Bed Socks and Broomsticks

Hi folks! A quick reminder that I’m currently welcoming guest authors of short-short fiction. I am still seeking guests, so please read this if you’d like to submit one or more of your flash fiction stories and be my next guest!

Today, please welcome Val Portelli A.K.A. as Voinks, with a story of fun and mischief!

A few years ago a freak accident left me housebound and stir-crazy after leading an active life. Reviving my writing, which I’d always loved but never had time for, saved my sanity.
I remember the euphoria of that first response ‘We want to see more,’ and the icing on the cake was when my first book Changes was published.
A second book followed with another publisher, then a steep learning curve for Facebook, blogs, marketing, book signings and the myriad of other things involved in my new career.

I’m currently regularly writing short stories in between proof reading my latest and longest novel, tentatively entitled A Murder of Changes.    

Inspiration comes from all sorts of everyday things. This story came about after a discussion on how one sock always goes missing. Then a friend posted some photos of her day trip to a National Trust property. It seemed natural to put the two together.

Well, I am an author so weirdness should be forgiven. 

Thanks to Marcy for inviting me onto her blog, and featuring one of my short stories.

I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you, Val, for being my guest and…I’m a huge fan of weirdness!

Folks, if you’d like to read more by Val check out her novels Changes and ABC Destiny, follow her blog, or Follow her on Facebook. You can also reach Val by email at ValPortelli@outlook.com or Voinks@hotmail.co.uk.

Photos by Paula Harmon

Bed Socks and Broomsticks

 By Val Portelli

Lacey was excited. Grandma had gone away for the day and left her second best broomstick unattended. Although the girl had been forbidden to touch it, she was finding it hard to resist.

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to just go for a quick spin around the yard. No one would know, and after all she was sixteen and would be finishing her witching apprenticeship soon. How was she to learn the practicalities if she wasn’t allowed to try?

Tentatively Lacey edged towards the broomstick and stretched out one hand. As her fingers lightly touched the handle she jumped back in alarm. It felt slimy as if hundreds of snails had crawled along its surface; not only that, it would be slippery to ride and she could fall off.

She should have realised that the old witch would have left some sort of spell on it. Not to be defeated she browsed her textbooks to find some way to overcome the problem. Nothing there.
In a huff she wandered into the kitchen to make a cup of tea when suddenly the hanging clothes rack caught her eye.  

If magic wouldn’t help perhaps plain inventiveness would? She managed to pull down one of the black and white socks and wrapped it firmly round the handle. Perfect. It seemed the stripes had confused the spell. Returning to fetch the matching sock she hit another barrier. It kept jumping out of her reach and just the one on its own was not enough. Snatching at the pink sock she managed to hold onto it, and soon had that too wrapped round the broomstick handle.

Climbing aboard she made herself comfortable, adopted the correct position, took a deep breath and whispered the starting words. Whoosh! The broom took off like a rocket and for a while she struggled to keep her balance. She hadn’t expected it to be quite so fast, but soon got the hang of things and even tried some gentle drops, lifts and turns.  This was fun.

As her confidence grew she decided to make the most of the opportunity, and pulling back hard flew over the garden gate and into the open fields beyond.  Swooping and weaving she forgot the time until in the distance she noticed Grandma returning. 

In a panic she steered for home but had forgotten the words to stop.  Nearly crashing into the garden fence she just managed to haul up high enough to avoid it, although one of the socks snagged on a protruding nail. As she flew back into the space of the fields it began to unravel, and before long there were streamers of black, white and pink trailing behind her.

Why hadn’t she done as she was told? Maybe if she’d asked Granny properly she wouldn’t be in this fix now, slipping and sliding on the gooey mess of the now naked broomstick handle. Just as she managed to turn back into the kitchen she fell off and landed with a bump, bruising her knees on the rough stone floor.   

At least the broom had stopped and returned to its usual place in the corner. With a bit of luck Grandma wouldn’t even notice and she could get away with it. Just as she got to her feet the door opened and the old witch entered.

‘Everything been OK?’ she asked. ‘Be a good girl and make me a cup of tea. All that flying this afternoon has plumb worn me out.  What on earth have you done to your knees?’

‘Fine Grandma. Oh that, I slipped and grazed them on some rough stones when I was walking through the woods. I’ll go and put the kettle on.’

Phew. She had got away with it. Maybe she would even have another go next time the old witch went out for the day.

‘Lacey. When you come in could you bring my black socks from the kitchen?  They should be dry by now and my feet are cold.’

Perhaps she wasn’t in the clear after all. She couldn’t even blame losing the odd socks on the washing machine. It hadn't been invented yet.

