Matthew Curtis
Bio
Queen Margaret University graduate (Theatre and Film studies).
Currently trying to write a book.
Lilywhite, Pokemon master, time-lord, vampire with a soul, Virgo.
Likes space and dinosaurs. And Binturongs. I'm very cool.
Achievements (1)
Stories (34/0)
The Empty Box of Everything
The Hallway Tariq stopped dead in his tracks and placed his suitcase on the carpet. His flat stood before him and the communal lobby was well kept, but cold. The keys in his hand pointed at the door like a gun in a heist, but the pull of the trigger had been halted by the discovery of a small, cardboard box in the middle of the floor. Tariq eyed it with apprehension. His parcels were usually planted firmly against the wall. This one sat in the middle of the foyer. Exactly in the middle, as though it had seized upon the optimum point of espial. It could see all walls, doors and corners and none of the furniture had dared to stray near it. The box was deserted by all other matter and abandoned by rationale. Where it sat, a square zone of emptiness surrounded it. A realm to which it did not belong, but a realm to which it was now King. And Tariq had invaded.
By Matthew Curtisabout a year ago in Fiction
The Worsley Family Locket: Chapter 3 - Arthur and Clarence
It is not possible to explain what occurred next, without speaking about your more senior siblings. How your eldest brother Clarence carried himself, was the epitome of the household’s ever-lasting cruelty and neglect. Aged just 13 when I first encountered him, he lambasted my beggared condition and inferior status with eloquence beyond his years. Irresolutely an intelligent boy, but one who utilised his perceptiveness and quick-thinking with callous intent. A disdainful slug of a whelp, on the very brink of blossoming into a vile moth that was drawn toward opportunities to torture and belittle like flickering candlelight. I was victimised relentlessly by the child, who seemed to claim a wilful disliking to me from the very moment he encountered me. He taunted me for my work, stole my possessions which only rarely returned to me destroyed and even physically struck me when his loathing was made its most bold. The women of the manor he treated with similar disregard. His younger sisters Ida and Helen were positively terrified of him. Yet Lady Ethel, before she came to know the locket with such lamentable affinity, remained smitten. He was, after all, the first child she’d birthed. Regrettably however, those affections had never been mutual. Clarence only behaved with any civility around his father, though even this was demonstrably lacking in sentiment. He had eyes only for his father’s capacity for prosperity and influence, and declared a divine right to a share in his prestige, though to my eyes it was utterly unearned whenever he received it. A dreadful young swine through and through, but one with a certain ruthlessness that had already sniffed the alluring scent of ascendancy; traits that often collude to put a rotten fruit at the forefront of the grocer’s stalls.
By Matthew Curtis2 years ago in Fiction
The Worsley Family Locket: Chapter 2 - Benjamin and Ethel
For the next two months, I coveted the locket as Lady Ethel stroked it, polished it and kissed it. At night, she kept it safe in her quarters, though I could only speculate exactly where. During these days, my thoughts lingered on the unwelcome inclination to determine where it was sheltered on those rare occasions she allowed her eyes to rest. What I would do with that information should I discover it; I did not know. My desires were not compelled by logic or sanity, for my mind at times operated on an unexplainable and loathsome infatuation. Having already infiltrated the household, the locket had now taken residence within my very psyche and the majority of my years among the Worsleys, and in proximity to the foul pendant, I spent as an idle spectator to the tussle between my wits and delirium that bludgeoned away within me. Many times, when the twilight hour came and the moon waned gibbous, had I risen from my chambers and crept through the deserted halls of South-Peak Manor, intending to ransack Lady Ethel’s possessions or even bushwhack the locket’s frail, miser. It is of great relief to me that sense prevailed against the whims of the nameless and that rationale compelled me to return to my lodging.
By Matthew Curtis2 years ago in Fiction
The Worsley Family Locket: Chapter 1 - Albert and Claude
Dear Edith, At the time of writing this letter, you are only 4 weeks anew, born in the aftermath of the demise of your great family. If you have adhered to the instructions adorned upon the envelope, then you are reading this letter on the very eve of your 15th birthday. I pray it is one filled only with joy. It has long since been owed to a Worsley. I would like to begin by offering you my most heart-felt condolences. The passing of both your mother Lady Ethel Worsley and your sister Helen Worsley no doubt brings you the utmost desolation. They were buried together only days after you were brought into this world and although much time has passed for you now, I imagine the consequences you suffer are still as potent. Likely, it is a tragedy as raw and genuine as it is for me as I write.
