Read by Alex Woodhall
Cripes, it's cold in Minneapolis, but I can't go back to Florida. I heard them folks in Seligman's clan like it warm, so I'll stay up here. I blame Hank for all this.
Continue reading "The Unmaking of a Made Man by Mary R. Butler" »
Read by Steve Wedd
She was so thin she seemed to slip through doors like a credit card. She was the FACE, she was the front cover of VOGUE, she was the canvas for REVLON, the dress horse for GUCCI. She wasn't just a model, she was an UBERMODEL; and all the catwalks of all the global capitals, laid end to end were the conveyor of her life. Everyone wanted a part of her and she could have a part of anything she wanted.
Continue reading "The Snowstorm by Josh McDonald" »
Read by Paul Hessey
I don't believe in ghosts. I don't believe in spirits, mediums, the supernatural, any of that bollocks. Superstitious shite. As if people didn't have enough to be getting on with in this world without creating something else to be worrying about. The only mystery as far as I can see it is how the bastards responsible for promoting such arse get away with it.
Continue reading "Shanghai Boy by Martin Langley" »
Read by Martin Lamb
Jane Bartram had been, since her retirement, a woman of habit. Each evening, after her supper, she would take the dog on its last evening walk and finish her small amount of washing up. Checking that the sink was wiped and the J-cloth neatly folded over the tap, she would change into her nightie and climb into her big double bed, relaxing into the pillows resolutely placed in the middle. Then she would carry on making her way through the latest Ian Rankin novel until she felt sleepy, or listen to late-night Radio 4.
Continue reading "Jane Bartram's Visitors by Judy Delin" »
Read by Mia Holmes
I'm going to see her again tomorrow. I'll have to fix my hair correctly or she'll complain about it again. She likes it to be just so. Correctly parted. Symmetry. Her sight is good and she can see immediately if there is something not right. 'Oh, you haven't taken care in your appearance today dear, you know how important that is, I keep telling you.' She may be an old lady now but she never stops caring about lipstick. It's the wrong colour for her of course but she absolutely will not be told.
Continue reading "Mother by Alan Maddrell" »