Jane Jago's Blog, page 467

Coffee Break Read – Enter the Ghosts

Why did you want to see me?’
‘Ghosts.’
She reached over quite steadily and took her cup of tea from my outstretched hand, but her face lost quite a bit of its usual high colour.
‘Oh. That lot. What do you want to know?’
‘Everything.’
‘That could take a while…’
‘Précis then.’
She stared into her tea for a long minute then started to talk, I switched on the voice recorder on my phone, and sat back to listen.
‘My granny was born and raised in this pub, though it was called The Bell in them days....

I am old

I am old, that’s no bone of contention
And I got here without intervention
So why would I think twice
On your so-called advice?
Hush your mouth, I’m not paying attention

© jane jago 2017

From Tales from the Underground -Tongueless Caverns

They were sitting in the park, a child had come running up chasing a creature no one else could see, playing a game in augmented vision. She swiped at something in the air between them.
“Got it!”
Yris watched her run off already obsessed by the next intangible she needed to track down.
“She knows,” Soraya said, as the child danced away over the sunlit grass. “She called me to account for my activities this last cycle.”
The pit of his stomach tightened and he looked at the woman sitting beside...

From Tales of the Underground -Tongueless Caverns

They were sitting in the park, a child had come running up chasing a creature no one else could see, playing a game in augmented vision. She swiped at something in the air between them.
“Got it!”
Yris watched her run off already obsessed by the next intangible she needed to track down.
“She knows,” Soraya said, as the child danced away over the sunlit grass. “She called me to account for my activities this last cycle.”
The pit of his stomach tightened and he looked at the woman sitting beside...

The Willow Man

The willow man’s breath fogs the window
He scratches the glass with twiggy fingers
You hide your head under the pillow
But the voice of the wildwood lingers
It follows you into the edges of sleep
And echoes in the spaces of your head
Under your straining eyelids it creeps
And flavours each indrawn breath with dread
The willow man’s breath is as cold as cold
And his fingers are knotted and strong
No matter if you be in childhood or old
You will suffer the ice of his song
The willow man’s breat...

Coffee Break Read – Tabruth

From ‘Times of Change: Transgressor Trilogy‘

The very worst thing about Tabruth was the smell.

The city was nothing more than a squalid collection of unsanitary slums, huddled together in tightly packed rows and crushed around by restraining walls, which were more effective at keeping the garbage and disease in than any enemy out – and smelt worse than a fresh batch of organically produced fertiliser. Even in the allegedly luxurious rooms which he had been assigned in Tabruth’s castle – it’s...

The Banker and The Accountant

The lights were shining on the beach
Blinking in colours and white
They lit the sky and lit the sand
And made it all so bright
And this was good because it was
The middle of Saturday night
The deejay jumped just like a flea
Because he said the kids
We’re lucky that he did this gig
As freely as he did

The Banker and the Accountant
Were walking on the beach
And each one wept to see so much cash
Definitely out of reach
With seven miles of razor wire
And a hundred vans selling beer
Do you suppose...

Monday Meme – Satisfactory

Shalomon came back to the everyday world, and looked at the paper under his hands. There was something, but what was it? It was complex, and full of symbols, and a bit frightening. He knew this was his last chance and he was afraid he might already have blown it. But what could he do?

He drew in a slow, deep breath and made an effort to calm his soaring pulse rate before raising one shaking hand.

Teacher left his desk and came down the narrow aisle, with his scaly sides brushing the desks as...

You Are Old

You are old, let me just make it clear
That even your knitting is queer
You should knit baby clothes
To warm tiny toes
Not merkins in purple cashmere

© jane jago 2017

Sunday Serial – I

A new feature for the blog – Jane Jago’s latest hard-hitting novel, serialised for you to enjoy! 

CHAPTER ONE

When Jim Cracksman received a ‘get your ass home now’ text, he grinned good-naturedly and climbed into his beloved muscle truck. As it turned out, that was to be the last time he smiled for many hours.

When he strolled into the house, it was to find his wife and his oldest son awaiting him with white, strained faces. He pulled Patsy into a one-armed hug and looked a question at Jamie....