Project Santa #FridayFictioneers

Mr Rickton’s project was slowly coming together. He was currently working on a papier-mache globe that would show how Santa traveled around the world in forty-eight hours.

He smiled, knowing the children in his class would find this amazing. He pictured their little faces staring up in awe and the magic of Christmas sparking their imaginations. The children would go home, full of excitement and looking more forward to the special day.

Looking down at his glue and paper covered hands, Mr Rickton started humming Jingle Bells and continued with his task, he still had a long way to go.


(Inspired by; with thanks).



The children of class B-2 were stood in front of the T-Rex skeleton in awe when it suddenly came to life, snatched up Billy Bale and ate him. The screams that rose were earth shattering and everybody started fleeing. The teacher standing aghast, caught Billy as he slid out from the bones.

(Inspired by; with thanks.)

Sky Down

Body of Water in Middle of Mountain Under Cloudy Sky during Daytime

A few days after my twelfth birthday, the first clouds fell from the sky. At first everyone just thought it was snow. The stuff coming down was white and fluffy, so how could it be anything else? Plus, it was late in the night and it was too dark to see the truth.

By later afternoon though, people were beginning to wonder. This morning everyone had just got on, ‘the great British weather,’ ‘chins up everyone!’ ‘It’s only a little snow!’ but it wasn’t and it kept on falling.

I don’t know how the realisation that the clouds were actually falling was reached. I was at in school, trying hard to do maths – a subject I totally disliked- and the teacher had closed the blinds to stop everyone from being distracted. There was a knock on the door and Mr Monty shouted for them to come in.

It was a girl from the class year below us who had been picked to be the office messenger. Everybody got the chances to be messenger once and the day out of class. Though that sounds exciting it totally isn’t and most of the time you are just sat outside the teachers’ lounge room and the receptionist’s office staring at the pale peach walls. Today though, the girl looked out of breath and eager to spill her message.

‘School is being closed! Clouds are falling from the sky!’ she gushed.

Mr Monty looked from the blackboard to her, chalk covering his fingers and a large frown on his face.

‘What?’ he cried over the sudden din of children’s voices.

‘The headmistress said it. Everyone’s parents are coming to get them and we all have to go into the hall!’ she added then walked off in an important hurry.

Mr Monty sighed and left a maths’ question abandoned on the board. Everyone grabbed their things and legged it to the hall. Voices were everywhere, shouting and calling out demanding to know what was going on for real as how could clouds be falling?

Going into the hall, I went to the windows and joined lots of children there. The playground was covered in white fluffy stuff that looked like snow but really wasn’t. Above in the pale blue sky a handful of clouds did hang but as we stood there, one of the clouds began to fall.

It came straight out of the sky and landed silently on top of the other clouds. The jagged shape of it stuck out for a few moments then settled down with the others.

‘It’s not possible!’ a teacher was muttering, ‘how can this even happen?’

‘Children! Attention!’ the headmistress called.

Unhappily, we turned away from the windows to look at her.

‘The school is closing. Your parents are on their ways to collect you and until then we will all stay here. I’m sure this is nothing to worry about but for safety reasons we have to send you all home.’

Some of the kids broke into cheers and others looked upset. I just turned back to the window and looked outside, wondering if my birthday wish had actually come true.


(Inspired by a writing prompt at; with thanks.)



There was just something about The Eden Project in Cornwall that spoke my soul. Breathing in the warm flower scented air, I watched a school group going by. The children were all chatting loudly whilst their teachers and helpers were trying to point out things to them.

One boy pulled a flower up, glee on his face. A female teacher swooped down behind him and even though I couldn’t hear them the child was clearly being told off. The boy placed the flower back and the teacher marched him off with the tail end of the group.

I shook my head. How do teachers cope?

I paused in my water hosing of the bushes and went to see if anything could be done to save the poor flower. Searching through the bedding boarder, I found it and saw that it had been plucked from the stem. Nestling it against the greenery, I went back to watering.

(Inspired by;

(And you can find out more about The Eden Project here;

Boots (Part 2)

Silhouette, Bokeh, Man, Out Of Focus, Fig, Bent, Black

The soft knocking on the door disturbed Faith. She rolled over, still half asleep and whacked her hand into the pillows on the other side of the bed. Moaning, she lay there for a few moments, but then the knocking got louder and she forced herself up.

‘Hello?’ she called in a tried voice.

‘It’s only me, Miss,’ the voice of Faith’s maid, Mary, called through the door.

‘Come in.’

The door creaked opened and the young woman shuffled in carrying a large jug. She was dressed in a typical black dress with a white frilled apron. Her dark hair was tied up under a white cap, allowing too much of her rosy face to be seen. Mary walked across the room and over to a bowl by the window. Tipping the jug gently, water splashed down and into the bowl. then placing the empty jug down, she moved to the wardrobe.

