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    Bleak Midwinter Tales
    Bleak Midwinter Tales
    Bleak Midwinter Tales
    Ebook58 pages56 minutes

    Bleak Midwinter Tales

    By Gerald Hornsby

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    About this ebook

    Welcome to a collection of dark and moody short fiction - twenty-five stories to entertain you in winter. There's no comedy. There's no romance. There's spooky goings-on, there's some nasty goings-on, and there's some very peculiar characters. And, I'm afraid, there's some death. Quite a lot of death, actually.
    I hope you enjoy them.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGerald Hornsby
    Release dateDec 22, 2010
    ISBN9781458024060
    Bleak Midwinter Tales

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      Book preview

      Bleak Midwinter Tales - Gerald Hornsby

      Bleak Midwinter Tales

      by Gerald Hornsby

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2010 Gerald Hornsby

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      * * * *

      THE PICTURES THAT TOM DREW

      The queue, at this time of night, was around a dozen deep. Tom was in no hurry, although the cold was starting to seep through the many layers he was wearing tonight. The days of being overloaded with consumerist crap had long gone. A sudden blast of ice-cold air cut through to the skin on his neck, and he pulled the threadbare collar of his coat up higher.

      He shuffled forwards with the rest of them, waiting patiently for his turn to be searched. They were distracted by a noise in the other line, some ten feet away; one of the 'guests' took exception to being told he couldn't take any drink in with him. Tom shook his head. What did these people do for brains? There were signs up all round, telling them what they could and couldn't take in. Tom guessed that the majority of them couldn't read, or were too pissed or stoned to make sense of any signs like that.

      The line shuffled forwards once more. The man in front of Tom stood a few feet from the woman doing the searching, and posed, feet and arms spread wide. Come on, darling. You can help yourself to anything you like. You know you want to. Behind the woman, Tom saw some of the 'second row' tense up, just in case there was trouble. But the woman smiled, went about her job efficiently and with good humour.

      Off to one side, a group of men had gathered who were ‘disposing’ of forbidden drink. They were all happily getting rid of it as fast as they could, sitting on benches provided for them.

      Tom stood quietly whilst he was searched. The small round badge said she was called Mary, and Tom would have guessed her age at about sixty.

      Aren't you cold, standing outside doing this? Tom asked.

      Oh, I don't mind. It's only for a couple of hours at a time, and we have a chance to get warm and have something to eat. Besides, I can rest as long as I want after tonight.

      Once past Mary and her second row, Tom turned left and headed up one of the stairways to the upper floors where they had set up the various kitchens. He helped himself to some of the hot food which was available. Today, he was able to throw beef and vegetables in a stew into his mouth – the first hot food he’d had for several days.

      Following his meal, he leaned on the balcony barrier, surveying the huge area. They had erected several large marquees for drug dependency, medical, and other essential facilities. He headed downstairs, and out towards the left, which was where the main arts and crafts marquee was situated. Walking in through the open entrance, he saw the helper he had worked with on a previous occasion. Her name badge stated she was Fiona, and she had provided Tom with a variety of useful information and guidance, which he translated into some pencil and charcoal drawings, which she’d promised to keep. She saw him, and beckoned him over to an empty desk area.

      Hiya, Tom. How are you doing tonight? I was wondering if we’d see you again.

      I’m doing fine, thanks. I’ve had something to eat, and I’m feeling much more human now. I feel inspired. As if to prove it, he waggled his fingers in the air.

      She got some paper and drawing equipment, and laid them out in front of him. I thought if you’d make some drawings, similar to those you did the other night, and then perhaps we’ll move on, and maybe do some work with pastels, or even oil later, if you want.

      Tom worked one hand inside the other, left and then right, over and over, working out the arthritis, and working some heat into them. It was no use trying to do anything creative when you couldn’t move your hands properly, never mind your fingers.

      His first attempts,

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