Tag: neighbours

All Stories, General Fiction

 Mushawie off the Hill by Tom Sheehan

literallystories2014

Jimmy Mac, on the second-floor porch of his Smith Road house and the early sun barely creasing the edge of Baker Hill, looked over the top of the box scores, the Sox winning their fifth in a row, and saw, for the first time in he’d later guess to be about eight years, Mushawie just coming to the bottom of the Cinder Path. Coming off Baker Hill. He couldn’t remember Mushawie being off the hill. My God! Jimmy, said to himself. Nobody saw Mushawie unless he wanted them to see him, him socked away back in on the Delmere property the way he’d been since VJ Day in ’45.


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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

What We Discard by Gil Hoy

literallystories2014

On Wednesdays, I take my trash down to the curb. You have to wait until 3 pm to bring it down. It gets picked up on Thursday mornings at around 8 am. Our setup is a lot like other New England towns. There’s a blue bin for recyclables, a black bin for regular trash and a brown bin for yard waste.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

The Dog by Paul Goodwin

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My new neighbour is on the doorstep, towering and muscular, jaw thrust forward, bushy grey whiskers like a Victorian.  “Your dog kept me awake last night,” he says.  “Incessant howling.  Given me a headache.”

“Impossible,” I say.  “I don’t have a dog.”

He leans forward, slow like a crane.  His face is close to mine.  I see madness in his eyes.  His breath smells of tobacco.  “Don’t give me that.  Think I’m stupid?”

I force a nervous laugh.  “I’ve never had a dog.  Stick insects and a hamster when I was a kid.  Never a dog.”

He’s walking away.  He tells me he’ll get the police onto me.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Smoke from the Chimney by Tom Sheehan

literallystories2014

Diagonally, out my back window, pal Buzz Chadsy’s house sits like a white peppermint on the side lane, one house between us. In winter’s Christmas snow, it celebrates life and color, at Easter the calm is newly evident, at night a single bulb lights the living edifice. Many late evenings, it is the last sign of life as I trod to bed, to a deep sleep, or a night full of dreams on the run.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction

The House Across the Street by Robert P. Bishop

literallystories2014

Harvey looked out his front window, saw the real-estate lady pull into the driveway of the house across the street and get out of her car. She walked to the For Sale sign with Sale Pending pasted diagonally on it.

Another victim is moving in, he thought.

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All Stories, General Fiction

A Guide to Walking Down My Street by Tim Frank

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I just want to get to my flat up the road, hoping I don’t bump into any of my neighbours, but they’re all loitering out front, sweat trickling into their eyes, swaying slightly in the raging sunshine. The road is long and straight with oak trees lining the pavement, creating circles of hot shade. Birds perch on branches and shit on BMW’s. Everyone wants the trees cut down.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Self-Made Grocers by Susan DeFelice

literallystories2014

I go to Rodney and Betty’s grocery only for the credit, because they sell mealy hamburger and I won’t touch the chicken anymore after the kids found feathers stuck in their drumsticks. It was at a barbeque, a really rare day when the sky is clear cornflower. It is unusual having a summer day when the air is light, light, without so much humidity trapped inside it you could suffocate.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Keys in a Sewer by Dave Gregory

literallystories2014

The house keys fell from my pocket when I reached for my gloves. Attached to a silver ring, they clattered on the sewer grate, slipped through, and disappeared with a splash.

I cursed, threw my head back, and considered the enormity of the problem: it was the week between Christmas and New Year’s; my wife was at a yoga retreat with her sister, in upstate New York; my landlord was probably out of town; I had only loose change in my pocket; less than a quarter-charge on my phone; and my bladder was almost full.

After donning the gloves, I tried lifting the grate but it wouldn’t budge. Recovering the keys was unlikely, what I wanted was a hiding place from my shame.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Cul de Sac by Matthew Roy Davey

literallystories2014

She was the last one to move in.  Most people moved in the day the builders handed the keys over, but her house stayed empty for a couple of weeks.  She was renting which probably explains it.  We still don’t actually know who owns the place, even after everything that’s happened.

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