Paul Moore
Bio
Stories (4/0)
The Barn Owl on Pickard Street
First time I spotted the barn owl on Pickard Street was the winter of 2006. It was the middle of the night, and I was halfway back home right by the canal, about to cross the bridge. In fact, I wasn’t about to cross the bridge. I was flat on the pavement. There was blood everywhere: my hands, my clothes, my face. I couldn’t move. A metallic taste was coming down my throat, thick and slow. I looked up and there it was: the barn owl, high up on a branch of a leafless tree by the canal. I thought I was dying there and then, and the barn owl was going to be my only witness.
By Paul Moore2 years ago in Confessions
Kramer Williams in the Bottle
Kramer Williams was a clever devil. He was tiny and fast, and he took advantage of that to do all kinds of small mischief around people’s houses. Has anyone in your family ever lost a book or a set of keys, and couldn’t find them anywhere, no matter how hard you looked? Have you ever noticed how our pens and pencils sometimes seem to vanish in thin air? Kramer Williams loves to hide our stuff in the most unlikely places. Have you ever opened a nice box of strawberries only to find them all moldy and icky? Have you ever taken a big gulp from a nice cup of cold milk only to find the milk is spoiled and tastes awfully sour? Kramer Williams loves to spit into fruit and milk just to make it go bad.
By Paul Moore3 years ago in Fiction