Weird and Weirder: The Horse-Drawn Lighthouse and Other Unexpected Tales

By Jemima Pett

Smugglers moving a whole lighthouse? People turning into animals? Scarecrows attacking a village? These and other strange and atmospheric flash fiction stories will get you thinking and wondering.
Drawn from over 350 stories written between 2012 and 2020, these twenty-five stories reflect some of the stranger ideas from Jemima Pett's worlds. Whether they arise from her own fears of haunted houses, or totally imagined events in small communities, these range from enjoyable to somewhat horrifying events. All have a mystery at their heart. Most have twists in their tales.
With most stories around 1000 words long, this volume is ideal for dipping into, savouring, and passing an enjoyable five or ten minutes in a different world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Princelings Publications
• Release date: Jul 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005131944

Jemima Pett

Jemima Pett has been living in a world of her own for many years. Writing stories since she was eight, drawing maps of fantasy islands with train systems and timetables at ten. Unfortunately no-one wanted a fantasy island designer, so she tried a few careers, getting great experiences in business, environmental research and social work. She finally got back to building her own worlds, and wrote about them. Her business background enabled her to become an independent author, responsible for her own publications.Her first series, the Princelings of the East, mystery adventures for advanced readers set in a world of tunnels and castles entirely populated by guinea pigs, is now complete. The tenth and final book, Princelings Revolution, came out in October 2020. Jemima does chapter illustrations for these. She has also edited two volumes of Christmas stories for young readers, the BookElves Anthologies, and her father's memoirs White Water Landings, about the Imperial Airways flying boat service in Africa. She has compiled four collections of flash fiction tales, publishing in the first half of 2021. She is now writing the third in her science fiction series set in the Viridian System, in which the aliens include sentient trees.Jemima lived in a village in Norfolk with her guinea pigs, the first of whom, Fred, George, Victor and Hugo, provided the inspiration for her first stories, The Princelings of the East. She is now living in Hampshire, writing science fiction for grown-ups, hatching plans for a new series, and writing more short stories for anthologies.

Book preview

Weird and Weirder

The Horse-Drawn Lighthouse and other Unexpected Tales

by Jemima Pett

Princelings Publications

© J M Pett 2021

Cover image by Susan Cipriano from Pixabay

Smashwords Edition 1.0

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Introduction

The Horse-Drawn Lighthouse

The Sounds of Silence

Last Tangent in Paris

Ghostgum Creek

Thinking is bad for you

The Magpie Robin Encounter

The Revenge of the Bookshelves

Johnson and Alice

Lois stretches out

Should Have Known Better

The Indescribable Ugliness of Pants

Beware the Flesh-eating Zombies

Night of the Living Nanobots

The Apple of the Hesperides

The Wardrobe

Deja Vu

The Fire’s Shadow

Windows in the Serpents

Long Distance

The Reaper’s Coil

The BookFeet

Who Left the Door Open?

The Legend of the Scarecrow Epidemic

The Cat’s Miu

Traveller’s Return

Acknowledgements

About Jemima Pett

Introduction

More than ten years have passed since I started writing flash fiction stories—short works ranging from 50 to 2000 words, but mostly to a 1000 word limit. In the peak of this time, 2012 to 2017, I wrote 1000-word stories weekly, to prompts mostly from Chuck Wendig. Chuck’s audience tended towards the fantasy and weird genres of literature, with plenty of science fiction thrown in.

When I looked back on the body of work, I discovered several distinct themes, as well as several recurring characters of whom I was well aware. When writing short fiction, having a couple of well-rounded characters and familiar worlds relieves some of the work involved. It also makes you feel you have a friend or two.

Note that because I was working to prompts, some of which included titles, you may find other short stories around with the same or similar titles. These are my take on them.

This collection of short stories reflects my tendency towards slightly offbeat events. Sometimes they are speculative fiction, sometimes they are mild (or even medium) horror. There are some supernatural elements, and some paranormal ones. I’ve included those I termed ‘the Boxcar series’ and merged the introduction to one of the characters into the weirder events that followed.

We start with one of my favourites, reflecting my childhood love of tales of smuggling, with the glory and desolation of rugged coasts.

Jemima Pett

Hampshire, UK

May 2021

The Horse-Drawn Lighthouse

The lighthouse blinked steadily on the promontory. Three flashes, pause, one long flash, pause, three flashes, and on, and on.

For the villagers of Mousetail, the light was one of the few constant things in their lives. The sea was restless, ever-changing, although of course it was always there. The cliffs couldn’t be trusted, since landslips occurred when they were least expected—and usually least wanted, causing death and destruction on many occasions. Above all, the neighbours couldn’t be trusted. They were constant in their untrustworthiness.

