The Hidden Words | Just Add Ginger

I don't often tend to share this side of me on my blog too much. It's not that I'm ashamed, or bashful, but there is an innate fear within me that by bearing my soul, the world will judge me. 

From early on, I knew that words were going to play a big part in who I was going to be. Forever writing stories, in the playground my friends begged to be a part of them, and I, only too happy to indulge their pleas. To them, I was a writer.

As I got older, I've become more protective over my stories. They are my babies - I have poured so much love into them that I am terrified of anybody criticising them. But stories are written to be shared. To be read. To be spoken. It's time to be brave, to open up!

So....*deep breath*.... here we go ....

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“Please, Bethany, gerr’off him!”

            “Why should I, Bogey Face?”

            “You’re hurting him.”

            Amy jumped up from her bed, trying to reach the captive teddy bear that was dangling from Bethany’s arm. She missed. Bethany ran out to the landing and began to swing the bear round and round her head like a helicopter blade.

            “If only you’d listened to me, Bogey Face.”

            “But I told you, I wasn’t anywhere near the living room. I couldn’t see what you were doing in there. I was up here.”

            “You were spying on me!”

            “I wasn’t!”

            Bethany swung the bear faster and faster. Amy could just make out his terrified face as it whizzed in front of her. Mr Tubbs was the only piece of Dad that she had left. The poor teddy was tattered and frail. Mum had suggested that Amy send him to a charity shop, but she couldn’t bear to see him go. He still smelt like Dad. 

            “Bethany, please. You’re really hurting him,” Amy pleaded.

            “Aw,” Bethany sniggered. “Poor Mr Tubby-wubs.”

            Amy started to cry. All she wanted was Mr Tubbs back, but she knew that Bethany would not give in easily. She could see the corner of Mr Tubbs’ ear that was coming unstitched, straining under the swinging.

            Bethany laughed again.

            “Bogey Face, Bogey Face. Your dad is dead, so shut your face.”

            That was the last straw. Amy lunged for the captive teddy bear. Bethany squealed in delight. Ever since Bethany and her dad had moved in, Bethany had tormented Amy as much as possible. 

            Amy caught one of Mr Tubbs’ feet. It wasn’t a firm grip, and she could feel Bethany trying to pull him up again, ready for another spin. Amy started to tug on the bear’s foot harder, but she could see that the ear by which Bethany had hold of him was starting to loosen. She had no choice.

            She had to let go.

                Amy didn’t realise that Bethany was going to release her grip at the same time. Before Amy knew, Mr Tubbs was up in the air. Well, at least his body was. Amy swore she saw Mr Tubbs wink at her as he tumbled over the banister and disappeared from sight.

Mr Tubbs’ ear lay on the carpet next to Bethany’s foot, torn, and stuffing-less. Bethany glanced down at the ear, and then Amy’s face, and then burst out laughing again.

“Poor Mr Tubby-wubs went for a ride. He fell downstairs and then he...”

“Don’t!” Amy screamed. “This is all your fault. It’ll never be the same now because of you.”

“Me?” Bethany screeched. “If you hadn’t lied about being downstairs, I wouldn’t have taken your stupid bear.”

Amy had had enough. She stormed past Bethany, knocking her to one side. She hurried down the stairs, following the trail of stuffing that had flown out of the bear. She found Mr Tubbs lying at the bottom of the stairs, face down on the carpet.

Amy could hear Bethany’s laughter coming from behind her. Amy wished sometimes that Bethany and her dad would just disappear. She hated them being here. All she wanted was things to go back to how they used to be. But they wouldn’t. She gathered up her bear and as much stuffing as she could and sat in the middle of the hallway. Bethany had threatened Mr Tubbs before, but she had never followed through. The damage done today could be irreparable.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Amy said as she cradled Mr Tubbs in her arms, squeezing him as tightly as she could. “Please don’t hate me.”

“Saddo,” Bethany taunted, coming down the stairs and cowering over Amy. “Least now you’ll know not to listen in on me again.”

Amy covered her face with her hands.

And cried.

Blogtember 2013: Deception

 Creative writing day: write a (very short) fictional story that starts with this sentence: "To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century."

The story does not necessarily need to have a conclusion - you can leave your readers wishing for more!

To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century. 

I hated big social occasions. They made me feel claustrophobic. So many faces, all laughing and smiling and joking, pretending to share a mutual bond over the latest runway show they had attended in Paris, or gloating over the fact that Margaret had to get corrective surgery again on her nose after the surgeon botched the first job. 

It was all a load of crap. The falseness. The lies. The bullsh*t. 

But I was there for Simon. Playing my part of the dutiful wife. It was important I did. He needed me. Put on the make up, zip up the cocktail dress, and paint on the smile for one night and then it would be over. 

