor did I expect the car to get damaged so soon, but that's life. Now, let's get off this motorway before we hold up any more traffic."

With that, Ajith restarted the car and turned off the motorway at the next exit. He resolved to book an appointment for repairs immediately the next morning. Despite what had happened, Ajith's mood had not been dampened one iota: He had enjoyed the day, as he attempted to say just prior to the crash. Nothing could spoil celebrating his and his wife's anniversary, with two fine friends joining in. Not even a car crash.

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In the dream, the other driver was extremely hostile rather than reasonable and apologetic; in addition, I barely saw his appearance, so his description here is not a part of my dream. Also in the dream, the "Ajith" character and the other driver did swap insurance details and I woke up soon after. "Ajith" was a reasonable person in the dream and I wanted to keep his personality consistent. I'm not happy with how Ajith's passengers were almost forgotten about, though; I thought about removing them and focusing on Ajith only but I felt that doing so would weaken the plot enormously.

Inventing an ending was hard; the dream itself ended abruptly and the ending here is somewhat anti-climactic. I doubt that many traffic accidents are resolved in such a peaceful manner — especially on a motorway — but this was the only ending that I felt satisfied with. Still, this is a piece of creative writing and by analysing what I've written I know I can improve for next time!

No people in the dream were hurt.

Short Stories: The Demotion - Part 2

With the past week having been one of the worst in his adult life, Todd was relieved that the weekend had arrived and felt that sleeping in until midday was the best way to recover from the last few days; he could be registering as unemployed next week, so why not relax? He'd have ample opportunity to start searching for a new job then.

When Todd finally extracted himself from his bed, he ate a late breakfast and then went on his routine Saturday walk, which would allow him to clear his head and contemplate how to proceed. A part of Todd was tempted to stroll to his workplace, crash open the doors and announce his resignation by bellowing at the company president; fortunately, the idea exited his mind as quickly as it had entered because such a course of action would undoubtedly harm his prospects of obtaining another job. He also cared too deeply about the company and the work he'd done for it to resort to such an overreaction.

After walking for half an hour, Todd sat down to rest on a bench by a fountain. He mulled over the pros and cons of leaving his job versus staying: if he left, he'd be free to work somewhere else — with an unblemished record — and develop a new circle of friends. However, job-seeking was often a long and arduous process...not at all something that warmed him to the idea of quitting; if he stayed, he wouldn't have to worry about that, but the problem of rejection by former colleagues and an unhealthy work environment would remain.

Todd was still thinking about his options when he moved his eyes away from the fountain towards a patch of dirt near the bench, where he noticed an ant nest. He gazed blankly at the ants as they marched in their usual ant style until one of them caught his eye: it was trying to carry an insect larger than itself...without success. All the other ants walked past it, too busy with their own work to lend a hand, but the ant refused to yield, continuing to try to lift the bigger insect over its own head. Several minutes passed, and the ant succeeded in raising the large load over itself, allowing it to return it to the colony — the persistence paid off.

Something in Todd's mind clicked and he sprang up from the bench in an instant. He thought to himself why the current troubles in his job were nothing he couldn't overcome: he did have a chance for redemption. He remembered how at the time of his demotion he had been labelled a "valuable member"; if his superiors had believed he could not contribute to the company any further he would have been terminated. As for the attitude of his former colleagues, the new project which Todd was now assigned to would allow him to develop a different circle of friends. His decision was made.

When Monday morning came, Todd walked into work with renewed energy and determination. A small yet defiant smile formed on his face as he entered the building. Could his situation deteriorate further? Possibly, but provided that he worked hard and persisted — just as the ant did — the only direction he could travel in the company was up.

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I hope this was a satisfying conclusion to The Demotion. I'm not completely pleased with it myself because I don't think it quite has the momentum of the first part, and I'm worried that I ended up adding the clutter I wanted to keep out, but as I said before, this writing is experimental, and if my readers are satisfied I'll be happy. It was a challenge writing this without speech or written thoughts!

I also hope that the ant analogy worked; it might seem ludicrous, but in my experience, a small thing — even something as tiny as an ant — can influence a decision, and so I thought that it would be worthwhile using it to push Todd into making his choice. I needed something to act as a tiebreaker for Todd's decision that wasn't speech or thoughts. I think it makes an interesting twist.

Let me know what you think; constructive crticism will be appreciated if provided!

