Here is a collection of free short stories written for your enjoyment. You don't have to read them, of course, but given you're browsing the 'Free Stories' section of my website, if you don't like my writing style you might want to consider if there could be a better way for you to spend your time.
The free stories included on this site are:
Sir Edric and the Vampire Lord
Sir Edric and the Stolen Sherry
Unnecessarily Epic - Thaddeus and the Demon
Sir Edric and the Wig
There are also many (over a dozen) free stories of mine over at the splendid Kraxon magazine. Just click here.
The free stories included on this site are:
Sir Edric and the Vampire Lord
Sir Edric and the Stolen Sherry
Unnecessarily Epic - Thaddeus and the Demon
Sir Edric and the Wig
There are also many (over a dozen) free stories of mine over at the splendid Kraxon magazine. Just click here.
Sir Edric and the Vampire Lord
“So, let me get this right,” Sir Edric said to the visiting priest. “You’re being terrorised by a giant albino lagomorph that appears at the same time every year? And you want me to kill the aforementioned magical vermin?”
Dog coughed. “Actually, sir, it sounds like the Easter Bunny is more of a benevolent spirit.”
“Indeed,” Father Michael agreed. “He’s more of a fun character for children. The real message of Easter is about Jesus-”
“He’s the vampire, yes?”
Father Michael sighed. “No, Sir Edric. He is the Son of God-”
“I thought you said he was a carpenter?”
The priest cast his eyes to the heavens and mouthed a silent prayer. “Jesus was the Son of God. He was killed and lay for three days before rising from the dead, when he spoke again to his followers and then passed from our sight.”
Sir Edric nodded knowingly. “Definitely a vampire. So, you want me to kill Jesus?”
Father Michael was silent for a moment, clenching his jaw so hard his muscles bulged. “No, Sir Edric. I do not want you to kill Jesus. Or the Easter Bunny. I’m simply here to spread the message of Our Lord, to speak of his rising from the dead and the triumph of hope over despair, of life everlasting and-”
Sir Edric raised a hand to cut off the priest’s prattling. “That’s riveting. So, beyond preaching, is there any reason you’re here?”
The priest sighed again, and raised a large basket he was carrying. “I’ve also brought a large number of Easter eggs for the children of Awyndel.”
The knight frowned. “What do eggs have to do with vampires?”
Father Michael took a moment to answer. “It’s just a fun tradition to give one another, especially children, chocolate eggs to eat at this time of year.”
“What a splendid notion,” Sir Edric agreed. “Dog and I were just on our way to the orphanage. Why don’t we take your eggs with us?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you-”
Sir Edric beamed a smile. “No trouble at all, Father Michael. I shall be sure to help spread the word of the vampire lord Jesus and his infernal albino rabbit beast. Dog shall see you out.”
Once his manservant had escorted the cleric from his home, Sir Edric began to tuck into the huge quantity of Easter eggs. In the spirit of the occasion he selected one of the smaller ones for Dog and raised a glass of wine in a toast.
“Huzzah for Jesus, the undead master of the dread rabbit!”
Dog coughed. “Actually, sir, it sounds like the Easter Bunny is more of a benevolent spirit.”
“Indeed,” Father Michael agreed. “He’s more of a fun character for children. The real message of Easter is about Jesus-”
“He’s the vampire, yes?”
Father Michael sighed. “No, Sir Edric. He is the Son of God-”
“I thought you said he was a carpenter?”
The priest cast his eyes to the heavens and mouthed a silent prayer. “Jesus was the Son of God. He was killed and lay for three days before rising from the dead, when he spoke again to his followers and then passed from our sight.”
Sir Edric nodded knowingly. “Definitely a vampire. So, you want me to kill Jesus?”
Father Michael was silent for a moment, clenching his jaw so hard his muscles bulged. “No, Sir Edric. I do not want you to kill Jesus. Or the Easter Bunny. I’m simply here to spread the message of Our Lord, to speak of his rising from the dead and the triumph of hope over despair, of life everlasting and-”
Sir Edric raised a hand to cut off the priest’s prattling. “That’s riveting. So, beyond preaching, is there any reason you’re here?”