Reaching for a flute of champagne as a waiter floated past, I headed for the balcony. I needed air. Oh who was I kidding? I needed a cigarette. Alcohol and nicotine. They were the only things that would calm me down. 

The cool summer breeze caressed my cheek and I instantly felt soothed. Fumbling with the clasp of my purse I scrambled inside to find the pack of cigarettes. To my luck there was one solitary soldier left. I fished him out with relish, then dug back in to my bag in search of a lighter. 

"Do you need a light?" His voice. Soft, and smooth, like honey, drifted into my ears. I would know that voice anywhere. I put the cigarette to my lips and let him light in. I inhaled slowly, enjoying the taste of the nicotine. It calmed me instantly. 

"I'd hoped I'd catch you out here," he murmured. The sound of his voice send a shiver up my spine. 

I felt him draw closer to me. It made me nervous. He made me nervous. I took a long, hard drag of my cigarette and kept my eyes forward. I couldn't catch his eye. I couldn't let him sense my fear. Half-scared and half-excited I was glued to the spot.  

The sound of the balcony door sliding open made us both turn. For a moment I caught a glimpse of him. Pressed grey suit, emerald tie, two-day-stubble. He looked like a god in the dusky haze. 

"Oh there you are you two. You'd better finish off your sneaky fags. There about to serve dinner. And you know how David gets when dinner is served late." 

The door slid shut. 

That was Rachel for you. Always a stickler for time and routine. Always desperate to stay on the good side of her husband. Living on tenter hooks trying to be the perfect housewife, the perfect hostess. But in reality, she was just a robot. 

"Come on, we'd better get back." His dulcet tones filtered into my ear and I gasped in delight. His whispers sent another shiver through me. He moved his lips from my ear and gave me a singular kiss on the cheek, his hand running up my arm slowly. 

"Your husband will wonder where you've got to."

 ....

T is for "The Skunkawug of Slimeland"

T: The Skunkawug of Slimeland

(An extract from piece of children's fiction I wrote at uni.)

“Deep in the heart of Slimeland

The Skunkawug lives there.

He lives on human body parts.

So children: please BEWARE!”

Mum always told the same story before bedtime, but it never got boring.       

        

 “Tell us it again, Mum,” Rebecca would ask, pulling the duvet up to her ears, her toes curling into the mattress.                             

                                                               

“Yeah… we’re not scared,” Hannah would declare, trying to ignore the shiver that ran up and down her spine just thinking about it.   

                                                        

“Oh alright,” Mum would finally agree, settling down on the armchair in between the two beds. She tucked her feet up underneath her body and began her story once more.                                    

                                                                                 

“There are some worlds that you cannot see. There are some worlds that you only hear about on the whisper of the wind; worlds that nobody has ever been to but that everybody knows about. People try to forget about them because they are so dark and scary even the bravest of men would run away crying to his mother.”        

                         

“Where’s Slimeland?” Hannah would ask, but she would always get the same reply every night.

“Nobody knows.”
“But you’ve been there…”

 “I don’t know what you’re taking about, Rebecca. Now mouth shut, ears open.”           
                                                                                         

By the time the story was over, both Rebecca and Hannah would lie shivering under the sheets. They couldn’t even sleep with the light off because they were so afraid that the Skunkawug would come creeping and sneaking out of Slimeland to get them.         
                                                                                                             
“Can you sleep, Han?” whispered Rebecca one moonless night.       
                       
“No,” whispered Hannah,

“I don’t want the Skunkawug to come and get me.”  
          
“D’you think it’s real?” Rebecca asked, sitting up in bed and huddling her knees into her chest.                          
                                                                                            
 “Course it’s real. Mum wouldn’t lie.”  
                                                                      
“Then why doesn’t anyone know where Slimeland is?”         
                              
 “I dunno. Maybe the map got lost.”        
                                                                  
 “Don’t be stupid, Han. I mean, what if the Skunkawug really is alive?”     
             
“Shurrup, Becky. I’m going to bed.”

 “Fine, but if you’re not here in the morning I’ll know why.”      
                  

Rebecca threw herself back down onto the bed and sighed. Hannah lay staring at the ceiling, a sinking feeling taking over her body. Her mother’s song kept floating around in her head. So many questions…so many shadows…wait…was that a light coming from underneath the wardrobe door…?

 Hannah was very quiet the next morning at breakfast, even though Mum had cooked the girls’ favourite breakfast. The sausages had lost their juiciness and the eggs looked like bodiless heads sitting in their cups. The baked beans reminded Hannah of little orange rabbit droppings. Rebecca, on the other hand, looked cheery as she munched on her egg and soldiers.     

                                                                                             

“What’s the matter, Hannah?” Mum asked, patting Hannah on the head. “You not sleep very well love?”                      