"The Demotion" follow-up

I'm warmed by the positive response to The Demotion. From the feedback I've received, the only criticism with the piece is the lack of resolution. I had intended to end the story with Todd coming to a decision but changed my mind in favour of an "up to the reader" finish; in retrospect, the current ending does come across as evasive. The demand for a second part is acknowledged and will be satisfied soon; I am currently in the process of writing it but it will not be completed tonight.

The hard part now will be ensuring that the second chapter of The Demotion is as engaging as the first, especially considering where part one ended. Cutting down on extra plot elements, as I've done here, does give a writer less to work with, but it creates a better story and is more rewarding in the long run; I'll also have to face the deliberate lack of speech in the first part — I often find that writing speech provides you with more freedom, but for consistency's sake I will not be including any in the second part. This is a small but worthwhile challenge!

Thanks for the comments! I'm working on part two!

Short Stories: The Demotion

A mere week ago, Todd Robison held an important position within the company; he had been the assistant director of a major project, with responsibilities, respect and the ability to contribute in a greater capacity than most of his colleagues. Now, thanks to one mistake, Todd had been demoted to a regular employee and moved to a less significant project.

Todd's benefits had been slashed immediately: his pay was halved, his security clearance reduced to the lowest tier, his company tools revoked and he was banned from any company parties for the remainder of the year. Only his awards and list of achievements remained intact, although the latter was amended to include his recent failure. He was still regarded as a "valuable member of the company", hence the demotion rather than termination.

Neither the loss of privileges nor the reduction in pay was the worst part of Todd's newfound troubles. What he despaired of the most was being regarded as a persona non grata amongst his former colleagues, many of whom he worked with on a daily basis and often for hours on end. They all knew him to be a decent, hardworking and reliable person, and they had deep respect and appreciation for him, but almost overnight they had transformed from enthusiastically greeting Todd whenever he walked into a room to ignoring him. He understood their new attitude, since his error had reflected poorly on them, but it upset him nonetheless.

After a particularly difficult day at work, Todd returned home to consider his options. He was sorely tempted to quit, because if he were to be permanently be held in contempt it would be impossible for him to function effectively at the company; it would also be unhealthful for him to work in a hostile environment. Alternatively, if Todd remained he could regain his former prestige, but that would require a considerable amount of hard work, which would be in vain if there were no hope of redemption.

For now, the decision would have to wait. It was a Friday and Todd did not have to return to work the next day. Not in the mood to make any tough choices, he prepared himself a small meal and retired for the evening.

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My objective for The Demotion was to write something without unnecessary plot elements or "clutter", such as the Todd's project, the name of the company he worked for, the exact reason he was demoted and his decision whether to quit or remain (which is meant for the reader to decide).  This piece is purely experimental and supposed to be short.

In regards to the name "Todd Robison", I intended to call the character "Todd Robinson" but I misspelled it and preferred the new name.

Let me know what you think!

Short Stories: The Missing Coat

During an afternoon, I prepared myself for a short trip out: I cleaned my teeth, changed my shirt, and ensured the shoes I would be wearing were my decent pair. I was almost ready when I went to reach for my coat; however, it was not in its usual place on the floor, so I looked in my wardrobe for it there instead. The coat was not put away in there, so I looked on top. Alas, it was not up there either! Where had my coat gone?

This was not just any coat...it was my favourite! I frantically began searching for it, but then I heard voices from downstairs demanding that I hurry up, as everyone else was ready to go and they did not want to be late. When the voices became angry I grabbed another coat of mine at random...one that turned out be be too short for me but was still better than not having a coat at all...then headed down before the complaints became excessive.

On the way to our destination my coat was the only concern I had in my thoughts. What had I done with it? Had it been put away in an effort to tidy the house? Had I forgotten it someplace, never to retrieve it? Had someone else taken it? Had it been accidentally put in the washer and shrunk so much it could not be seen anymore? I did not pay any attention to the places we drove past on our journey, being too preoccupied with the disappearance of my best coat.

Even during the time spent at our destination I was too distracted thinking about my coat to appreciate the event we were attending. I merely hid myself until it was time for us to leave, distressed to point where I did not want to be seen by anyone else or have to talk to them. It was a relief to be back in the car and returning home.