The priest sighed again, and raised a large basket he was carrying. “I’ve also brought a large number of Easter eggs for the children of Awyndel.”
The knight frowned. “What do eggs have to do with vampires?”
Father Michael took a moment to answer. “It’s just a fun tradition to give one another, especially children, chocolate eggs to eat at this time of year.”
“What a splendid notion,” Sir Edric agreed. “Dog and I were just on our way to the orphanage. Why don’t we take your eggs with us?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you-”
Sir Edric beamed a smile. “No trouble at all, Father Michael. I shall be sure to help spread the word of the vampire lord Jesus and his infernal albino rabbit beast. Dog shall see you out.”
Once his manservant had escorted the cleric from his home, Sir Edric began to tuck into the huge quantity of Easter eggs. In the spirit of the occasion he selected one of the smaller ones for Dog and raised a glass of wine in a toast.
“Huzzah for Jesus, the undead master of the dread rabbit!”
Sir Edric and the Stolen Sherry
“Sir, I’m sorry to wake you-” Dog began.
“What bloody time is it?” Sir Edric demanded, refusing to open his eyes.
Dog coughed. “Two o’clock.”
The knight’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, but there was no sign of the sun shining through the slits of his windows’ shutters. He frowned. “Two o’clock in the morning? Dog, the only sort of person who I want waking me up at this bloody hour is a thirsty nymphomaniac. Bugger off.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but Terrence reported a strange sound on the roof.”
“It was probably a rat. Or a squirrel. Go away.”
“Terrence insisted it sounded very large, sir. I told him to remain on duty whilst I let you know.”
Sir Edric sighed, and threw aside his sheets. “Fine. I’ll go up on the roof myself, and you’re coming with me. And if there’s anything short of a dragon up there I’ll feed Terrence to the slime-beast of the Snottlebog.”
Dog waited outside whilst Sir Edric got dressed and buckled on his sword belt. In the corridor of his rather fine house, a thought occurred to him.
“Wasn’t Basil meant to be keeping watch tonight?” Sir Edric asked. He tended not to remember what the other servants were called, but it was hard to forget such a ridiculous name.
“He’s wounded, sir.”
Sir Edric raised an eyebrow. “Wounded? He hasn’t sprained his wrist again, has he?”
“No, sir. He tried to milk Moloch and was kicked halfway across the yard.”
“Ah. Well, that was bound to happen. There’s a reason milkmaids work with cows and not stallions, Dog.”
“Indeed, sir.”
He led Dog out of the house. The night was frostier than breakfast with his wife. Whilst Dog fetched a ladder, Sir Edric made sure his horses, who slept only an hour or two a night, were all in good order. Hamilton’s Trousers seemed a little down, and Moloch almost bit his hand off when he fed him an apple, but otherwise his sizeable collection of nags was in fine fettle.
He rubbed his hands together in a vain effort to stave off the night’s chill, and tried to devise a suitable punishment for Terrence. A hungry weasel thrust down the trousers was his preferred option by the time Dog finally returned with a long ladder, and propped it up against the wall.
It’ll be a damned rat. Or a squirrel. Or a starling that’s found its way into the loft. On the other hand itmight be one of Esmerelda’s deranged followers. Or perhaps Grog Bel-Rot is out for revenge. A rooftop fight with a nine foot tall lunatic could be a tiny bit dangerous.
“You first, Dog. I’ll hold the ladder for you,” Sir Edric said.
“Very good, sir.”
The knight watched as Dog climbed onto the rooftop, and waited for his reaction. For a moment, the servant disappeared from sight, and then he returned, silhouetted against the stars.
“You should come up and see this, sir.”
Sir Edric sighed. “Just tell me what it bloody is.”
Dog glanced back at whatever was on the roof. “It’s, er, reindeer, sir.”
“Reindeer?”
“Yes, sir. Nine reindeer. And a sleigh.”
Sir Edric glared up at Dog. “I’m coming up to see for myself, and if this is some feeble attempt at a jest, I’ll throw you off the bloody roof.”
He clambered quickly up the ladder. Dog was not the jesting sort, but nor could he believe reindeer had managed to climb onto his roof. His manservant gave him a hand, and then pointed at an incredible sight.