                                                                           

“Not feeling well…” Hannah muttered, gulping down some orange juice. Once Mum had left the room Hannah jumped off her seat and grabbed Rebecca’s arm. 

“I know where the Skunkawug lives, Rebecca,” she hissed, glancing round the kitchen to make sure that nobody was listening.                  

                                                

“What are you on about, you weirdo?” Rebecca laughed.      

                                  

“Listen!” Hannah insisted. “I know where the Skunkawug lives, and I’m going to go and find it. I know where the Skunkawug is, and I’m going to hunt it. It lives behind Granny’s knitted jumpers.”             

                                                                        

“You’re crazy,” said Rebecca. “I know Gran’s jumpers are a little furry, but I don’t think even the Skunkawug would go near them. You must’ve been dreaming.”     

“Fine,” Hannah said, picking up her schoolbag and flicking her ponytail behind her head. “You don’t believe me, but I know someone who will. And when I find the Skunkawug, I’m giving it your name.”

 Steven didn’t like school. School was the most boring thing ever. Steve didn’t think that school was important at all, so spent most of his day sitting in the corner of the classroom, making paper aeroplanes and hurling them up in the air. He was always in trouble. Miss Edvard, the headmistress, could single him out just by his ginger hair in a crowded room, and all the teachers had him down as a “trouble maker.”       

                     
Steven and the girls had been neighbours all their lives. They were even born in the same hospital and liked the same tea – (chips and fish fingers with heaps of mashed potatoes and peas), and the same ice cream (chocolate with chocolate sauce and chocolate sprinkles.) Steven knew everything about everything and was always bringing round his encyclopaedia to tell Hannah and Rebecca all the new things he had discovered...Did you know that the dinosaurs became extinct after a meteor hit Earth millions of years ago? And that the Earth and other planets dance around the sun in what’s known as an orbit? Steven could teach you anything you wanted to know.           
                                                                                                                                       
When Hannah and Rebecca arrived at school, Steven was already there. He was sat huddled in the corner of the playground hidden behind his encyclopaedia. All that could be seen was a dome of ginger hair peeking out from over the top of the hardback, leather-bound book, and a pair of beady,searching eyes looking round the playground conspicuously.     
                                                                                                  
“Hi, Steve,” Rebecca chirped, making Steve start as she jumped out in front of him grinning. “Han’s flipped her lid. She’s even crazier than you.”      
                              

Steve frowned and started reading his book again, saying nothing. Hannah shot a piercing look at Rebecca, who shrugged, and began talking again.

“She says she knows where the Skunkawug lives. She wants to feed you to him.”      

                                                                                      

“Don’t be silly, Becky,” Hannah said, but Steve was captivated. He had appeared from behind his book.                           

                                                                     

“You know where it lives?” Steve said, eyes wide, and mouth open.   

Hannah nodded slowly and put her finger to her lips, urging Steven to keep his voice down.                      

“Where?” Steven whispered.        
                                                                 
 “Be awake at midnight tonight when everyone has gone to bed. Bring your backpack and some essentials with you. We’ll leave the window open…”  
                        
“Yeah; but where’s Slimeland?”                  
                                                              
“Do you promise not to tell anyone?” said Hannah.          
                                       
“I swear on my Pokemon card collection.”

Rebecca raised her eyebrows and folded her arms across her body, unimpressed and unconvinced. Hannah urged them both closer so that they were standing huddled in a circle, heads close together and hearts pounding with excitement.      

                                   

“The way into Slimeland… “  

 Steven took in a sharp breath and Rebecca sighed, wishing that Hannah would just spit it out.                                                                                                                                                               

             

“The way into Slimeland...is in our bedroom.”

All thoughts on this piece are welcome. 

Would you like to read more?

Ginger x

L is for "Living with You"

L: "Living with You"

...an extract from a piece of fiction I wrote at university....

...When we first got married, he asked me if I wanted to cut down my hours at the office – to spend more time at home, cooking and cleaning and being a kept woman. I said no. No. I didn't want to be one of those women. It would start out as going into the office a few days a week – keeping on track with admin, and catching up with Gert. Then it would become a few hours each week. Before I knew it I would be stuck at home, ironing and washing and bringing up the babies. “No,” I said, “I want to stay at work.”

            It wasn't easy though, living up to his expectations as well as working five days a week. As Mrs. Reynolds I was expected to keep the house clean and shiny, and at all times be sophisticated, just in case he brought home an executive to negotiate a deal. Sometimes I’d find myself up well into the early hours, running my fingers over the same part of the kitchen counter, just in case a particle of dust decided defiantly to land there. I was desperate to please. He wouldn't expect any less of me than perfection.   

Maybe if I had been the dutiful housewife, it wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I’d spent more time out of the office and in the kitchen, things wouldn't have gone so far. Cracks started to appear. He spent more and more time at the office and less and less time at home. He said it wasn't anything to do with me, but I could see through him. The house wasn't up to scratch. He wasn't pleased.