Upon arriving back at out house I rushed upstairs and turned my room upside down in a newly-energised search for my beloved coat. I emptied my wardrobe and cabinets of all their contents and even moved my bed in case the coat had somehow been trapped beneath or behind it. As before, the coat was nowhere to be found, and I came to the conclusion that it was lost forever.

I sat down on the floor and faced the door. The afternoon had been a real downer, and now the evening was going the same way. Not only was my favourite coat missing, but my room was now a mess! Granted, it was all my own fault; if I had just been more careful...wait. What is that behind the door...

...my coat! It had been in my room all along! I had hung it up on the doorknob on the inside of my room, but I had not noticed the coat earlier since the door had been open wide all day and I never thought to look behind the door until I just saw part of the coat peeking out.

My worrying over the past few hours had been unnecessary, but I felt relieved when I reached for my coat and put it on. Next time I shall be more observant, and better at remembering where I leave my belongings.

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This post was inspired by our recent trip to Cambridgeshire: before we left, I could not find the coat I usually wear when going out, and it was missing until it was found this morning in our garage. Most of the events in the above piece did not occur in real-life, and the parts that did were exaggerated for the sake of storytelling: in reality, while I was slightly annoyed that I could not find my coat, I was certainly not fussing over it the entire time we were out! In fact, I barely thought about it at all! If I ever did lose the coat for certain, I would be disappointed but I would not break down over it.

Short Stories: The Junk Salesman

There was a salesman who had a particular talent for convincing people to buy his made-up, useless products by passing them off as worthwhile items; he travelled from place to place in his van, duping the city-folk into purchasing his junk. He had amazed himself with his ability to sell almost anything, and among the objects he had sold so far were wooden camera holders, shoes made out of newspaper, and "Halloween cloaks" (a toilet seat with a bed sheet attached to it, sold as a costume). He found his work to be easy money, with the only drawback of the job being him not able to remain in any place for too long.

His current project was getting people to buy "gold dirt spheres", which in reality were balls of dried mud wrapped up in gold-coloured foil with a weight in the centre to simulate them being made partially of gold. He had set up shop at a busy market in a large city; the bright colours of his van set him apart from the dull-looking stands that surrounded his position. The salesman soon had a person come to view what he had for sale.

"Hello!" the salesman said to his first client. "How can I help you?" One thing that always helped his business was that he was calm in his demeanour; he found that sellers who behaved in an overly happy, creepy, or aggressive manner sold fewer products than those who gently talked their customers into buying something. If anything, he found that confusing customers and making fake promises sold more than coming across as too emotional or too interested in the customer's money.

"Yes," the client said. "Exactly what do you sell?"

"I sell these beautiful, hand-made gold dirt spheres," the salesman replied. "They are balls of dried mud, covered in a shell of gold. The ones I have for sale here are a special batch, as I have engraved them with the local symbol of this city. With the amount of work I have to put into these, normally these cost anywhere between £500-£700, but these are at a reduced price of £325."

"Why would anyone want to buy a lump of dirt wrapped in gold, even for a reduced price?" the client asked as they picked up one of the balls and examined it.

"Why do people buy anything at all, why not just steal?" the salesman responded. "Tell me, are you visiting or do you live here, and are you happy with your time in this city?"

"On holiday," the client replied, bemused at the questions. "It has been a blast coming here for the summer...the people here have been so nice."

"Ah! Well, then I have some perfect reasons for you to buy one of my hand-crafted gold dirt spheres!" the salesman said, only getting slightly excited as to appear human rather than robotic. "Think of having one of these as a souvenir for the wonderful time you have had on your holiday here. On top of that, remember that these are made of gold, so if you pay £325 for it now, you'll be able to sell if for more later as gold value increases!"

"Well, I''m not sure..." the client began.

"Besides, a portion...10%...of the sale goes to helping other people," the salesman then added. "Surely you don't want to miss out on a way to be charitable as a token of your appreciation for this city and its people for their hospitality?"

"Of course, you're right," the client said with a smile as they began to pull out some money. "You know what, I'll even round it up and pay £350 if it ensures a little more goes to charity...as a token of my appreciation."

"That's good to hear," the salesman replied as he successfully completed the sell. "You've made someone really happy today. I hope you have a lovely rest of the day and holiday."

After his client walked off with their gold dirt sphere, the salesman congratulated himself on breaking his own record on selling useless items to people, and laughed that he had made over £300 in profit on this venture already. As he replaced the previous gold dirt sphere's hold with another ball, two policemen approached him.