There were nine reindeer and a sleigh on his roof. The reindeer were arranged in four pairs with a solitary lead animal, which was endowed with a bright red nose.
“How the hell did a bloody sleigh get on the roof?” Sir Edric demanded.
“Magic, sir?” Dog suggested.
Sir Edric raised an eyebrow. “If this is a curse it’s a damned peculiar one.”
He kept his distance from the reindeer and their pungent aroma, and approached the sleigh. Whatever manner of creature he imagined might drive onto his roof, it had abandoned its ensorcelled sleigh. The back of the arcane vehicle was occupied by a massive sack. Sir Edric drew his sword, ready to fend off an assailant waiting in ambush or cut the bonds of a slave if he found one trussed up.
This is queerer than the time I saw Percy Lovelock doing the maypole dance with Clifton Bell.
Hundreds upon hundreds of items were inside the sack, each wrapped in brightly coloured paper. Many had ribbons around them, and their sizes and shapes were of a great variety.
“What do you make of it, Dog?” he asked his manservant, sheathing his sword.
Dog peered inside, frowned, and had a second look. “I’ve never seen anything like it, sir. Either the sleigh-driver is stealing, using his magical steeds to land on roofs and then wrapping up his stolen goods, or he’s visiting strangers and giving away gifts. It’s hard to say which is the least likely.”
Sir Edric stroked his beard and pondered the peculiar situation. “Well, if he’s a thief, we should relieve him of his ill-gotten gains. And if these are gifts intended for strangers, we’re entitled to them. The only rational course of action is to take as many as we can.”
Dog reached in to retrieve a box-shaped item, but Sir Edric sighed at him.
“Don’t be a dimwit, Dog. Get the bottles first. A box could contain anything from a plant pot to a severed head.”
Sir Edric, regretting his failure to bring a pack, grabbed as many of the largest bottles as he could manage, and very carefully returned to the ladder. Descending fully laden was awkward, but his righteous desire to deprive the bizarre burglar of his stolen property drove him on. Dog followed soon after, but, before either man could climb back up the ladder, bells jingled in the night and a deep hearty laugh boomed from the rooftop. Without warning, the reindeer drew the sleigh up into the night sky and flew away.
Sir Edric scrambled up the ladder, but two lines in the frost were the only sign of the sleigh ever having been there. He climbed back down and, with Dog, gathered the various bottles they had manage to requisition. Once inside the warmth of his house, he started unwrapping them when Terrence approached.
“Um, something happened while you were outside, sir,” the servant reported.
“You blind me with detail,” Sir Edric replied, tearing open some paper and revealing a bottle of Andelic brandy. “Huzzah! A thief the magical mischief-maker might be, but he has exquisite taste. So, what happened?”
Terrence looked away. “There was a break-in. I was guarding the door, but the miscreant appears to have come in through the chimney. He, er, downed a bottle of sherry and ate several mince pies. And left a present and a card for you, sir.”
Sir Edric’s eyes widened with rage. “The gall of it!”
Terrence handed over the card, and a bottle wrapped in silver paper. The knight set the bottle aside and looked at the card. It had been folded in two, and the outside depicted a jolly fat man driving a flying sleigh pulled by nine reindeer.
No wonder he’s so bloody fat, flying about purloining pies all night. Thieving git.
“The cheeky bastard! He stole my sherry and left a card bragging about it!”
“Sir, I’m sorry to wake you-” Dog began.
“What bloody time is it?” Sir Edric demanded, refusing to open his eyes.
Dog coughed. “Two o’clock.”
The knight’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, but there was no sign of the sun shining through the slits of his windows’ shutters. He frowned. “Two o’clock in the morning? Dog, the only sort of person who I want waking me up at this bloody hour is a thirsty nymphomaniac. Bugger off.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but Terrence reported a strange sound on the roof.”
“It was probably a rat. Or a squirrel. Go away.”
“Terrence insisted it sounded very large, sir. I told him to remain on duty whilst I let you know.”