“I just want you to be happy,” he said, caressing my cheek. I could feel his fingernails press into my skin.

            “I am happy,” I said, tearing his hand away and turning from him.

            “The house doesn't matter. If you want to keep on working, we can get a maid.”

            “A maid?”

            He sighed. “ I'm anal. I told you that. It’s my biggest flaw. Just do your best. If it wasn’t for the long hours, I’d help.”

            He headed my way, arms open. The veins pulsed in his head. I flinched. Stay strong. Just stay strong. I tried to keep the fear from my face as he approached me. I tried to be brave. Stay strong. Just stay strong. His arms enveloped me in an enormous hug. I felt his hot breath tickle my skin. He sighed with relief.

            “It’s alright sweetness. I've got you. I won’t let you go.”

“You don’t understand Gert, I need him.”

            “That’s what they always say hun. And then they end up in a ditch somewhere, hacked to pieces.”

            Gert takes a sip of her coffee and looks at me, cocking her head to one side. Gert doesn't understand. She’s not the settling down type. Not since her sister took the only man she’d ever loved. Since then, Gert had been on a mission; do whoever she could get her hands on.

            “I just need to be more organised.”

            Gert sighs. She pulls her chair closer to mine and looks me straight in the eyes.

            “You wanted my opinion,” she says, “So I’ll tell you. I think you’re an idiot. You’re with a man who says he loves you, yet wants you to spend every hour God gave you being Holly Housewife, and being at his beck and call. You’re trapped. You can’t even see it. You have these headaches and; you’re forgetful. That’s not you. You are gone. I'm talking to someone else right now.”  

            I start to feel really uncomfortable. Although Gert is my friend, probably my only friend, I don’t think I can talk this through with her anymore. She doesn't seem to understand what I’m going through. I glance at the clock. It’s nearly five. If I'm not careful, he’ll be back before me and I still have the shopping in the car. Dinner is lamb casserole, and his boss is coming with his latest girlfriend. I have to get going.

            “ I've got to go,” I say, kissing Gert on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

            “Sure, whatever,” she replies, eyeing me up and down. “See you later.”

            I'm losing her, I can feel it. But all I can think about is getting home before he sees the washing up I still have to do from breakfast.  

The sky’s beginning to look awful by the time I get to Heritage Walk – that kind of ominous grey that you see in films when you know something bad is going to happen. It is starting to drizzle, and the pavement is becoming a sea of black. It will be a battle to get through all the umbrellas, but at least it means I won’t get wet.

            I park the car in the drive and get out, grabbing the shopping with both hands. The light is on in the living room. Shit. Stay strong, just stay strong. I do not want to go in. I want to run back to Gert and weep in her lap, telling her she has been right all along.

            Carefully squeezing through the crowd, I make my way to the front door and fumble for my key. It is lodged inside my coat pocket – stuck. I can’t free it. It’s enfolded in the fabric.

            “Get caught up in traffic?” His voice comes from the console outside. “Maybe I should just leave you out in the rain.”

He laughs. It makes my head bang. Everything is starting to get very hazy. His laugh always does that to me. It almost sounds too happy. Nobody can be that happy.

The door buzzes, and I push my way inside. Rain is dripping from my head and I'm leaving a trail of water behind me.

“Aw, sweetheart!” He makes my skin crawl. His words are like poison. They tear away at my insides. They make me want to scream. They make me…

“I’m not late,” I say, pushing through him and into the house. “ I'm not late, I'm not late. I…”

“Of course, darling.” He follows me into the kitchen. “But you are late. Big night tonight.”

He leans on the kitchen counter, right by the unfinished washing up. He is fingering a knife in its holder. I can’t take my eyes off that hand. He hasn't cut his nails and there is dirt under the nail of his index finger. There are little scratches and scars all over that hand. Paper cuts…fingernails…war wounds. He still hasn’t showered. I can smell that his deodorant has worn off. He needs to wash but he hasn't  He has been waiting for me so that it can begin.

“I’ll have dinner ready for seven thirty,” I say, still staring at his hand gently fingering the knife. “You go and shower.”

“Don’t I get a hug first?”

I smile weakly. My head is pounding now. This migraine is one of the worst I've had in ages. It’s gripping the sides of my head and doesn't want to let go, tearing at my brain, dragging its nails down my skull.

He’s watching me approach, a look of uncertainty on his face. I have seen that look before and I know what that look means. 

“Come on sweetheart,” he coos, coaxing me towards him. Maybe this time it will be alright. Maybe it is just going to be a hug, and then later tonight we’ll make love on our white satin sheets.

I feel his hands on me, and my dream fades with me as I fall into darkness...

Ginger x