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The Driver - By Django Perks

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  The Driver By Django Perks Jim October 31 st the date was. When I died. I was 31 back then. Young and full of spirit. You could even go as far to say I was energised. My profession was an artist. I painted stunning views of cities and luxurious, green pastures in the countryside around. I don’t remember a lot of the details of how I died, but I will tell you as much as I can. It all started as I was on my way back from the pub. I was drunk as hell. I staggered through the crowds that inhabited the pub this evening and into the cold night. I had to swerve slightly to avoid a gang of kids dressed in Halloween costumes. They stopped at a house just next to the corner of the road. You could hear them from a mile away. “TRICK OR TREAT!” they shouted as they grabbed their sweets and went off into the night. Funny, I remember doing exactly the same thing when I was young. The same house and all. It might even have been the same costumes. Déjà Vu. I staggered further on the lane b
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The House That Should Not Be Here - Part 2 - By Django Perks

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  The House That Should Not Be Here Part 2 By Django Perks The House, Just Outside of Eyam, 2017, The Present Day “The House Should Not Be Here.” “The House Should Not Be Here.” “Stop! Just STOP!” You shout out against the words that jump, leap, and scream at you. They do stop. Eventually. You walk back over to the bed and lay down on it, puzzling over the words that infected you. You dare not to repeat them in case it echoes in your brain; making you mad with torment. You look towards the door, realising that it has just swung open. Walking over to it, you find yourself facing an endless corridor with just one door. The door glares at you from the other end of the corridor and you feel the urge to open it, to pour every single bit of yourself into it. It is compelling but you realise what you have just thought and shake yourself out of the stupor that has taken hold of you. You turn around so that your back is against the corridor. You look around once more before turning your b
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The House That Should Not Be Here - Part 1 - By Django Perks

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  The House That Should Not Be Here Part 1 By Django Perks Yorkshire 2017 A storm rages across Yorkshire. Lightning flashes across the sky and the heavens...oh, how they rumble. It is a storm so unlike any other. So unnatural, so strange. It’s violent, thrashing at everything within its reach. It reminds people of an animal trying to get loose of its cage. It reminds them of a mental man or woman thrashing around in their bed. The rain beats a rhythm out against the ground and anything that fails to get out of its way. Trees fall against the wind, losing their footing and bringing up tremendous amounts of earth. As soon as you leave Yorkshire, the rain stops, the storm itself appears as though it never existed. Except...when you look back, it does. A thick fog is now ascending from nowhere. Cars are forced to stop in their tracks as it becomes impossible to see where they are heading. Children sit huddled together in the back of the car. The storm won’t stop at all. ‘The footba
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The Willow’s Weeping By Kirsty R-D

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Mr. and Mrs. Smith were household names down in Silverfort, they were the richest by far, the classiest, the most sophisticated and the most organised. They were perfect. Everything about them was perfect; their house was perfect, their jobs were perfect, their country club was perfect. But one of the most perfect things about their perfect lives and perfect world was their garden. Laid beside their cosy, little cottage were the most beautiful lawns you will ever see, half an acre wide and twice the length; they were the most vibrant green colour ever to grace the earth and when the midday sun hit, you could see the dew drops clinging to the grass not wanting to let go of the most beautiful blades they had ever known. Along the left side and the far edge of the garden ran a border of trees of every kind; spruce and oak, pine and birch, cherry and ash; a collage of bark and leaves. Amongst them, standing out more than others was a colossal weeping willow, way down in the far lef
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A Taste of Your Own Medicine By Kirsty R-D

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A Taste of Your Own Medicine Secrets are powerful things, hidden whispers in dark corners, the hush-hush of things you want not to know. Threads of dangerous, unpublished words that should never be leaked. A perfect, unravelable spider’s web spun with a silver tongue and quickly thought up lies. Breathy words interwoven in a deadly tapestry. Flawless and quiet, dew drops of suspicion clinging to its silken fibres but ultimately, unable to penetrate the web. And there was no better web-spinner than John Huberwick. He thrived in a state of hushed tones and zipped lips, fed off conversations that came to an abrupt halt as oaken doors swung open. It was his natural habitat and anyone that got caught on his web would not be leaving it anytime soon. He had become a master in sucking the life out of those that threatened to leave. He had a million eyes, surveying every corner of his web and his instinctive predatorial nature made him a menace to anyone who dared threaten to uncover hi
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The Milkman By Kirsty R-D

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The Milkman Catherine had always know ghosts existed. There was no false pretence in her mind that the man who left non-existent bottles of milk outside their door every morning was not just an echo of life left over from half a century ago, or that the elderly woman who came in her room to say goodnight had not long since shuffled off this mortal coil. But ghost stories were never scary for Catherine. How could they be? The ghosts she knew were kind and friendly - like the little girl who always wanted to play pat-a-cake or the kind man who never failed to look up from his typewriter to smile at Catherine and run his hand through his afro before returning to his never ending stream of words. The only ghost that Catherine didn’t like was the dog. Each year, on the 16th May, at roughly 10pm the dog began to bark. And when the dog began to bark, everything changed.   Ruff! Ruff! It was that time of the year again, the night Catherine had come to dread. Ruff! Ruff! The ba
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Crimson on White by Kirsty R-D.

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Crimson on White Thick, scarlet liquid trickled onto the frozen blanket of white. Ice became water as hot blood swirled in the dusty flakes. Tendrils of ruby reached out into the endless white, grasping for freedom; praying that if they unfurled their copper coils just enough there might be an excuse to hope. Stark and contrasting; the ruby poured itself into the snow, mixing in a deadly dance of blood and water, There would be no escaping the icy clutches of the chalky, boundless expanse. Not Today. Not ever. Mary Ann pulled her fur coat tighter around her shivering body, her breaths crystallising as they left her mouth. The faint remnants of a Michael Jackson song echoed in her ears from a bar down the street. The sun, having set long ago, had left not even a dash of its legacy behind and Mary Ann felt persisted by the dark. The clouds had created a shield against any small beam of light, extinguishing the stars and banishing the moon. Streetlights emitted their feeble impr
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