Sir Edric sighed, and threw aside his sheets. “Fine. I’ll go up on the roof myself, and you’re coming with me. And if there’s anything short of a dragon up there I’ll feed Terrence to the slime-beast of the Snottlebog.”
Dog waited outside whilst Sir Edric got dressed and buckled on his sword belt. In the corridor of his rather fine house, a thought occurred to him.
“Wasn’t Basil meant to be keeping watch tonight?” Sir Edric asked. He tended not to remember what the other servants were called, but it was hard to forget such a ridiculous name.
“He’s wounded, sir.”
Sir Edric raised an eyebrow. “Wounded? He hasn’t sprained his wrist again, has he?”
“No, sir. He tried to milk Moloch and was kicked halfway across the yard.”
“Ah. Well, that was bound to happen. There’s a reason milkmaids work with cows and not stallions, Dog.”
“Indeed, sir.”
He led Dog out of the house. The night was frostier than breakfast with his wife. Whilst Dog fetched a ladder, Sir Edric made sure his horses, who slept only an hour or two a night, were all in good order. Hamilton’s Trousers seemed a little down, and Moloch almost bit his hand off when he fed him an apple, but otherwise his sizeable collection of nags was in fine fettle.
He rubbed his hands together in a vain effort to stave off the night’s chill, and tried to devise a suitable punishment for Terrence. A hungry weasel thrust down the trousers was his preferred option by the time Dog finally returned with a long ladder, and propped it up against the wall.
It’ll be a damned rat. Or a squirrel. Or a starling that’s found its way into the loft. On the other hand itmight be one of Esmerelda’s deranged followers. Or perhaps Grog Bel-Rot is out for revenge. A rooftop fight with a nine foot tall lunatic could be a tiny bit dangerous.
“You first, Dog. I’ll hold the ladder for you,” Sir Edric said.
“Very good, sir.”
The knight watched as Dog climbed onto the rooftop, and waited for his reaction. For a moment, the servant disappeared from sight, and then he returned, silhouetted against the stars.
“You should come up and see this, sir.”
Sir Edric sighed. “Just tell me what it bloody is.”
Dog glanced back at whatever was on the roof. “It’s, er, reindeer, sir.”
“Reindeer?”
“Yes, sir. Nine reindeer. And a sleigh.”
Sir Edric glared up at Dog. “I’m coming up to see for myself, and if this is some feeble attempt at a jest, I’ll throw you off the bloody roof.”
He clambered quickly up the ladder. Dog was not the jesting sort, but nor could he believe reindeer had managed to climb onto his roof. His manservant gave him a hand, and then pointed at an incredible sight.
There were nine reindeer and a sleigh on his roof. The reindeer were arranged in four pairs with a solitary lead animal, which was endowed with a bright red nose.
“How the hell did a bloody sleigh get on the roof?” Sir Edric demanded.
“Magic, sir?” Dog suggested.
Sir Edric raised an eyebrow. “If this is a curse it’s a damned peculiar one.”
He kept his distance from the reindeer and their pungent aroma, and approached the sleigh. Whatever manner of creature he imagined might drive onto his roof, it had abandoned its ensorcelled sleigh. The back of the arcane vehicle was occupied by a massive sack. Sir Edric drew his sword, ready to fend off an assailant waiting in ambush or cut the bonds of a slave if he found one trussed up.
This is queerer than the time I saw Percy Lovelock doing the maypole dance with Clifton Bell.
Hundreds upon hundreds of items were inside the sack, each wrapped in brightly coloured paper. Many had ribbons around them, and their sizes and shapes were of a great variety.
“What do you make of it, Dog?” he asked his manservant, sheathing his sword.
Dog peered inside, frowned, and had a second look. “I’ve never seen anything like it, sir. Either the sleigh-driver is stealing, using his magical steeds to land on roofs and then wrapping up his stolen goods, or he’s visiting strangers and giving away gifts. It’s hard to say which is the least likely.”
Sir Edric stroked his beard and pondered the peculiar situation. “Well, if he’s a thief, we should relieve him of his ill-gotten gains. And if these are gifts intended for strangers, we’re entitled to them. The only rational course of action is to take as many as we can.”
Dog reached in to retrieve a box-shaped item, but Sir Edric sighed at him.