A Chance Meeting

If you’re subscribed to this blog by e-mail, you may notice that you’re reading this on Saturday instead of Friday. My apologies for being tardy. I usually post on Thursdays so that the e-mail goes out on Flash Fiction Friday, but this week, I forgot it was Thursday and didn’t remember until I awoke Friday morning, at which point it wasn’t Thursday anymore. Oops!

I am still eagerly (desperately?) seeking guest authors of flash fiction  If you would like to share your short-short story on my blog, please read this.

Now, without further ado, please welcome this week’s guest author Nav Logan!

Many years ago, when I was just a small boy gazing in wonder at his first chest hair, I decided that I was going to become a tramp. I was going to drop out and go to Strathclyde. Why Strathclyde? God only knows, but every man must have a goal in life. Being an engineer or a pilot didn’t cut it for me. My soul was filled with wanderlust and the need for adventure.

So, after leaving home, I dropped out. I even went to Strathclyde, passing through it in a sleepy haze while being rocked gently to slumber in the passenger seat of an unknown truck.

Since then, I have done many things and seen many places, always following my instincts and trusting in my destiny. I am self-taught in many things; a jack of all trades and a master at none, but I’ve always got by. A strong self-belief has brought me through many adversities. I try to be the best I can be and often fail, but I continue, nevertheless.

I’ve been writing since I was that small boy, mainly poems and an occasional short story. Maerlin’s Storm was first written over a decade ago. It wasn’t something I planned to do. I didn’t wake up and say, I’m going to be an author. Far from it. Like many things in my life, it all started with a dream. The next morning, I wrote a poem Later, it became a story, and this small seed became my beanstalk. People read it and enjoyed it, but then life became busy again. For many years the story sat, collecting dust. It would have stayed on the shelf, forgotten, but fate had other plans.

I now have five published novels. Three are part of the Storm-Bringer Saga, an Epic Fantasy series. I also published a collection of drabbles and poems: Little Words ... Full of Big Worlds, a collection of short stories and drabbles: Bananas in My Shorts, and a collaboration short story: Happy Halloween.

Find Nav on Facebook, his website/blog page, or his Goodreads author blog.

A Chance Meeting

Avigail pulled her thin cardigan tighter around her body, trying to ward off the biting wind that blew down the platform. Her sister stood a short distance away, wrapped up protectively in their mother’s arms. Mother was talking to the other women on the platform.

It was dawn, and they were waiting for their train to arrive.

She didn’t notice the young man approach until he touched her gently on the elbow. “You look cold, miss. Here, take my coat.”

She’d been warned not to talk to strangers, but the young man had kind eyes. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

“Rubbish! You’re shivering,” he pointed out, removing his jacket and placing it around her shoulders.

The coat was large on her small frame, but it felt warm. She smiled gratefully. “Perhaps just for a minute. Thank you. I’m Avigail, by the way; Avigail Weiner.”

They talked briefly. She learned that he was called David. He was a music teacher. He had recently moved into the area and taken up a job at the university, which is why they had not yet met.

David’s smile made her feel special. It was like it had been saved just for her.

Too soon, they heard the sounds of an approaching train and David stepped away, heading back to the group of men from which he had emerged.

“Wait! You’ve forgotten your coat!” Avigail shouted.      

“Keep it for me,” he replied, turning to smile at her again. “You can return it to me when we meet again.”

The train stopped with a hiss of steam, blocking out the wind. The doors rattled open, and Avigail was sucked into the forward carriage carried along by the other women. They were pressed together like sardines in a can, and Avigail had to use all of her strength to make her way through to where her mother and sister were waiting anxiously.

“Where have you been?” demanded her mother.

Avigail ignored the question. She pressed her face to the side of the carriage, peering through a gap in the wood, hoping to catch another glimpse of David. She missed his smile already.

Outside, the men were making their way down the platform to an empty carriage, and she could not see the music teacher amongst them. He was lost within the crowd.

They had been told that upon arrival, they would have a shower, be issued clean clothes and then receive a hot meal.

Avigail smiled at that.

The next time she met David, she might look a little more presentable. She wouldn’t look as if she had been dragged out of her bed in the middle of the night and marched through the town to catch a train.

She wondered what their new home would be like, and if she would really meet David again.

It was cramped in the cattle truck, but at least they were in out of the wind.

A whistle blew outside and the doors slammed shut, leaving the women in near darkness. Tiny beams of light broke the darkness; cracks in the boarding of the carriage.

The train shuddered and started to move, taking Avigail to her new home.