"Hello officers," the salesman said nonchalantly. "Can I interest you in any of my products?"

"Yes, you can," one of the policemen replied, placing handcuffs on the salesman. "All of these items are to be confiscated, and you are under arrest on numerous accounts of fraud including claiming that a portion of your profits go to charity. We have been searching for you all over the country for the last three weeks. Your little operation is, as of this moment, permanently shut down."

"Oh well, I suppose it had to happen someday," the salesman said as he was escorted away by the police.

Sometime later, after the salesman had been tried, convicted, and sentenced to prison for his crimes, he managed to continue his work in selling junk items to people. His current project? Selling a type of origami made from the foil of food trays to his fellow inmates, claiming his pieces to be made of silver.

Follow up for "The Garden Dance"

I certainly was not expecting The Garden Dance to have three parts! It was a challenge to write, but I had a very pleasant time writing it and turning fragments of a dream into a story. There was a mystery element to the piece that I really appreciate and am a fan of in other works.

The Garden Dance has made me re-evaluate some of what I thought and said previously about my Short Stories series: I was not going to bring characters back once they had been in a story (although I did say I was open to changing my mind on this), and I was not going to have any stories go on for more than one post. Evidently, The Garden Dance has changed that, and while I do not believe that story can go any further, if I have recurring characters or stories that go on for a few posts, I will be fine with that. If I write something and a particular character seems interesting enough to create a spin-off from, why not create a plot for them?

As for multiple-post stories, in future I will be posting them once a week rather than daily. I did feel I rushed The Garden Dance a bit, but it was an exceptional circumstance since I thought I would only have enough content for a single post and wanted to get it finished as soon as possible.

Short Stories: The Garden Dance, Part III

"Hello?"

A feminine voice knocked me out of my thoughts. I turned to my left to see a young woman standing next to me; she had lengthy, wavy light blonde hair; was only slightly shorter than me, and had a yellow dress on. She was incredibly beautiful and I assumed her to be a little older than myself.

"Hi!" I replied a little too excitedly, mainly because I was surprised.

"Are you waiting for someone or something?" she asked. "For the last half an hour I've been watching you stand there."

"Half an hour? I've been standing here for a minute," it was true: when I glanced at my watch it was more than half an hour later from when I previously checked the time.

This bothered her slightly but she shrugged it off. "Will you dance with me?" she then asked. "I'm Heather." She had a posh accent, like a higher pitched Joanna Lumley; there was also an interesting combination of a "giggling" tone to her voice mixed with confidence.

Once again I forgot all about the mystery of my surroundings. "Yes, of course," I answered with a smile.

Heather smiled back, took my hands, and we began a slow dance in the courtyard; I had never danced before, yet somehow I knew exactly what I was doing and everything just felt "right". Despite Heather initiating the dance, I gradually found myself leading it as we talked. Our conversation mainly involved learning more about each other and talking about our town...we were really getting along together, and our discussion flowed perfectly...until we reached the topic of the garden dance.

"Have you noticed anything strange about this place?" I asked.

This created the first pause in the conversation, and I could see that Heather was thinking my question over. After a minute, she answered: "Yes, can we talk about this elsewhere?"

"Of course," was my reply. We exited the main dancing area and made our way to the back of the garden; most people were now in the courtyard but a few were still wandering around the garden.

"I have", Heather said when we reached our destination, and she took my hands to start dancing again, turning so that neither of us faced the view of the mountain range and the lake. "Nothing has been consistent since I arrived this morning: one moment I was here on my own, then suddenly I am surrounded! Sometimes time is fast, other times it is slow...and it's not my perception of it either! I found everything, no matter how extraordinary, making sense to me until I saw you!"

"I remember my brother and I arriving here first, and we were told by the doorman that we were early," I responded. "I then recall everyone suddenly showing up when they weren't supposed to be here for another twenty minutes. No one else is noticing, we seem to be the only ones..."

"Excuse me, cutting in here," an attractive, middle-aged woman with short, thick, and curly hair interrupted. She took me from Heather's hands and started to dance with me; I attempted to free myself from her grip, but she was too strong for me.

"Who are you and why have you cut in?" Heather asked angrily. "Let go at once!"

"Now now, as the host I'm entitled to dance with whomever I wish, and I can't have anyone spoil the festivities with questions!" the older woman smiled.

