Shorts (A Collection of Short Stories)

By Shaun Whittington

This is a book that has eighteen tales that are littered with disturbing scenes, such as, murder and sex, and has many twists to keep the reader guessing.

Some of these short stories had been published in magazines and finally allowed to release them collectively

Below, is one to whet the appetite.

Not for persons under the age of 18

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shaun Whittington
• Release date: Jan 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005172688

Shaun Whittington

Shaun mainly writes dark tales with twists, not necessarily all out horror, and likes to keep his writing spelling to U.K. English, because it's easier for him.He has written short stories over a number of years for First Publishing and Skive Magazine, before turning to novels.Some of his novels are available for FREE. And he has recently signed a contract with Severed Press for his apocalyptic Ghostland books.Books available since July 2013:DemonsBillyThe Monkey WingMisty FallsBlack HourThe Prison DiariesNutjobThe Z WordSnatchers (a zombie novel)Snatchers 2: The Dead Don't SleepSnatchers 3; The Dead Don't CrySnatchers 4: The Dead Don't PitySnatchers 5: The Dead Don't BreatheSnatchers 6: The Dead Don't FeelSnatchers 7: The Dead Don't YieldSnatchers 8: The Dead Don't PraySnatchers 9: The Dead Don't ScreamSnatchers 10: The Dead Don't CareSnatchers 11: The Dead Don't KnockSnatchers 12: The Dead Don't YellSnatchers 13: The Dead Don’t FearSnatchers 14: The Dead Don’t HateSnatchers 15: The Dead Don't HurtSnatchers 16: The Dead Don't RunSnatchers 17: The Dead Don't MournMonsterlandMonsterland 2Monsterland 3The Girl with the Flying Saucer EyesSome Men are Haunted (Raven Hill)Some Men are Evil (Raven Hill 2)Some Men are Killers (Raven Hill 3)GhostlandGhostland 2Ghostland 3The CanavarsThe TravellersFor more information on new releases or just general questions. You can go to his author's page on Facebook: Shaun Whittington Author or use the link:https://www.facebook.com/WhittingtonShaun

Book preview

Shorts (a collection of short stories)

By

Shaun Whittington

Copyright 2021

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The author uses UK English

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That’s My Girl

Paranoia

Terrific Tony

The Job Interview

Angel Lust

The Expensive Carpet

Elliott’s Fantasy Goes Considerably Pear Shaped

Justice

The Bedroom Incident

A Date in the West End

Frank

Last Days of Liberty

The Archaic Shack

Poor Little Lucy

Hard to Forget

Living the Nightmare

Detention

The Snip

Shorts (a collection of short stories)

That’s My Girl

That’s My Girl

Wednesday evening couldn’t come soon enough for the workers in Armitage. James Smith got into his car and left his work a few minutes after ten. The back of his shirt was damp with sweat, and the ride home in his car was going to be a sticky and uncomfortable ride back to Hazelslade, which was four miles away. As James pulled out of his work’s entrance, he noticed a few individuals going in to The Swan for an evening pint. It tempted James but it wasn’t worth the risk of losing his licence.

James was forty-nine, divorced, had short grey hair and chocolate brown eyes. He hadn’t been involved with another woman for eight years before he met his thirty-two-year-old stunning wife, Mai Ling, on the internet. They were married within three months, which seemed to be more her idea than his, and had been living in their apartment since. Mai Ling never worked, the flat had been bought and the wages that James brought in every month from his job at Armitage Shanks, seemed to be enough for the pair of them.

Mai Ling was a decent cook and had introduced many new splendid recipes to James’s attention. She had introduced him to a new culture by taking him to Thailand and even taught him a few words. James, on the other hand, had introduced Mai Ling to a world of sex and alcohol. She had never been drunk before she met James and had never had sex in a car either.

She was slowly warming to the British way of life, although she found their self-indulgent attitude very eccentric. In Thailand she used to spend her evenings going for walks on the beach with her friends, or riding her bike, sometimes stopping off for a cup of tea in one of the promenade cafés. Whenever James had taken her out, people around her drank to excess, sometimes until they were unable to stand up. Some would hurl abuse at people for no apparent reason and then go to a fast food shop and eat as much as they possibly could stomach. It frightened her.

She also found it outlandish that once a week, James would insist that they have sex at a beauty spot. Mai Ling tolerated making love with James, but her argument was that they had a perfectly good bed. She gave in eventually after weeks of pestering from James. At the beauty spot, they would park in the very same place at the same time every week. It unnerved Mail Ling that there were always other cars there, but with their lights off. The area was so dark, she didn’t know if there were people in their cars or not, but James would insist that there was nothing to agonise about.