“Don’t be a dimwit, Dog. Get the bottles first. A box could contain anything from a plant pot to a severed head.”
Sir Edric, regretting his failure to bring a pack, grabbed as many of the largest bottles as he could manage, and very carefully returned to the ladder. Descending fully laden was awkward, but his righteous desire to deprive the bizarre burglar of his stolen property drove him on. Dog followed soon after, but, before either man could climb back up the ladder, bells jingled in the night and a deep hearty laugh boomed from the rooftop. Without warning, the reindeer drew the sleigh up into the night sky and flew away.
Sir Edric scrambled up the ladder, but two lines in the frost were the only sign of the sleigh ever having been there. He climbed back down and, with Dog, gathered the various bottles they had manage to requisition. Once inside the warmth of his house, he started unwrapping them when Terrence approached.
“Um, something happened while you were outside, sir,” the servant reported.
“You blind me with detail,” Sir Edric replied, tearing open some paper and revealing a bottle of Andelic brandy. “Huzzah! A thief the magical mischief-maker might be, but he has exquisite taste. So, what happened?”
Terrence looked away. “There was a break-in. I was guarding the door, but the miscreant appears to have come in through the chimney. He, er, downed a bottle of sherry and ate several mince pies. And left a present and a card for you, sir.”
Sir Edric’s eyes widened with rage. “The gall of it!”
Terrence handed over the card, and a bottle wrapped in silver paper. The knight set the bottle aside and looked at the card. It had been folded in two, and the outside depicted a jolly fat man driving a flying sleigh pulled by nine reindeer.
No wonder he’s so bloody fat, flying about purloining pies all night. Thieving git.
“The cheeky bastard! He stole my sherry and left a card bragging about it!”
Unnecessarily Epic - Thaddeus and the Demon
I was ensconced in intellectual pursuit when my trusty hound alerted me to the intruder. Switching off Supermodels of SHIELD, I at once focused all my attention upon the monstrous demon that had dared invade the sanctity of Castle White.
It was the vilest creature ever to disturb my vision. Eight hairy legs propelled it with preternatural haste, yet total silence. Obsidian orbs glinting with evil studded its twitching head.
The hound, whose virtues do not necessarily include courage, stared in shocked confusion at the horrendous creature approaching us, and then retreated with a low growl.
My heart thundered in my chest, adrenaline gushing through my veins. It is at times of such intractable peril that it is revealed whether one is a man or a mouse.
I fled to the kitchen.
Once there, I seized the newspaper and returned to the defiled sanctity of my solar to confront the hellish demon. It seemed to have grown during my brief absence, swollen with wickedness and terror.
But I am a man. And, what's more, a Yorkshireman at that. It takes more than a bowel-emptying nightmare from the ninth circle of Hell to drive me from my own castle. I advanced towards the octopedal beast and lashed out with my mighty weapon.
My demonic foe's swiftness evaded the strike, and, for a panic-stricken moment, I was unsure whence it had gone. Frenzied searching revealed it, and I struck a second time. Fortune smiled upon my heroic endeavour, and I pulverised the intruder.
Such an unholy creation was unworthy of civilised burial, so I disposed of the fiend in the bin. The hound returned, tail wagging in celebratory congratulation, and there was much rejoicing.
Thaddeus, Slayer of Demons
I was ensconced in intellectual pursuit when my trusty hound alerted me to the intruder. Switching off Supermodels of SHIELD, I at once focused all my attention upon the monstrous demon that had dared invade the sanctity of Castle White.
It was the vilest creature ever to disturb my vision. Eight hairy legs propelled it with preternatural haste, yet total silence. Obsidian orbs glinting with evil studded its twitching head.
The hound, whose virtues do not necessarily include courage, stared in shocked confusion at the horrendous creature approaching us, and then retreated with a low growl.
My heart thundered in my chest, adrenaline gushing through my veins. It is at times of such intractable peril that it is revealed whether one is a man or a mouse.
I fled to the kitchen.
Once there, I seized the newspaper and returned to the defiled sanctity of my solar to confront the hellish demon. It seemed to have grown during my brief absence, swollen with wickedness and terror.