"You're The Landlady!" I gasped. "Can you explain what is going on?"

"Explain what?" she asked with a smile. "Why do you need an explanation? Why not just appreciate the moments for what they are?"

"I do appreciate moments," I replied, looking around for Heather but noticed that she had disappeared and that the hedges had changed to block the way back into the rest of the garden. "But when it looks as though time itself is acting out of character, I want an explanation."

"Tsk...well if comes to that..."

Suddenly, the place where I had just been standing, the hedges, and The Landlady had all vanished. Time once again behaved strange, as the fall from my previous position to the surface of the water felt like hours, even though it was only fifty feet up. Then, as soon as I did reach the lake...


"Hey, wake up!"

I was abruptly awakened by Jimmy hitting my face. I stood up and had a look around to see where I was: I found myself back at the chairs where Jimmy and I drank our iced hot chocolate. The dance was still in progress, but the only two people in my immediate vicinity were my brother and someone who I partially recognised.

"You fell asleep," the person said, and I noticed they were holding our empty cups of hot chocolate. "I've never seen anyone fall asleep to hot chocolate before!" It occurred to me that this individual was the faceless man, but they had a face now.

"Asleep?" I asked. "No I fell in the lake...how did I get out?"

"Lake?" asked Jimmy. "No, really, you've been asleep for the last few minutes. Come on, get up and go back to the dance! Heather's just arrived and she's waiting for you!"

I could not explain it. I had a clear memory of arriving at Ketterland Mansion with Jimmy hours ago and could remember all the oddities of the place, yet judging from Jimmy's reaction and the faceless man now having a face, I was now unsure if it really all happened, or if it did but in different manner to how I could recall it. Did I really dream it all? Though if that was the case what about all the strange occurrences before I dozed off? Who really was The Landlady, and why was I sent into the water when I asked for an explanation? None of it mattered anymore...for the final time my thoughts on the matter faded, and I returned to the garden dance to join Heather.

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That concludes The Garden Dance. The story is based on a dream I had in the last couple of weeks, and this piece has more of a clear ending than my actual dream did: the only parts of it I can remember were the pond area with my brother, Heather's appearance and me dancing with her, The Landlady cutting in, and then I was thrown into the lake.  

Anything that appears to be a plot hole is intentional...the story is meant to be like a dream: inconsistent, a complete mystery, leaves the viewer wondering what happened, but is beautiful nonetheless. I had a great time writing The Garden Dance, let me know what you think!

Short Stories: The Garden Dance, Part II

It took less than a minute for Jimmy and I to drink our ice cube-filled hot chocolates, though strangely I found myself dozing off for a moment after swallowing my chocolate, but I was able to quickly remove myself from the brief bout of sleepiness. Not wanting to be lazy, we then carried our empty cups with us when we got up from our chairs and made our way over to what appeared to be a small gap in part of the tall hedges surrounding the entire garden. The gap seemed to get bigger the closer we walked towards it, until we were standing at a large gate wooden gate. Curious at its sudden appearance, I unbolted it and we both stepped through.

On the other side of the gate lay seemingly endless grass fields, but about twenty yards in front of us was a path surrounding a pond. We went left on the path and walked to the other side of the body of water before we heard voices; Jimmy and I spun around to see several other people entering through the gate.

"It looks like everyone else has arrived," I remarked. "Perhaps we should return to the garden."

We continued on our previous direction around the path and made it back to the gate. At that point, everyone else in the pond area had decided to leave as well, meaning I had to hold the gate open for them all until only I remained. I shut the gate and re-bolted it once I was back in the garden.

There were now a hundred other people in the garden, but they all appeared as though they had been here for hours: they were talking, singing, eating, dancing, laughing...glancing at my watch, they could barely have been here for more than ten minutes, but no one would know that from the activity now taking place. Still, everything was just making sense to me somehow, and I stopped my brief bit of thinking on the matter to go to the centre of the garden as I had just noticed something hidden there within the middle hedges. I looked around for Jimmy on my way, but I quickly assumed he had wandered off.

Situated within the central hedges was a courtyard, and although people were dancing all over the vast garden, the flat flooring of the courtyard was the "main" dance floor. There were tables filled with food and drinks located to the sides of the interior of the courtyard, as well as slow jazz music playing although I could not see or hear exactly where the music was originating from. I put my empty cup from earlier down and began to think.

