Worthing Flash

 In 1875, Eric Twitten retired from his job as a saggar maker's bottom knocker and the family settled in Potter's Field in Durrington. He spent a lot of his time exploring the small alleyways around Durrington which are popularly referred to as “twittens” to this day. He would always carry a stout walking stick. On a Friday evening he was walking home in the twilight. His lantern was reflected in two bright malevolent eyes. He had no time to decide whether he was frightened or brave because a large dark shape, the owner of the eyes, leapt up at his throat, apparently intending to rip it out using its teeth. Eric beat the feral dog off with his stout stick and he raised it to give the miscreant a good hiding for its trouble. Then he saw in the dim lamplight, the dog which was not quite as large as he had thought, though big enough, was cowering as if to make himself disappear into the ground. It is literally impossible to be angry with a dog in this position. Eric ...

by Susan Cornford The beautiful lady zoologist picked up the frog and stepped through the mirror. The princess and prince emerged from the water and walked to the castle entwined. They hadn’t much time since a balance between the two lives must be kept. So, before dark, they returned to the pond and jumped in, travelled back. Through the night a man shovelled, urged on by a crone. With the pond almost filled, he stepped in. Taking the shovel she said, “Don’t forget: pass him over to me before you break up the mirror!” The husband and mother were closing the magical route.

  Ping! Ping! She rolled over in bed to face the phone on her nightstand. Stretching under the comforter and staring out at the morning fog, she reached over and unlocked the phone. Well, that was an interesting evening we had. I know you’re super cute for a woman in her sixties, but you can’t go around treating guys that way, leading us on then shutting us down. I thought we had a great time, especially talking about the places I could take you and the fun we could have. But now I know you’re just a tease and a gold-digger…. It went on for three paragraphs, ending in that hated phrase, You Bitch. What?! She rubbed her eyes, took a deep breath and reread it. Yep, still no change, yet she had a hard time believing it. She thought they’d had a perfectly lovely second date, apps and wine at a high top overlooking the bay. Low-key, they had chatted about work, family, travel. Now that she thought about it, when the evening ended, he had looked a little expectant, but ...

She paused at the edge of the glade, her heart sinking, pounding. Only on a night like this would such a manifestation appear. She took a few steps out of the safety of the trees, grass scratching at her ankles. There hadn’t really been much choice to begin with but to come. A breeze rustled the leaves of the trees and the grass joined the whisper. She could make out the words. so you have come complete what we have demanded very good She stopped in the middle of clearing. She closed her eyes, turning her face toward the rising moon. yes very good indeed are you ready then “ Yes.” She stood straighter, but kept her eyes shut. The rustling condensed in sound around her and the moonlight darkened. What felt like branches and leaves caressed her cheeks. Still, her eyes were closed. “ Good.” The voice sounded stronger than before. “Then go ahead. Open your eyes to my splendor.” She opened her eyes. A hunched shape towered over her. Long branchlike antlers sprouted f...

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  The Blitz had been a severe trial to Mother’s nervous state, never very robust. Now the Doodlebugs had arrived we were all on thorns for the future of the family. It was not merely the violence or her constant fear, but for a home-loving woman, her entire life was put on hold. There was precious food for her to cook us her delicious meals, fabric was on coupons, so dressmaking was difficult, and her flower garden had been given over to a henhouse, a rabbit hutch and rows of vegetables. It was called ‘Dig for Victory’ but the worm-eaten skinny produce we could harvest was more a harbinger of defeat in our house. Father made a bold decision. We would somehow find the money to give her and all of us a complete change. It was said there was cream to be had in Cornwall (but you had to keep it quiet) and a spell on a real farm after the rigours of outer London sounded like Heaven. The train services were unreliable, with long and uncomfortable waits between connection., There was no...