Simon Curtis
Stories (70)
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The Vicar of St Eigron’s
I write this as a testament to the events I was party to. I do not ask the reader to believe what I write, if I am quite frank I just don’t care if you do. I’ve lived a good and very ordinary life, I’ve taught in the same school for a decade now, I served as a governor last year and am due to get married in the summer. Everything I do is as conventional as you could hope to expect but the last few weeks have proved somewhat different. I can’t imagine going back to how I was is at all possible but hopefully by writing this down I will somehow begin the process.
By Simon Curtis4 years ago in Fiction
In search of ‘The Ticky’.
As a freelance features writer I’m always looking for great and original stories I can get my teeth into and during a recent trip I had made to the Scottish Borders in pursuit of a story about Gamekeepers in modern Britain. It was an interesting article in the end but very niche and while it sold I knew as I researched it that I needed something different to follow up with and to that end I was very receptive to anything new or intriguing. Perhaps too much so but what I found in a tiny little country pub sent me down some spectacular rabbit holes and finding the most disturbing story I have ever come across.
By Simon Curtis4 years ago in Horror
The Legend of Old Chokey
Despite it being the middle of summer the weather had decided to rise to the occasion and provide a grey, miserable and misty day for the funeral. Harry hadn’t spent much time in his home town in the past decade and the monotony of the surroundings today matched his embedded memory of the place. He was now sat in the silent living room of his childhood home with two of those he had left behind. Opposite him was his father Ed, the past few days had aged the already old man even more and his ancient black suit did little to help make him look any less old. Next to him was his older brother, 15 years his senior he too was looking far older than he had when they saw each other during their last fleeting Christmas visit. Harry struggled to keep his eyes off his father who despite his stoic expression looked like a dam at breaking point.
By Simon Curtis4 years ago in Fiction
The 12 Gifts of Christmas
Edward had never really cared for Christmas. His childhood hadn’t been one filled with joyous family gatherings and an overflowing cup of cheer and love. He endured rather than loved the festive period. That was until he happened upon a small cafe on an unimportant Wednesday at the start of a wet and cold December. It was here, in that cafe, that day that he first saw Elizabeth. It was at that moment he knew that he had to do everything he could to make her his. He turned up every day and over his coffee watched her work diligently serving and smiling. Between each new customer she hummed Christmas songs with such a sweet tone that his heart soared with each note. Her fair skin made her look like a Christmas Angel and the man for whom Christmas meant nothing fell in love with it and her.
By Simon Curtis4 years ago in Fiction
3. A New Life
William panicked. He did not want to be spotted but equally knew he was in danger if he got found too far out to sea he resolved to try and get a view of the deck so he could find the right moment to make a dash for the side and try to swim to shore.
By Simon Curtis4 years ago in Fiction
4. Timing is Everything.
As the weeks went by William, or as he now felt comfortable responding to, Phileas, took to his role as cook quite well. He had never really cooked before and had only helped his mother in the difficult months after his father’s death. He never allowed himself to like his crew mates, despite their obvious warming to him. In his mind they liked Phileas, in his heart he would always be William and never forget, or forgive, his mother’s murder. But he found it hard. The crew looked after him well and were keen to teach him their trade.
By Simon Curtis4 years ago in Fiction
2. Going Under
William had found it hard but had adjusted to life in the cold of the small coastal village, through this was nothing to the cold of his exceptionally distant grandfather. His matter of fact directness lacked warmth and no matter what he tried, nothing could crack the old man’s resolution. He never smiled, passed on a positive word or offered any kind of friendly acknowledgement. William’s mother explained that it wasn’t his fault, he was always like that. He felt comfortable with the distance. It didn’t stop the boy trying.
By Simon Curtis4 years ago in Fiction
Home from home
The woman whose clothes were pristine in their presentation despite the countless repairs and obvious signs of excessive wear grabbed hold of the young boy and dragged him towards the roadside. They each carried a small bundle, she paused for a second to tuck her hair under her shawl as the rain began to fall, she flashed a sad smile as she dragged him sobbing along the road.
By Simon Curtis4 years ago in Fiction
