Steven D. Jackson's Blog, page 5

Turn The Page

The wind seems to scream outside my window, drawing my gaze. The clouds blowing across the moon cast strange shadows across the night-shrouded land beyond. I watch it for a moment, the fleeting silver consumed by the dark, before I admit to myself why I’m so eager for a distraction. The book lies heavy in my hands, resting on my lap as I sit in the old wooden chair in my shabby little cabin by the forest. That I should have come here alone on a night like this, seems the height of lunacy. I g...

One Last Case

If anyone ever reads this, then please know that this was meant to be my last case. I didn’t want to go through it again, the horror, the desperation, and worst of all the hope. The hope that this time I could save the victim, that I’d be able to reach them. It didn’t go down that way. It never goes down the way you want it to.
I sat in my car with the card in my hand, staring down at it for perhaps the fiftieth time. A repulsive, ghastly statement of an unspeakable intent hidden within a swir...

The Blame Game

The distinctive baying of a crowd in uproar raged beyond the wooden shutters, voices rising and falling, melting together like waves crashing on some hellish beach. Father Denham’s hands somehow managed to move faster, grabbing the rosary from the table and dropping it over his head as his feet struggled to work their way to the end of his ill-fitting boots. With a frustrated growl he pulled them on, ignoring the pain as the leather rubbed hard against his blistered heels.

He’d been on the roa...

The Devil in the Detail

Gertrude Petunia Clifford poured tea from a white china pot, decorated with frolicking cats, into two similarly tasteless cups. She had never liked the set, having received it as a gift from a particularly unsuitable prospective daughter-in-law who had tried, transparently and without success, to buy her affections with gaudy china. Gertrude had kept the set, not out of any love for the ghastly animals parading around the cheap pieces, but as a reminder of one of the most delicious victories...

Happy Birthday

I don’t celebrate my birthday. I don’t even let anyone know when it is. Not on Facebook, twitter, and certainly not in the real world. Because birthdays are powerful things. To know the date that a person took their first breath, the point in time that tethered their existence to this particular world, it’s almost like knowing a serial number or a registration plate. It gives people with certain kinds of knowledge a certain kind of power.
And no, I’m not talking about identity theft. Not in t...

It's the drink talking

It was hard to see the therapist in the dark. The dim overhead light cast deep shadows over his face, barely illuminating the tops of his ears and bridge of a long nose. The rest was lost in darkness, swathed in the deep black of the silent room.
I breathed out slowly, trying to focus myself. The session was taking me to difficult questions, making me focus on thoughts I would rather ignore, and it took effort. I felt like I was stumbling barefoot across jagged rocks, knowing that if I didn’t,...

Out of the frying pan

My corrupted veins stretch out under my skin like fronds of some hideous weed, tangled and black against my pale, almost white, skin. Sometimes I sit and stare at them, wondering exactly what will become of me. I fancy that I can see the corruption spreading, achingly slowly, along the spidery lines of subcutaneous vessels. But it’s only when I’m not watching that it really spreads. From the fingertips of my right hand to my throat, a network of intertwining black threads reaches up as though...

Spare Some Change

At this time of the year the sun is already rising as he turns the corner of Clement Road onto the street that leads to the station. Station Road it’s called, unsurprisingly, though he’s never noticed. Unfortunately, Alex doesn’t notice things like that, always being far too lost in his own thoughts to care about the details of the world around him. In past moments of introspection he has recognised this as a flaw in his character and before long he will have reason to regret making no effort...

The Net

The bottle cap fell into the Bolognese, and the chilli sauce followed.

“Dammit,” Howard muttered, quickly fishing the cap out and holding up the near-empty bottle to the light. He peered with half-hearted hope at the now overly-red sauce and gave it a tentative stir. It would be fine for him, since he loved hot food, but not for Callum. He sighed, casting resigned eyes over the little rack of spice jars on the other side of the kitchen. When none seemed to present themselves as an antidote to...

Parents' Evening

“Gonna be late,” Paul muttered again from the passenger seat, using that irritating, sing-song voice he used to mean it was her fault. Yet again.Well. Perhaps it was her fault. Perhaps not. But it didn’t matter; it wasn’t like this was life or death, it was a parents’ evening for goodness’ sake. Just some school teacher’s petty, meaningless schedule. Sasha kept her eyes on the road, deciding to claim the moral high ground by focusing only on the remedy and not the problem.  Piously refus...