Showing results by author "Rosalie Parker" in All Categories

I'd done a bit of acting at school Professor Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady, and King Duncan in the Scottish Play, that sort of thing - so it wasn't much of a surprise to anyone when I joined the Ledlaw Amateur Dramatic Society (LADS).

I've laid down my plastic under-sheet but it doesn't stop the chill from leaching through my sleeping bag. At least it's sheltered here, the doorway set back from the pavement. My hat gapes on the ground, but the punters are in too much of a hurry to get home to stop and fish out their change.

There are times in life when something affects you deeply and alters the way you look at the world.

I said something silly, I forget what. He smiled, shook his head and whispered, 'Don't ever change'. I was charmed, even though part of me knew it was a cliché, and, if I was honest, a little bit patronising.

People like an open fire, if they can be bothered with all the work it entails - cleaning out the grate, scrunching up newspaper, laying the kindling, fetching in the fuel. All that effort is worth it to sit and watch the flames dancing, to feel the real heat warm you through.

What you have to understand, before I begin, is that I am not a gullible person. I am a scientist of a sort, an archaeologist, trained in the empirical ethos of the British higher education system.

The incoming tide nudged gently at the line of seaweed and broken shells. Her eyes were on the horizon, her bare toes dug into the sand.

School and first went into the business, my grandfather, who had retired by then, told me about how chimney sweeps are regarded as good luck, and maybe more than that to some of the female customers, but he said that I should always treat everyone with respect.

The 'Wetland Watch' had been widely advertised, so Jack was surprised when only four people came. He had spent the morning sweeping out the hide before going on his rounds and couldn't help but feel a small stab of disappointment at the low turn-out.

I first came across the boy in the supermarket; he was eating an apple from the pile. I said 'You are supposed to pay for that,' and then realised what a killjoy that made me.

Beth wrapped the bread and cheese back in their papers and tied the parcel into her bundle. It was proper harvest weather; the afternoon sun roasting, the sky a faultless blue.

The wind-whipped grass rippled in the field. Spring had come early, the sunshine and showers producing a tall, healthy crop. Tomorrow, all this luscious ripeness was to be mown and gathered, stored and fed over the coming year to the captive cows in their perpetually lit sheds. It would be the first cut of the season.

You've been visiting for some time and I've made very little effort to communicate. I have nothing against you - you are well turned out in your skirt and twin-set, your hair in its careful bun. I cannot fault your appearance; you seem the right sort: clean, punctual, intelligent. Even your persistence is commendable.

A mutual acquaintance of ours suggested I should write to you. She is a volunteer librarian in your establishment whom you will know. She took special note of you because you borrow more books than any other inmate, and it occurred to her that you might appreciate a correspondent who had time to write you a proper letter.

The message is hand written on a scrap of paper stuffed in an envelope. It reads: 'Are you blind to the truth?' I study the shaky capitals, attempting to winkle out some clue about the sender, then I stow it in the filing drawer with the others. The messages are delivered when I'm out. They lie on the doormat waiting for me in their cheap manila envelopes, the flap tucked in rather than stuck down.

Luke found it difficult to sleep during the late summer nights. Half the city seemed to be awake and partying outside until the early hours of the morning. Tonight he was resentful that he was both kept awake and not partying him-self, although it was a fact that he could have gone out on the town if he had wanted to.

I'm not unique; there are hundreds like me, and others who lost limbs or were killed outright. No matter how alert you were, it could happen at any time. Suicide bombers and improvised explosive devices were almost as common as the flies that continually plagued us.

This first collection of tales by Rosalie Parker contains eight stories that explore the uncanny in the modern world. As Glen Cavaliero observes in his introduction, "like all good stories of the preternatural, these in The Old Knowledge have a subversive effect." In them, "the world of logical, predictable reality is seen to be at risk from rejected modes of knowledge which can thwart the materialist and victimise those innocents who stumble into another order of reality."

"NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOURS": The house next door stood empty for nearly two years and the Carringtons soon grew accustomed to the extra psychic space. They took to holding séances in the back garden at odd times of the day and night and, more prosaically, were free to shout to each other from all parts of the house, slam doors whenever they felt like it, and come and go without their every movement being scrutinised.

Old Father Thames so the song has it but she's more of a mother, that's what I've come to think. She started off young and beautiful, useful, the life-blood of the city.