Just a few minutes ago, everything made sense and only briefly did I think about the mysteries of Ketterland Mansion: now I found myself realising what an enigma it was all turning out to be. There were several aspects of the place that were completely out of the ordinary or outright contradictory; but as I looked around I could not see a single frown or any indication that anyone other than myself found anything suspicious. One other thing came to mind: where was The Landlady herself in all of this?

As I was thinking, something else then ended up drawing my attention away from trying to figure out what was going on.

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This was supposed to be a one-part story, but I have had a really pleasant time in writing it; I hope you are looking forward to the third part as much as I am!

Short Stories: The Garden Dance, Part I

It was a lovely, warm spring day, and my brother Jimmy and I were arriving at a garden dance being held at Ketterland Mansion. We had been surprised during the recent winter when we received our invites in the mail, but we were certainly pleased to have been invited and were eager to attend: in every year for the past thirty-three years, the landlady of Ketterland Mansion held a dance at her home, and the event had become to be held in such by high esteem by the people of the town of Ketterland that it was an honour just to be invited.

While the dance itself was highly regarded, little was known about the woman herself: the people who had gone to the dances rarely spoke of her, other than to say how much of a wonderful person she was. Despite only a small group of people knowing what she looked like, it was common knowledge in the town that she was middle-aged but highly beautiful. However, no one knew her name, and she was referred to (and apparently even addressed as) "The Landlady".

The respect the dance earned probably came from the amount of people invited to each dance and the routine used to invite them: at the beginning of every winter, a hundred random inhabitants in Ketterland received letters from The Landlady informing them that they had been invited to her annual garden dance in the spring; the letters also told them to ensure that they would be free for the second weekend of April. Near the end of the winter, the same group of people would then receive a package containing their outfits for the occasion (we received a black suit each), plus a reminder to keep the date of the event free of any other engagements. To date, everyone who had been invited had attended.

"Well, we're here, and we are on time," I said to Jimmy while looking at my watch as we climbed the stairs to The Landlady's front door. "Do you want to knock or shall I?"

"You're the older brother," Jimmy replied.

"A 'yes' or a 'no' would have sufficed, but I'll assume that's a 'yes'." I was about to knock when I noticed a doorbell instead. "Ah!" I gasped as I pressed the button.

We waited for about a minute before the door opened and a man without a visible face ushered us in and closed the door behind him. He directed us to the backyard of the mansion then he returned to answering the front door while Jimmy and I marvelled at the sight of the massive garden in the backyard of Ketterland Mansion. The entire place looked like the sort of garden you would see in a Princess Diaries film, rather than anyone's backyard (even someone with a mansion), although it was sloped. At the very back of the garden was a view of a mountain range I had never noticed before, and in front of the mountains was a lake I never knew existed either: the garden was situated at least fifty feet above the water.

To our surprise, the garden was deserted. Besides the faceless man who answered the door we had not seen anyone since we arrived. We had a look around for twenty minutes before returning to the mansion; however, upon trying to re-enter the building, the faceless man appeared again.

"You're early," he said in a low and strangely echoed voice, and I realised at that point my watch was an hour early. "The rest of the guests won't arrive for another twenty-five minutes. Could I interest you in a hot chocolate?"

"Yes please," came our reply, and the faceless man pulled out a thermos and two cups from his jacket, poured us a hot chocolate each and put two ice cubes from the opposite end of the thermos in them.

"Cheers," he said after he passed us our cooling-down hot drinks; then he put two cubes in the thermos and drank the rest of the liquid straight from it.

The man again returned to the front door. With little else to do at that moment in time, Jimmy and I found a place to sit down, have our drinks, and wait for everyone else to arrive.

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As I wrote this, the story ended up being longer than I thought it would be. I will post part II tomorrow, and if that part concludes the story I will give all the background to The Garden Dance plus some insight into the odder parts of this piece. My brother's name in this story is fictional.

About the "Short Stories" series

After jumping straight into a Short Story with no prior introduction, I thought I would write a bit about what they will be. To begin with, the stories will not have a set genre or topic to them: the first one was food-related, but the second will be about something else, the third different again, and so on (of course, while I will write another food story later on, I will not be bringing back the same characters as before, although I am open to changing my mind on that). I think making them random and covering topics I have not written about before will make them interesting reads.