‘I heard something last night,’ Faith said as she slide from the bed, ‘it sounded like a man pacing the hallway. There seemed to be no one there though. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?’

Mary paused in her search through Faith’s wardrobe, ‘So, you’ve heard him have you, Miss?’

‘Heard who?’ Faith snapped.

‘The ghost solider, Miss,’ Mary said.

Faith frowned then began washing her hands and face.

‘At least that’s what the Morgans use to call him,’ Mary added as she selected a morning dress of pale blue and white trim from the wardrobe.

‘I don’t believe in ghosts,’ Faith finally responded, ‘no, no, one of my walking dress, please.’

Faith waved the maid’s choice away then waited till she came back with a totally different dress; of lime green and black strips, before beginning to get dressed. Both women stayed silent throughout then leaving the maid to tidy the room, Faith went downstairs.

Walking into the dinning room, she found breakfast all laid out and awaiting her. Even though she didn’t feel like eating, Faith sat down and made herself a cup of tea. Sipping, she heard the grandmother clock chiming eight and the maid humming above her. With some light pouring in through the window, it felt easy to dismiss the boot steps of last night.

Nipping on some toast, Faith decided she had enough and went out for a walk. The fresh morning air really brought her back to her senses. The small village was all ready wide awake. Shops were getting ready to open and people were hurrying about. Faith walked passed the small church and out into the countryside.

The smell of grass and animals hung in the air, but Faith felt at home. She looped around the village, enjoying the warm sun and the birds flapping between the trees and hedgerows. Coming back into the village, she went into a tea shop and sat down to have some lunch.

‘Are you the new school teacher?’

Faith looked up at the waitress who had appeared with her tea and sandwiches, ‘Yes. I am.’

‘Am sure the Rector is delight you are here. He has been trying so hard to manage things since dear Mrs Pieton left us.’

‘I am sure he has been more then capable,’ Faith said as she arranged her napkin and hoped the girl got the hint to leave.

‘I heard you had brought the Morgan’s house. It’s haunted you know,’ the girl added.

Faith shot her a look, ‘I believe in no such things.’

The waitress bobbed and left her to her lunch.

Upon returning home, Faith found Mary in the study. The maid was emptying some of the books onto the shelves.

‘Good afternoon, Miss,’ Mary said, ‘I thought I would get started in here.’

‘It will take a long while to sort all my books and things,’ Faith added.

She walked over to her chair and sat down at her desk positioned under a window from which the front garden could be seen.

‘Would you like me to help you dress for the dinner you have tonight, Miss?’ Mary asked.


‘Yes, at the Rector’s?’

‘Of course. No, we still have time. Mary…what else do you know about this…ghost?’ Faith asked.

Mary slipped the last book in her hand onto a shelf then turned to her, ‘they say he was a solider, who was wounded on a battlefield close to here. He walked in begging for help, but the villagers were all scared and no one would open their door.’

Faith tapped a pencil on the desk and looked thoughtfully at the maid.

‘This cottage was empty at the time. The family in Manchester. He broke in through the back door and fell in the hallway. When the family returned, they found him dead and decided they could no longer stay here. If that had happened to me I would have left too!’ Mary gasped.

‘Where is the proof though?’ Faith asked a few moments later, ‘was there anything in the papers? Any witnesses?’

‘No, Miss. It is believed the army covered it all up,’ Mary answered.

Faith sighed and looked out of the window. The summer’s day was really getting underway and she could see the flowers in the front garden waving in the breeze.

‘Please go and get my dress ready for tonight,’ Faith uttered, ‘I wish to read awhile in here before I get dressed.’

‘Very well, Miss,’ Mary replied.

Curtsying, the maid left the room quietly.

Faith turned and began searching through the boxes. She found one of only three books she owned on the science of the supernatural and took it back to her desk. Flipping through, she read a few passages about ghosts before Mary knocked on the door and requested if she was ready to dress.


To Be Continued….

 (Inspired by


The posters were stuck to everything along the street and it was only after the third one that I noticed who was on them. The very ugly face of my high school history teacher, Mr. Creaster, stared back at me, though he looked a lot older then my mind remembered. Putting my heavy shopping bags down, I studied a single poster tacked to the post box.

Yes, it differently was him. That face was too recognisable with his long hooked nose, small black eyes, very wide forehead, forced back straggling grey hair and sneering pale lips. There was almost a Victorian-esque look about him and from my memories; I recalled his manner and personality being very similar to that era of teaching master. In bold red letters above his head was BEWARE PEDO! And underneath, CHILD STAKER AND RAPEST.