Bedworth shuffled down the alley that rambled between the stonebuilt cottages. Water dripped off the black granite, slithering over the occasional fern that strove to exist in a crack in the wall. It seeped into the moss then ran out again at the bottom, the moss as sodden as a sponge. Something dripped off Bedworth’s nose. It might have been rain. It wasn’t sweat, since it was as cold as sin.

He slid across the paved road to the sea wall. The waves plunged against it, throwing up spume, but the wind whipped it away from the village, turned by some force that bounced against the eerie vastness of The Point. He sucked on his teeth, calculating the high tide. Would there would be any passing traffic tonight? In Bedworth’s life, the only traffic worth considering was afloat or, preferably, nearly aground.

A shadow crossed the street behind him, slipping into crannies as it followed Bedworth along the harbour wall in the direction of the inn. It hid behind an apology for a streetlamp as two men accosted Bedworth outside the fish and chip shop.

Evenin’, Bedwor’, the first one said.

Bedworth nodded at him, and glared at his companion.

Got any business afoot tonight? the second asked.

Bedworth shook his head, spraying water from his hat at the other two.

Could be a profitable night for you, if you look sharp. The second man slurred the ‘r’ in sharp.

What’s up?

Trader, comin’ round the Poin’.

Should be here in about an hour. The second emphasised this with a tap of his wrist, where most would wear a watch. You have to act quickly.

Why should I worry?

You know yoursel’ bes’, bu’ I reckon there’s profi’ fer alluvus, if you ac’ quick.

Bedworth looked from one to the other. He’d worked with them both before, but never the pair together. Why had they joined up tonight? And why get him involved?

Why do you two need me? You don’t usually need a third.

This is speshul.

You’re the right man for the Point in this weather.

The pair spoke at the same time. Bedworth believed neither.

What’s needed?

The usual. Take ’em over Hollerton way.

I can’t do that and fix the lighthouse as well, not at such short notice.

We’ll sor’ tha’ ou’. You jus’ do your bi’.

Bedworth shrugged and turned back towards the alley. He’d have to get a move on if he was to get his pony out, rigged up with a lantern or three, and lead the trader a dance towards Hollerton. He puffed as he ran up the steps, and then slowed to climb the track up the cliff behind the village. He wheezed to a halt a few times, usually where the track turned. Some would look at the view. He kept his eyes down. He was getting too old for this lark, but then again, anyone who lived in Mousetail ought to be fit enough to climb out, so what was his trouble?

Near the top of the track, he turned aside and went along a wide ledge to a shack. Bedworth felt his way through the shack, grabbing a lantern as he went through an opening into a cave. The storm lamp set in an alcove illuminated enough for him to greet his pony, saddle her up, and prime the reflecting lantern that gave out so much extra light in one direction. He led the pony further into the cave, stepping carefully over the boulder-strewn track to get to the landward exit. The pony picked her way nimbly through the tunnel, sometimes pushing Bedworth aside in her haste to get a taste of freedom. They emerged on the grassy slope to the east of the Point less than half an hour from Bedworth’s departure from the harbour. Time enough, he thought.

The wind tore at Bedworth’s oilskin coat and threatened to rip his close fitting hat from his head. He pulled it down further, tightened the chinstrap, hugged his coat closer about him, and set off with the pony towards Hollerton. He never glanced back at the lighthouse on the Point. The others had said they’d fix it. That was all he needed to lead the trader astray, for it to think he was the Point, and to smash into the reefs at the base of the cliffs sheltering Mousetail.

What was the trader carrying; how much would be his cut for tonight’s work be worth?

A silver thread raced through the wind, wrapped itself round Bedworth’s legs, and tossed him over the cliff. The pony ambled on.

Behind, on the Point, the two men sheltered in the lee of the lighthouse wall.

You’re sure he said eleven?

Shure.

Where is he, then?

Here! A shadow slipped behind the second man, drew a wire round his neck and pulled it tight. The second man slumped to the ground.

Wha’…? The first man’s question was cut off with a gurgle.

The shadow dropped his blooded wire and whistled through his teeth. Two huge black horses approached him. He waved them in the direction of the lighthouse and they took up their positions. A silver thread left the outstretched hands of the shadow, wrapped itself round the base of the lighthouse and returned to loop itself around the horses’ chests. The horses strained against their eerie harness.

Slowly the lighthouse began to move. It groaned as it moved away from the edge, away from the promontory, and reached the smooth grass of the clifftop. It headed west.

Wherever Bedworth’s pony wandered was of no consequence. The lighthouse itself would send the trader off course tonight. The shadow would