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| Annette Corkery, Adult winner Craig French, author Caroline Busher who presented the prize and Ann Gerety Smyth. |
Adult Section -
Winner
I still don’t know
his name but he hangs there on the wire in front of me – a
scarecrow of tatters and shreds with the wind whistling through the
holes where his eyes used to be and a rictus grin splitting his face,
his teeth clenched as if he were biting against the agonies that had
tormented him. For three days and nights he had slowly died, torn and
pierced through by cruel metal and begging to be released. His cries
and whimpers were pitiful to hear but they didn’t stop me shooting
down any who tried. Their remains litter the ground around him and
all is rot and putrefaction.
Now I cannot sleep and
he keeps me company through these long hollow nights when I strain my
eyes to exhaustion, trying to peel back the surface of the dark to
reveal the horrors I know lurk there. I can hear his dried insect
rustlings out in the tangle of wire and battlefield wreckage and then
the slow slithering as he drags himself through the mud to sit on the
edge of the trench. There he squats, a blacker shape against the
night, oozing secrets with a voice of congealed blood. Around him
stand the other faceless dead, silent and accusing and each marked
with a bullet from my gun.
And what does he tell
me? He tells me of how I’ll die - of the wound that suppurates, of
the thirst that rages through every fibre, of the cold steel in the
guts, of the meeting of hot metal and pale flesh and the slow leakage
of scarlet into the mud. The others give their mute approval. My
death is assured. Here is the rifle and here is the trigger – why
delay it? I nod; I understand. Blessed sleep.
Adult Section -
Highly Commended
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| Desmond Howett |
Sweet Revenge by
Desmond Howett
“It’s nice to see
you again, Mr. Patrick. Would you like a pre-dinner drink?”
A leather choker with
a snake head clasp circles her neck. I shiver as her blood red lips
attempt an anaemic smile.
“A hot Jameson
please.” I reply. “The restaurant is very quiet tonight?”
She bows and recedes
into the dimly lit room without replying, her jade green dress caging
her in.
I check my watch. Just
three more hours and twenty minutes, and it will be over for another
year. I dread Friday 13th.
“Your drink sir, and
a little amuse-bouche with our compliments.”
No cloves I note, but
the house treat is a nice touch. They’ve upped their game since
last year.
Perhaps they read my
review?
There is a curious
tang to the drink but it goes down well. It’s been a hectic day, so
I’m looking forward to this treat.
I lift the cloche. A
long mottled brown sausage nestles in a consommé juice, it’s
delicately patterned skin wrapped in concentric circles. The juice
begins to shimmer, enticing me to take a closer look. A pair of eyes
pop up. The snout of a snake emerges to the surface, its nostrils
flaring. It glares at me. I sit paralysed, fork aloft my body defying
the shouts in my brain. My pulse quickens as the snake slithers off
the plate, its scaly skin trailing silently over the red table cloth.
It nudges between my thumb and forefinger, up under the sleeve of my
shirt. As it shimmies up my arm, over my shoulder and entwines itself
around my neck, I retch uncontrollably.
Her voice whispers
from behind.
“Are you enjoying
your little treat Sir? ‘Chef’s Revenge’, we call it. You’re
finding it hard to
breathe? I’m so
sorry.”
Adult Section -
Highly Commended
Journey’s end by
Andy Jones
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| Andy Jones |
The lorry came to a
sudden stop in the pre-dawn twilight with a loud hiss of air brakes.
An old-timer, trying to keep his balance on the slippery floor,
raised his weary head and inhaled deeply. A particularly unpleasant
aroma lingered in the air.
Life amongst their
persecutors had been hard. To be taken from familiar surroundings
without warning, then loaded onto the transport with kicks and shouts
had shocked the group into terrified silence. They hoped that this
place would be an improvement on the squalor they had left behind.
Time passed before the
doors swung open. Morning sun reflected off concrete, painful to eyes
that had been in darkness for too long. Men stood at the rear of the
lorry, urging the new arrivals towards a low whitewashed building.
The exhausted passengers yearned for sanctuary. A place of rest, and
water, perhaps even a little food.
The Gadarene rush for
asylum was checked by the noises that began to reach their ears from
the killing area. Those that tried to turn back were shown no mercy.
The smell detected earlier now revealed its origins. It was the
unmistakeable odour of death.
If they could have
read, the sign above the gate would have explained everything.
“ This little
piggy Ltd”. it said, with a graphic of a smiling piglet. “Best
quality Irish Bacon
Products. All
animals humanely slaughtered”
Teen Section -
Winner
Uncle Kevin by Laura
Carroll
‘We can’t go in
there!’ Evan tells his older cousin as they come to a halt before
the immense oak double doors with
intricate carvings. ‘Uncle Kevin said it’s forbidden!’
‘But Uncle Kevin is
in town’ Rick says, smiling mischievously, his hand on the brass
knob.
‘He’ll never know.
Come on, don’t you want to know what’s in there?’ Evan’s
silence answers his question.
‘After you then’
Rick says, turning the knob and pushing the door open, creaks filling
the empty hall. Evan braces
himself, peering around the door into the blackness. Before he can do anything else, two
hands shove his back, sending him crashing to the cold, tile floor.
‘Hey let me out!’
he screams, pounding on the door to no avail. Swallowing the lump in
his throat, Evan searches
the wall for a light switch. His pudgy hands travel along the smooth wall before meeting a
string. He tugs it, the lights flicker on.
It takes his eyes a
second to adjust to the light as a gurgling noise sends chills down
Evan’s spine as the walls part
around him. Large glass tubes with objects suspended in an orange liquid appear.
Intrigued, Evan edges
closer, then falls to the ground in horror. The ‘objects’ are
body parts- arms, legs, torsos. A
floating head, eyes still intact, is mere centimetres from Evan’s
own. An impressive array of
gleaming silver tools decorate the walls Evan hears footsteps,
and conceals himself behind the worktop, which he realises holds a semi-dissected body.
‘Rick? Is that you?’ When he gets no answer, Evan looks out from
his spot.
‘Hello, Evan’
Uncle Kevin murmurs, a wicked grin on his face as he reveals the saw
with two
sets of razor sharp
teeth from behind his back. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
Teen Section -
Highly Commended
The Spectre by
Philippa Brennan
Only my flickering
candle penetrated the darkness. I shuddered. The night air chilled my
bones. I lay in bed, moments away from sleep. The house was silent.
Dreams had almost
grasped me when I heard the creaking of a floorboard, someone
approaching. My heart beat faster. I crept to the door, pressing my
ear against it. It was again silent.
Then, my candle was
blown out.
The light did not
slowly fade and die. The room was plunged abruptly into blackness.
Paralyzed by fear, I dared not move. Blood was pounding in my ears.
‘Who’s there?’ I
whispered.
In reply, I heard a
demonic cackle which froze my blood. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to
the darkness, turning slowly.
Out of the shadows
loomed a spectre, an image of ghost-white skin and hollow obsidian
eyes. I could hear the horrible wheezing of its breath as it
approached me.
Terror choked me like
a noose about my neck. I could hear a blood-curdling scream which I
then realized was my own. I rushed to the opposite side of the room
and instantly regretted it; the spirit was now blocking the door; I
had no escape.
Surely this was some
terrible nightmare! Surely this grotesque spirit was a figment of my
imagination! It could not be real, yet still it advanced towards me.
The ghost was inches
from me now, I felt my back hit the cool window. My pulse stopped.
Overcome with sheer fright, I thrust it open and began climbing down
the ivy-covered facade. When I reached the ground, I ran into the
night, where no such horror could find me again!
