Mrs Dufresne was flattered that Philip had offered to walk her home after the play, but the further they got from the hustle of the crowded theatre the more anxious she became. The night was clear with the moon shining off wet cobbles, but Philip’s mood had grown dark and…


Piffle knew that the city was dangerous. She knew because her father told her never to venture out alone. And she knew because of the things that she saw when she did.

She never went further than the roof of their house. Piffle climbed the boxes in the attic to…


The canals smelled worse at high tide. Poppycock instinctively pulled his collar up and hunched his shoulders to hide his nose behind the leather of his coat. He saw Jack screw up his nose and pull an exaggerated face of disgust. The boy laughed.

“People choose to live here?”

“Not…


Poppycock could set a brisk pace for someone negotiating a busy street with his hands deep in his pockets. Jack bustled through the shifting mass of people, trying to keep up. It was that hour of the evening where people were all “going somewhere”, mostly leaving work and going home…


They built the cannon over several months, in the ruins of the farmhouse. They slept huddled under the few roofs that remained. …


Inside the safe, next to the hard drive and the money, there was a piece of paper. On it was written, “Well done, Frank.”

He froze, crouched in the penthouse office among warm wood and cold moonlight, the paper trembling in his hand. Outside dogs barked and a police car…


In the centre of the graveyard, on top of the ruined tomb, crouched a monstrous creature. Ragged growls rolled from its lungs with each laboured breath, its huge, fur-covered shoulders heaving. Around the tomb, broken gravestones lay smashed amongst dead trees torn from the ground.

The beast held a gigantic…


In a forgotten corner of England there sits a large old house. The land around it is quiet. There is no birdsong, no wind through the trees, no running rivers or roads. But I would not describe it as peaceful. It is the silence of things unseen, watching and listening.


Special Investigator Simon Poppycock stood with his hands in his pockets and his tongue in his cheek, looking at the corpse at his feet. He stood in the dim light of a broken museum cabinet, empty now of whatever had been displayed within it. The corpse — a security guard…

Christopher Jackson

Short stories that can be read in 3 minutes or less. Expect weird horror, twisted sci-fi and the adventures of a bored occult detective named Poppycock.

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