By Matthew Curtis2 years ago in Horror
Runner
Chapter 1 The black clouds poured hard rain relentlessly onto the road like a bag that had been overturned in the sky. It was the rain of a hot Summer’s evening, falling in sheets at an angle swept up by the wind. There was a storm brewing. It rumbled in the air as it cooked, threatening to burn. The wind, which would seem odd for Summer, was typical of a blustery Scottish border-town. Together they made a formidable opponent for any driver. The raindrops were thick and dropping in pre-assembled puddles, while the gale caught as much as it could in a hurry and threw the water violently in all directions.
By Matthew Curtis2 years ago in Fiction
24th
“Thanks” said a lady with an airy smile. Darren snapped back into it. His eyes had been staring through 6 inches of solid concrete for however long he’d been thinking about whatever he’d been thinking about. He had hastily replied with a quiet “yes”, before he had time to understand what the woman had said. Darren was simply thankful that she was already more than halfway out the door and unable to hear him properly. He raised his hands to clasp them together and fiddle with his fingers, but he had yet again made the mistake of planting them on the counter. No matter how hard he scrubbed, nor for how long, it was always sticky. He peeled his skin carefully from the surface with the delicate care a surgeon would dedicate to a lengthy operation.
By Matthew Curtis3 years ago in Families
16th
The pizza looked like it was melting, not cooking. The cheese, that when frozen had looked at least remotely appetising, now looked like a bad special effect from a film from the 70’s. The mozzarella was slowly drooping over the side of the crust like a dying slug. But if you watch anything in the microwave for long enough you begin to question yourself. Darren was simply too hungry to care. It was close to 10:30 at night and his last meal was at 2. Since he’d arrived at his Dad’s place, he’d sustained himself only on water and a pint of coke from a bottle that had been squashed into the fridge door. The warped plastic had looked as flat and deflated as the coke tasted. Darren had searched high and low for something to eat. The egg box had been empty, the apples were bruised, the bread was hard and the butter was even harder.
By Matthew Curtis3 years ago in Families
8th
Darren felt like he could touch a cloud. He’d always wanted to know what one felt like. Was it like his pillow, or more like his favourite dog from down the street? In fact, he even wanted to know what a cloud tasted like. Darren imagined the tastiest cotton candy anyone had ever eaten. He was certain he’d be able to reach one. Every time his legs sprung up from the castle, he stretched both arms in the air as tall as he could. For the moment, he ignored the other kids jumping alongside him. He was determined to grab a cloud right out from the sky.
By Matthew Curtis3 years ago in Families
Freddie's Familiar
Freddie was stood near the front of the queue. Too close to the front for his liking. At the very front, was Russell. He had fat cheeks and small eyes. The skin on that boy’s face always looked like it was trying to run away from his bowling-ball head. Behind Russell was a girl named Anne. She towered over all the other kids in class and had a long neck and nose that were in keeping with her tall frame. Behind Anne, just 3rd in line, was Freddie, standing out like a sore thumb. His hair was bright blonde and curly, with patches beginning its transformation into dusty brown. He was the shortest in his year and really looked the part stood behind Anne. Freddie was a touch on the chubby side, had large crooked teeth and ears that made his head look like a car with its doors open. As far as Freddie was concerned, he hadn’t just lost the genetic lottery, but he hadn’t got a single number right.
By Matthew Curtis3 years ago in Fiction
Black Ice
The Autumn air washed through the trees like the last breath of a dead man, cold and soft. Branches and leaves, yellow and thin, shuddered in the breeze. A lake sat still and patient, dotted with the orange remnants of the Summer petals. Eight quiet feet shuffled through the decaying remains of August. The little boy’s raincoat was dry. Mummy had made him wear it in case it rained, but the little boy did not share in his mother’s disdain for wet weather. He liked the rain actually. The smell of it on the dirt path, the puddles that splashed so high up his legs when he jumped in them. Rain was fun. But it had not yet rained.
By Matthew Curtis3 years ago in Horror