Sometimes, when they made love in the car, she could feel eyes on her as if they were being watched from outside the car. James told her that it was normal to see silhouettes occasionally, because people liked to come up to do some night walking. He told her it was a British thing and some people did it to relax and unwind after a hectic day at work. Mai Ling gullibly believed him, but still didn’t like the idea that there were people walking about while they were having sex.

James had been taking his wife up to that place for the last six weeks, and the thrill he was getting, knowing that men were watching them at it, turned him on so much. If she found out what was really happening, James feared that their relationship would be severely damaged. Although he was stalling for time, he wasn’t quite brave enough to ask his wife what she thought about dogging. The idea of other men watching them have sex, and maybe even getting involved with his wife whilst he watched, was going to take some serious persuasion, which was why James was taking it at one stage at a time. Instead of just blurting out that he wanted to be watched by other men and he wanted to watch his own wife being fucked by a complete stranger, he thought sex in the car was a good way to progress to the next level.

He knew she idolised him and even though he was sure she married him to be safe, secure and eventually get her hands on his healthy bank balance, she had been very understanding and patient with his demands since they got married, but this might be pushing his luck too much. James wasn’t perverted, or at least he didn’t think he was, it was just something that heightened his pleasure knowing that they were both being watched. Would his suggestion to his wife affect his marriage?

No, she won't leave me, he thought arrogantly. She was practically a pauper when I first met her. If she says no, she says no. I won’t force her into anything, I love her too much. Besides, there’s more to life than sex anyway.

He pulled his black Renault Clio up into the drive and saw his wife waving at him from the living room window. She had no make-up on her face. She didn’t need to use any. She was so naturally beautiful, make-up would have only diminished her looks and make her look cheap. She was like a puppy that had been left in the house all day, starved from company, hypnotised by trashy daytime television programmes, but now the highlight of her day had arrived. Her husband had returned home.

That’s my girl, he said to himself.

*

The following day James Smith sat slouched in his armchair and was enjoying the solitude, rather than being involved in the sometimes-stifling company of his wife. He had given her money to go to Birmingham and told her to get herself anything she wanted. She insisted that he should go with her and make a day of it as she didn’t know the city very well, but he declined the offer and told her that he would prefer to be on his own and relax after his hard week at work.

He held out his hands and saw them both shaking. He knew he had drunk far too much coffee but he couldn’t help himself. He loved the stuff and was on his seventh of the day. His watch claimed that it was 3pm and he turned the TV on in time for the live rugby.

As soon as he got himself comfortable, a rap at the door interrupted his afternoon ecstasy. For fuck’s sake, he muttered.

He slammed the palm of his hands on the arms of the chair and staggered to his feet. Wearing his slippers, a present from Mai Ling, he shuffled his feet to the door and opened it. Yes, came his rude welcoming.

A hard, lightning quick fist cracked him on the end of his nose. His eyes watered almost instantaneously when he received the blow, and his nose started to bleed, and because he had no vision, he began to panic. His legs then suddenly gave way, with the help of a kick from his attacker, and he fell to his floor with a dull thud.

James still couldn’t see a thing, but he knew whoever it was, was inside his flat and the door had been closed. He desperately crawled on all fours across his hallway, trying to feel his way back into the living room, where he kept his phone. He didn’t know where the attacker was. He certainly wasn’t standing over him, because he couldn’t sense his presence. Whatever the attacker had in mind, he was taking his time doing it.

James Smith was now releasing tears and pathetically wept. He was curled up on the hallway carpet, only inches away from the entrance of his living room. He now wished he was in Birmingham with his wife. He would have given anything to be dragged around dreary women’s clothes stores, to stand outside a clothes shop for an hour, waiting for her to come out empty handed. Anything to get away from this nightmare scenario he was going through. His blurry vision ultimately started to restore itself, and he wished it hadn’t when he saw the legs of his aggressor standing next to his face.

James looked up and saw his fate when the man stood smirking, holding a boulder that covered the palm of his hand. It looked like one of the boulders from his garden rockery, which was Mai Ling’s idea.

James did his finest to plead and beg for his life, but his pleading fell on deaf ears. The attacker grabbed James by the hair and smashed the front of his skull in by raining six violent blows into it. James Smith’s life was abruptly finished.

The front of his head looked like a bloodied jigsaw puzzle, with some fragments of his forehead lying by the side of his corpse, whilst other pieces were embedded into his soft brain from the constant force that had been applied. His skull had caved in from the constant battering it had taken, and James’s blood, that