Category: Short Stories (Page 1 of 3)

Dinner For Two

This was my fist effort at romance writing and was included in the bestselling, charity anthology, 100 Stories for Haiti, back in the day.

Dinner for Two

Has that clock stopped?  No, my watch says the same time. Stop looking every thirty seconds, will you?

Maisie Connolly, this is your bloody fault. If it all goes wrong, I’ll never speak to you again.

Right, check the food, Sarah, it’s fine, you know it’s fine, you only checked it two minutes ago. Wine, where’s the bloo…okay, it’s on the table, should be room temperature by now. Maisie Connolly, if this wine isn’t as good as you promised you’ll be wearing it tomorrow. At twelve quid a bloody bottle it ought to be dynamite.

Check the mirror, sigh, I’m sure those lines round your mouth are getting deeper; you’ll need cement to fill them in if they get any worse.

What’s that?  Was that a car? Dare you peek through the window? You don’t want him to catch you looking. Count to thirty and listen for the car door closing… thirty, no, can’t have been him.

I hope he likes classical music; those free CDs from the Sunday papers were worth keeping after all. Classical is a bit more sophisticated than Simply Red.

Hang on, daft girl; Simply Red is fine for that close up chat on the sofa later in the evening. Damn, where the hell is it?

Had to be in the bloody car, didn’t it?  Right then, that’s Mozart for dinner and Mick Hucknall for afters, lovely.

Twenty-five past eight. This has to be the longest night of my life, are we stuck in a time warp or something?

Hope he likes the dress; check the mirror, not too much cleavage, not too short. Come on, Sarah, you’ve been through all this; it took you two hours to choose it. What if he comes in a suit though? Are you formal enough? No time to do anything about it now. I bet he wears a sodding suit.

Let’s hope it goes better than last time, eh?  Note to self, if you spill the red wine over his trousers, don’t dab at his crotch with a napkin.

Why did you do that? You should have left it at a horrified, ‘sorry.’ It was his house; he could quite easily have nipped through to change. He ended up being more embarrassed than you did, and why did you keep bringing it up throughout the meal? Oh my God, then you go and lose a contact lens in the Beef Stroganoff.

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New book of short stories for kids.


The Little Christmas Tree and Other Stories. The first new Trevor Forest children’s book to be published for five years is now available in eBook priced 99p and on Kindle Unlimited for FREE.  Also available in paperback. Signed copies on requeast. A separate version of Faylinn Frost and the Snow Fairies is also available.

A small collection of short stories for kids of reading age or for parents to read to them at bedtime.

Stories include.
The Little Christmas Tree
Horace the Ogre
Harry’s Present
A Boxful of Wishes
Celia’s Question
Old Tom The Catnip King. (A poem about a lazy cat)
Clicking Gran. (Halloween Poem)
Faylinn Frost and the Snow Fairies (Full Book)

Linky Thingy

EPUB version available to reviewers on request.

A New eBook for kids COMING SOON


The Little Christmas Tree and Other Stories will be released on Amazon within the next few days. The book is for kids of reading age or kids too young to read themselves but like a good story read to them in bed.

The book comprises of Five short stories and One funny poem.

The Little Christmas Tree (the last pine tree before the north pole. A 3300 word Christmas story.)

Horace the Ogre.

Harry’s Present. (a very short Christmas story.)

A Box Full Of Wishes.

Celia’s Question. (a short Christmas story.)

Clicking Gran (my almost famous Halloween poem.)

Faylinn Frost and the Snow Fairies (Complete Book)

The book will be priced at 99p.

Paperback will follow shortly.

More to follow.

The Zombie Poets. (Short Version.)

The Zombie Poets 

If you’d rather read the story on your tablet, phone of computer,  you can download it from the link above.

Journal: 1st November. 2011.

I’m sick to death of these bloody Zombies, they are everywhere now. I can’t walk down the street without being accosted by them. They’re in the library, my local pub, and the gym. When I’m at home they squash their faces up against my windows and peer through my letterbox. I can’t escape them. They don’t want to bite me, eat me or rip off bits of my body, it’s much worse than that. They want to recite poetry to me.

It’s a waste of time trying to hide from them, they smell my fear. They know that as soon as I hear the opening line of ‘The Lady of Shalott,’ I break out in a cold sweat. They could sniff me out hiding in lead box in a disused tin mine.

I wasn’t always afraid of poetry, I used to quite like Pam Ayers on that TV talent show. It’s the repetition that gets to me, the dreadful monotone chanting. Hearing one Zombie do it is bad enough but when there are thirty, fifty…

 That’s how they turn you. They don’t need to bite. It’s a slow brainwashing process and its effects are devastating. My girlfriend and my two best friends have already succumbed. One day they were normal people headbanging to Metallica, the next they were sticking their heads through my open bathroom window mumbling some Scottish nonsense about a wee timorous beastie.

I bumped into then again when I went to steal supplies from the looted supermarket. They were staggering along the High Street with about half a dozen others, arms held in front, fixed stare, bits of rotting flesh dropping everywhere. Pam spotted me as I came out with my box of scavenged food. I started to run but tripped over a discarded foot and went my length on the tarmac. Before I could get to my feet, my ears were assailed by an horrific recital of a Lord Byron lament.

And thou art dead, as young and fair

As aught of mortal birth,

And form so soft, and charms so rare,

Too soon returned to Earth!

After the tenth reprise I could stand it no longer and I kicked, spat and fought my way from beneath their fixed eyes and cruel tongues. I ran like the hounds of hell were on my tail and made it back home, bruised and soiled, but still able to sing Stairway to Heaven.

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