Frowning in worry and concern, I glanced over at a cluster of the same poster, which had been strung up all around the trunk of a tree. Different words appeared on some of the others; molester, monster, fiend, danger, paedophile, stay away from our children, mothers beware, have you seen this man? Call the police and report him now!

Picking up my shopping, I hurried down the street, but everywhere I glanced I could see his eyes staring at me and the red words becoming imprinted on the back of my eye lids. Who could have done such a thing and were the posters’ proclamations true? Also, how had they gotten away without being seen? The street looked like a parade had gone by; the posters were stuck to cars, front doors, lampposts, trees, walls, hedges and many others were laying scattered across the pavement and road.

I reached my gate and going to open it, found a poster tied across the metal bars. Mr Creaster leered up at me demanding my late homework. Kicking open the gate, I bolted up the path and to the front door, but there was a poster taped up there too and this time Creaster yelled at me for not knowing the answer to the year Germany had invaded Poland. Dumping the bags, I ripped the poster down and crushing it into a ball, throw it over the gate.

Struggling to catch my breath, I searched for my keys in my handbag and finding them, opened the door with shaking fingers. I rushed in, slammed it behind me and lent back, dragging in deep breaths and trying to stop the storm of memories from descending. It’s over, it doesn’t matter anymore, I told myself then spoke out, ‘you’re an adult now. A PA for crying out loud, you have to deal with domineering men all the time.’

I pushed myself off the door, took off my coat and went halfway down the hallway before realising I had left my handbag and shopping on the front step. Turning and laughing loudly, I opened the door and without looking up, collected my things and brought them in. It was then I noticed the white envelope on the floor. With my hands full, I had no choice but to leave it and come back, however my mind wondered what it could be all the way to the kitchen.

After I had put things away, calmed down and was in the process of making a cup of tea, I went back for the letter. The postman had already been, I had been running late and so taken my post out of his hands on the street. Picking up the envelope, I saw it was blank of both stamp and address, just junk mail then, nothing to worry about. I walked back into the kitchen and almost put it in the bin, instead the kettle had just boiled, so I put it on the work surface and made my drink.

Out of habit, I picked up it up alongside my cup of tea and packet of biscuits and went into the living room, placing them down on the coffee table, I took off my shoes and curled up on the sofa. My hand reached for my tea and then turned to the letter. Opening the cheap envelope, I pulled out a few sheets of folded paper and smoothing then out, saw Mr. Creaster eyeing up my breasts with a large grin on his face.

I screamed and throwing the paper away, covered my face with my hands and rocked back and forth, muttering to myself to calm down, but I just couldn’t stop the rush of feelings and thoughts. I was back there again, in that old fashioned classroom, smelling of chalk and sweat, leaning over my desk and staring at the floor, whilst behind me I could hear heavy panting and felt welt covered fingers slipping under my knickers.

I grabbed a cushion and tried to smother myself into it. Every breath caught in my throat and I was choking on hot tears. Finally, I fought back those memories, locking them back down again and got up. Wiping my face and pulling back my shoulders, I looked out of the window. I could see some posters stuck to a tree trunk, though I couldn’t make out anything on them. Getting up, I went into the kitchen and found a black bin bag and a pair of scissors.

Going to the front door, I put on my coat and wellington boots, before going outside. I checked my garden, but found no posters. I stepped out and took the one off my gate. Then I picked the ones up at my feet and slowly, made my way up the street collecting them all in the bin bag.

Hard Day

She was tried, but at quarter past eleven it was too early for bed. Wrapping herself in a heavy blanket, she settled to watch some terrible evening TV shows. Sighing, she channel flicked and reflected on the difficult day she had, had. As a primary school teacher, every day was a mixture of fun and stress. She loved her job, but some days- like today- were just too hard.

Her ears were still ringing from all the noise during the music lesson. Her head was spinning about the maths and English homework she still had to mark. To make things worse Christmas was just around the corner and the rehearsals of the play hadn’t been going very well. Still though, what did people expect from a group of eight year olds acting out the nativity?

Her cat jumped on the sofa and rubbed against her. Pulling her arm out of the blanket, she petted him and let his purring fill the room. She glanced around the small flat, which was crammed and messy. She craved for a fire place and not just for added heat and light, but for the sound, smell and sight too. Right now, I could just disappear into the heart of a blazing fire, much like getting into a nice hot bath.

Instead, she’d have to make do with the TV. I am going to bed at nine, she told herself, that’s a good time right? Not too early or late. Sleeping will help. The cat began licking her and she realised that her hand had stopped mid-stroke. Laughing, she petted him some more, sweeping down his arching back and gently tugging his tail.

Maybe, I should have worked with animals instead? She shook her head, they are probably harder. No, no, the children are just fine and tomorrow will be a better day.