Friendly Fire

I remember it was in January – January 11th of this year, as a matter of fact. I was sitting on a bench by the Vietnam War memorial, and it was just about the worst weather I’ve ever been out in. And that’s saying a lot.

I was just sitting there, thinking about all my old buddies that died in the war, all caught up in that glass-smooth wall rising up like some great big old altar, some kind of offering to God or something.

Interview with the Anatomist

You will be aware of various ghastly tales that are told in the city of Edinburgh; tales of haunted burial grounds, ghosts and ghouls, Mary King’s Close, and others it would take too long to mention here. Edinburgh seems to have gained some reputation for a violent and sometimes unsavoury past that might, or might not, continue to haunt its present.

A Spook at Bedtime

Angela and Freddy always went away at Christmas, and this Christmas was no exception. But their holiday destination this year was very different, and Angela was not happy about it.

“Darling,” she said, standing the bathroom doorway in her diaphanous nightgown, brushing her teeth, “this has to be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Tale for a Winter’s Night

The old woman sits in front of the dying fire, staring at the embers, rocking, muttering to herself.

I let her rock, let her mutter. I’ve no complaints. I’m stretched out on a battered sofa, a sheepskin blanket pulled around me, a substantial glass of poteen on the floor within easy reach.

Africa

“Could you rub some lotion on my shoulders?” asked Marcia, rising up onto her elbows. She sat up and brushed sand off her breasts, turning her back to me.

I poured some hot, runny lotion into my cupped palm, then rubbed it over her back. It was about three o’clock on a cloudless Cretan summer day. We had been out since noon, eaten our lunch of melon and yoghourt, splashed in the shallow turquoise sea, and now lay limply on our towels, holiday novels lying unread in the sand.