But I am a man. And, what's more, a Yorkshireman at that. It takes more than a bowel-emptying nightmare from the ninth circle of Hell to drive me from my own castle. I advanced towards the octopedal beast and lashed out with my mighty weapon.
My demonic foe's swiftness evaded the strike, and, for a panic-stricken moment, I was unsure whence it had gone. Frenzied searching revealed it, and I struck a second time. Fortune smiled upon my heroic endeavour, and I pulverised the intruder.
Such an unholy creation was unworthy of civilised burial, so I disposed of the fiend in the bin. The hound returned, tail wagging in celebratory congratulation, and there was much rejoicing.
Thaddeus, Slayer of Demons
Sir Edric and the Wig
“This get-up is ridiculous,” Sir Edric complained. He stared at himself in the mirror. A long wig hung down to his shoulders, a flowing robe covered his opulent doublet, and rather than manly trousers he found himself wearing tights. It was a novel experience to wear such things for public duty, rather than Corkwell’s private pleasure.
“Court dress has acquired its own unique style,” Dog, his manservant, agreed.
Sir Edric scowled. “This is nonsense. Can’t someone else do this?”
“I’m afraid, sir, this is the price of seniority and commanding the respect of the Privy Council.”
“You mean I’m the only man left who is neither peasant nor pestilent?”
Dog cleared his throat. “The plague has sadly laid almost everyone low, sir.”
“Yes, I saw the black ribbons on Lord Chancellor Malthus’ house this morning and paid an impromptu visit to comfort Felicity, whether she be his wife or widow.”
His gorgeous, frisky wife/widow.
“How was he, sir?”
The knight stared into the mirror and tilted his wig fractionally. “Tragically, he survived. Anyway, I’m just about ready. Go announce me, would you?”
Dog bowed, opened the double doors to the courtroom, stepped inside and bellowed that Sir Edric Greenlock, the Hero of Hornska, was present.
Sir Edric strode in, the witnesses, clerks, soldiery and nosy buggers in the public gallery all rising before him. He occupied the judge’s chair, seized the disappointingly small hammer and smashed it down. “Sit down. And march the criminal scum in, would you?”
Everybody sat down, and a pair of guards stomped off and dragged in a tanned fellow with a ragged cap and dubious moustache.
Sir Edric shuffled his papers, hunting for what the miscreant had done. “Jerome Tatterfinch, you stand accused of… chicken smuggling. Apparently.” He turned from the court and whispered to Dog, “Is this a real case, or is Lawrence mocking me?”
“Andelic golden cocks are very rare, sir, and removing them from the Kingdom of Andelias is considered a crime against that state. As a friend of Andelias, Awyndel has pledged to consider it a crime as well.”
Whoever knew being a handler of cocks could get one in trouble?
Jerome’s moustache wobbled with anxiety. “I didn’t know it was a crime! Be merciful, your honour.”
Sir Edric struck his desk with the hammer, and enjoyed it so much he did it a second time for good measure. “Silence, criminal. If you’re confessing, this will be a rather short trial.”
Jerome fished a half-eaten carrot from his trouser pocket and started munching noisily.
The knight sighed. “And stop bloody masticating!”
The defendant took his hands out of his pockets.
Poor people really should be educated.
Sir Edric glared at the public gallery to silence the tittering onlookers, and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Tell me the circumstances of your fowl crime. And I should warn you, stupidity is not considered a mitigating factor.”
“I was going to visit my brother-in-law in Andelias, chatting about the forthcoming journey in the pub, when a shady fellow asked if I could pick up a chicken for him in return for two solidi. So, I, er, said yes.”
Sir Edic’s stomach rumbled. “Describe this creature. And be aware that I grow less lenient the hungrier I get.”
“It was an Ursk. Said his name was Morf Low-Calljack.”
Orff No-Balsac, you clot. The nine foot lunatic will owe me one for this.
Sir Edric smashed down the hammer. “Clearly you are suffering from paranoid delusions which have impaired your memory and judgement,” the knight proclaimed. “The cock shall be returned to Andelias, and you are sentenced to magical therapy at the hands of the Lady High Sorceress. This trial is over.”
