Raymond G. Taylor
Bio
Author based in Kent, England. A writer of fictional short stories in a wide range of genres, he has been a non-fiction writer since the 1980s. Non-fiction subjects include art, history, technology, business, law, and the human condition.
Achievements (2)
Stories (255/0)
A plague of imps
Stumbling along alone, the child struggles to make progress through a clearing in the forest, oblivious to the whump, whump, whump of great wings swopping down from behind him. He is almost relieved to feel the creature’s long talons close around his shoulders, the great strength of the beast lifting him up into the air. His only reaction is to glance around at the scaly head of the monster, momentarily connecting his gaze with that of the reptilian eyes of his captor. A barely perceptible mutual nod seals the understanding between them before the winged serpent curls its neck around and down to the child’s face, connecting its course mouth with the infant’s gentle lips. A mush of welcome nourishment is exchanged. Satisfied, the child returns his gaze to the ground receding beneath him.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
Learning to fly: two
Having driven to Biggin Hill airfield for what he thought was a flying lesson in a light aircraft, Robert finds himself hovering on a broomstick amidst a hoard of Halloween witches. “Okay ladies….” Announced my companion, to the general throng behind her. “and... er… young gen’leman. It’s just about midnight, it’s Halloween… “LET’S RIDE!”
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
Dark clouds gather part three
Continued from part two: Spaemann, Morwenna, and the circle of friends have gathered in Guildford Cathedral with Spaemann arriving shortly after, wearing a robe of plain hessian, with a sword held by the cord tied around his waist. None recognized it as the Sword of Avalon.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
Yep, it's WITCHING HOUR folks
For the latest reviews I have gone off-grid with a rundown of some brilliant spooky, scary, ghostly, ghoulish, shock horror, witchery and devilry stories, poems and flash fiction. All collected together by the wonderful and talented authors of the Writers Unite! Facebook group. A great read from 22 brilliant writers including yours truly. You will also find a lot of other super short stories on the WU! site along with details of what the group is about and how to join. Most of the stories in the WU! Witching Hour are written from word or picture prompts and include 100-word drabbles, other flash fiction, poems, and short stories up to 5,000 words. Something for everyone here and there are six parts. Here’s my review of Part One and watch this space for others coming soon. Or just go read them all. If like me you love a spooky short read, you will not be disappointed. Oh, and if you like this review, please leave a comment at the end of the page to let me know. Likewise, if you would like me to review one of your works in a future episode of my weekly reviews slot.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Journal
Deeper into the forest
As she continued to bask in the watery winter sunshine, Elha the she-wolf, rested. For some time, she slumbered, half asleep but alert to any change in sounds or scents. She was vaguely aware of the sound of crows squabbling and of the tall trees creaking and rustling in the winter breeze. The sun was falling in the sky and dipping toward the horizon. The late winter dusk gathered as the cold surrounded her and spurred her into action. She could rest no longer, dreams or no dreams. She must move on.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
A macabre profession
I crept into the crypt intent upon a grim and grizzly task. Having scaled the walls of the cemetery after darkness and prized open the door to the vault, I crouched just inside, silently waiting and listening for any movement outside. I could hear nothing but the wind in the distant trees and saw no sign that my nocturnal visit had been noticed. Leaving the door open a fraction, I cautiously covered the crack with my coat before lighting a small dip and venturing further inside. I did not want any patrolling rozzer to look through the graveyard gates and notice a flickering light from within.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
Learning to fly
It was a crisp Autumn afternoon as I drove past the airport building and around to the side road where the private aircraft were kept. Biggin Hill Airport is a former RAF base just outside of London and you could still see some of the wartime barracks and the airmen’s chapel beside the more modern air terminal. I wasn’t interested in any of that. I was there for a flying lesson. My first ever flying lesson. An 18th birthday present from Mum and Dad.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction