Short Fiction

Elvis is Alive and Well But… by John Cunningham

Saturday 24th January 1987

Sound-checking the venue’s PA system, Jesse strapped on his battered jumbo guitar, and proceeded to tune it. After all these years, he thought, he could still tune his instrument by ear. He adjusted his microphones to accommodate the position of its hole for amplification, and his height for vocals.  The house lights were on, revealing a square, empty floor, with a bar down the left hand side of the room, and a number of tables and stools on the other side. The place itself, still reeked of last night’s booze, no matter how much they’d disinfected it. It was a cramped, dark walled room with graffiti on the walls, and smudges of faded reds and greens for effect; reminding some who came in of a run down ghost train.

Jesse: ‘Testing, testing,1,2,3.’

Aaron:  ‘What do you think, brother?’

Jesse:’Just fine.’

Aaron: ‘You bet! We’ll kill em!’

Continue reading “Elvis is Alive and Well But… by John Cunningham”
All Stories, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever – The Deserted Painting by Michael Bloor

This is an account of a beguiling little puzzle, beguiling to me at any rate.. All the facts known to myself are set out below. A possible explanation is then offered. I would very much welcome any alternative solutions that suggest themselves to LS readers.

Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – The Deserted Painting by Michael Bloor”
Short Fiction

Welcome to Christmas Hellworld: Hellweek Day Six

It’s over. You did well. We all did well. All we have to do now is to get through the hell that is New Years Eve. The parties, the alcohol, the hangover, the smelly uncle who wants to kiss you. We hope this might help. Our last in this series of stories to counteract the bonhomie, the joy, the horror that is The Festive Season.

I Called my Alcoholic Friend Sad Satan by Ashlie Allen

Image: Scary Christmas Baubles from www.freepik.com n.b. This is an AI generated image.

Short Fiction

Welcome to Christmas Hellworld: Hellweek Day Five

Brilliant. Wehave almost made it together. Thanks to our wonderful authors we’ve survived the shmooze, the sweet, the gooey. It’s been great, it’s been scary, it’s been Christmas Hellweek. Stories to counteract all that goodwill – I hope we helped – Literally Stories, bah humbug editors.

How to Raise a Monster by L’Erin Ogle – warning some explicit content.

Image: Scary Christmas Baubles from www.freepik.com n.b. This is an AI generated image.

Short Fiction

Welcome to Christmas Hellworld: Hellweek Day Four

Well done, you survived – the worst is over. Or is it? Are there rellies coming? Is there turkey left? The torment goes on. We’re doing our best here – stick with us. Christmas Hellweek. Stories to counteract all that goodwill: Enjoy

Cockatrice by Ryan Priest – Some readers may find the contents disturbing. Not for the faint hearted!

Image: Scary Christmas Baubles from www.freepik.com n.b. This is an AI generated image.

All Stories, christmas hellweek, Short Fiction

Welcome to Christmas Hellworld: Hellweek Day Three

Did you eat too many mince pies? Have you overindulged on the chocolates? Is the whole jolly, feelgood, merry, lovey dovey season getting to you. Maybe we can help
with Literally Stories – Christmas Hellweek. Stories to counteract all that goodwill: Enjoy

Wishbone by Jennie Boyes

Image: Scary Christmas Baubles from www.freepik.com n.b. This is an AI generated image.

All Stories, christmas hellweek, Horror

Welcome to Christmas Hellworld: Hellweek Day One

Still feeling a bit too gooey? Still have the urge to hug people? Don’t worry – we’re here for you. Literally Stories – Christmas Hellweek. Stories to counteract all that goodwill: Enjoy

ULTRA-BELFAST

If you’re the black sheep then any family event, gathering or occasion can feel like Ultra-Belfast.  There’s a purgatorial feel to your day when you’re plucked from your home comforts and trappings and shipped back to a time and place when your independence and autonomy was restricted.  I vaguely remember committing the first few sentences to the white page.  I’d like to say it was during the Christmas before it was published here, that would be remarkably apt but it would also be horse piss.  It almost certainly came after one of those events though. One where I looked around a table and saw variations of the same face looking back at me.  A little older, a little worn down.  The light behind their eyes, a little dimmer than it had been the previous year, or the one before that.

For anyone who doesn’t buy into it, the Northern Irish summer and in particular the 12th of July, is the ultimate purgatorial state.  Twenty-first century living grinds to a halt so a minority of over intoxicated and under informed can lay claim to everything within their eyeline in the name of tradition.  Loyal servants of the crown celebrating the victory of a Dutch King over the English Monarch.  Celebrating the victory of a protestant king over a catholic king.  Celebrating the victory of a protestant king, who led a largely catholic army, financed by the vatican.  Trying to explain it could turn you mad.

The truth of the matter is, to be Northern Irish is to live in a permanent state of purgatory.  Irish by geography, British by rule, your individual identity, independence and autonomy permanently in flux and controlled by calendar and tradition.  I’m ten years older than the writer of this story.  If I had to try, I don’t know if I could write it now, but I still relate to it because I’m still sitting at that card table waiting to go all-in.

Welcome to Ultra-Belfast…

Ultra-Belfast by Dave Louden – Adult Content

Image: Scary Christmas Baubles from www.freepik.com n.b. This is an AI generated image.

All Stories, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever: Not Quite the National Treasure by Geraint Jonathan


Well this is a bit of a different piece – but that’s what the Whatever post is all about. Ladles and Jellypoons we give you an essay by Geraint Jonathan.

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All Stories, christmas hellweek, Editor Picks, Short Fiction

Week 512: Ho Ho No!!!

Ho ho humbuggery

I am tired of PC Christmas. I figure a grown up can endure the Christian God for about six weeks every year without becoming a whiny child about it. Most of us knew that Christmas was bullshit growing up, but I never turned down a present from Santa nor have I ever failed to drop a coin in the Salvation Army bucket.

Continue reading “Week 512: Ho Ho No!!!”