I want to experiment and use these stories, along with the rest of my blog, to improve and maintain my writing skills. One element that may be common in the series will be stories influenced by obscure items, such as yesterday's story coming from a brief line in a television show. I should be able to write stories from small parts of songs, minor odd events in life overall; and I would also like to include any dreams that I think could be turned into a good story. I am looking forward to seeing what I can turn into a short story.

As always, feedback will be appreciated: if you dislike one of the stories or have suggestions for me, do let me know; and of course if you like or love a story, I would really appreciate being told that, too.

Short Stories: Jacket Chicken

One day, Moe offered to cook dinner for his roommates, and he enquired about what they wanted him to make for them. They argued for ten minutes over what they wanted, each of them offering different suggestions and each of them rejecting ideas from the other people. There was a person who wanted homemade pizza, but another one that did not; then there was one who requested a casserole, but that proved to be unpopular with everyone else.

Moe turned his back to do something else when the group huddled together to talk quietly to themselves, then finally, someone called out "we would like jacket chicken for dinner". Moe had no idea what the meal they were requesting was, but Moe agreed to make it anyway.

When the others had all left for the day, Moe was still wondering what sort of meal "jacket chicken" even was, so he did some research for a recipe, yet several searches for it turned up nothing. After spending three hours on the matter and now bored, Moe decided to take a literal interpretation of the suggested meal.

"I know!" he exclaimed. "Jacket chicken is chicken cooked in a jacket! That is what I will make!"

Fortunately for Moe, there was a chicken in the fridge he could roast, and better yet, there was a jacket from one of his roommates that would be perfect for cooking the chicken: it was big enough for the chicken yet small enough to fit in the oven; most of the jacket was also made of a foil-like material, and any part of the jacket not made from that particular material Moe decided he would just cover with regular foil. He subsequently spent a half hour readying the jacket and putting herbs and spices on the chicken.

With the chicken prepared in the jacket, Moe placed the bizarre concoction in the oven and let it roast for the next couple of hours. The chicken cooked surprisingly well in the jacket, and by the time the cooking was close to completion, Moe had finished the potatoes, gravy, and broccoli to go with the chicken; and all his roommates had arrived home just in time for dinner.

"Smells good Moe!" one of them said. "Hope it tastes good too!"

"It will!" Moe called from the kitchen. "Don't get up, I'll be bringing your plates in myself! You'll be surprised with the dinner!"

They did not have long to wait for Moe to bring them their meals, for he brought them all in five minutes later. Everyone was surprised with what Moe had served them, as they were expecting something else, but no one complained and they all tucked into their food.

"So," began Moe ten minutes later. "What do you think?"

"It's great," his friend Matt replied, with murmurs of agreement from the others. "Only one thing, I thought we suggested jacket chicken, not roast chicken? Not that it matters...this is great! Although for some odd reason I think I can taste perfume in it."

"Oh, this is jacket chicken," Moe responded. "I roasted the chicken in Sally's jacket; the extra taste is probably from when she was wearing perfume and her jacket yesterday."

"WHAT?" was the collective response, combined with the dropping of forks.

"Moe, you're joking right?" asked Matt. "Jacket chicken is just boneless chicken embedded in mashed potato and then baked. You honestly didn't roast a chicken in Sally's jacket did you?"

"I did," answered Moe. "I didn't know what it was! After not being able to find out, I took you guys seriously and roasted a chicken in a jacket. Sally's was the only one that would fit in the oven and not catch fire...although juice did leak and get into the underside of her jacket."

"Gee...thanks Moe!" said Sally angrily as everyone got up. "It cost me £100, so that's a new jacket you owe me!"

"Not to mention another dinner, where you'll be supervised," said Matt. "I don't feel like chicken anymore, I'm off to the burger bar down the road; anyone else want to come?"

Everyone except Moe nodded in agreement, and they then they left, leaving their half-eaten jacket-roasted chicken dinners on their seats. Moe, meanwhile, merely finished his dinner and pondered their reaction to the reality of the meal.

"Hey," he said to himself as he began to clear everything away, putting Sally's ruined jacket in the garbage. "The important thing is that they said it was great!"

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This is the first of my "Short Stories" series; a series of random, one-post stories. Jacket Chicken was inspired by a brief line in a scene from the television show Red Dwarf (search for the term "spare jacket" on this page), hence the strange plotline. As for "jacket chicken" as a real-life meal...the description by the Matt character is something I made up on the spot. Tell me what you think!