Sunday, 31 May 2015

The first time...


Up to the time when he had claimed the first of his victims, there had been no reason for him to have committed murder. The girl – she was twenty-two, with a pretty face and soft skin – had wanted to dance with Ward in a backstreet club. They danced and shared a drink, and when the evening was over and too much alcohol had been consumed by the girl, he had offered to walk her home. It was on that walk to her home that something must have been said, or his advances had been refused.

He hit the girl over the back of her head with a brick and left her to die. Blood ejaculated from her mouth as he slid his right hand inside the front of her jeans. He played with his victim's cunt for five minutes until a barking dog scared the life out of him. It rained heavily that night, and as Ward calmly walked home, he occasionally arched back his head to allow the rainwater to enter his mouth.

And so that had been his first murder. It was a crime which made the news the following day, and the story lingered for a while until it faded away into obscurity. It was a crime that went unsolved, probably because at that time forensic science was not as advanced as it is today. Occasionally, Ward was haunted by the girl's face, but whenever he felt remorse he just laughed, before telling himself that no-one is immortal.


Extract taken from "After Dover" - a short story about a cold-blooded killer, written by Luke Ryman. Out now on Kindle via Amazon.

Friday, 15 May 2015

He drove a bus...

Home was hell!


Dad was a bus driver, and although he often told me that driving a bus was a responsible job, that required a great deal of care and attention, his weekly pay never reflected the fact that people entrusted him to get them from A to B, safely. I think my old man made a big thing about how careful he had to be when transporting his passengers, and it sometimes sounded like he was actually a Jumbo Jet pilot, and not a lowly bus driver, who earned very little, and didn't even get the opportunity to drive his bus anywhere else other than on the estate where we lived.

But driving a bus was a steady job, that came with a uniform, the right to cheap bus travel and four weeks holiday a year. It wasn't exciting, but it WAS a job, and as dad told me every now and then, as though I hadn't heard it a hundred times before, having a job was the most important thing in life. Mum used to tell him to shut up when he started asking me what I wanted to do when I left school, telling him that I was a smart kid, and that I would end up doing something better than driving a bus for a living. I think if my wife had insulted me, like that, I would have laid into her, but because dad liked to avoid confrontation, and rarely listened to what my mum said, he just smiled, and say that there was no shame in being a bus driver.

Extract taken from "Dad drove a bus" - an ebook for kindle.
By the same author, in the same series: "The Londoners", "The Londoners 2 - After Love Comes Hate" & "The Londoners 3 - No Turning Back"

Friday, 1 May 2015

But Bloody France!








Clare clearly remembered the first time she had seen her boyfriend, even if it was now over a year ago since they had first met. He had danced badly all night and had smelt like a bloody poof. He had been wearing smart designer jeans and a plain white t-shirt. There was a hint of a fake tan, which made Deano stick out like a sore thumb, because in Margate people with tans like he had are thin on the ground.

But there was something about this bad dancer which had caught Clare’s eye, as she and her friends danced themselves senseless in a grotty Margate nightclub. The following Saturday one of her friends was going to get married, and so, to celebrate this life-changing event, Clare, Suzy, Chloe, Emma, Selina and Penny had decided to organise a drunken evening for Julie, by the end of which the girls would finish completely smashed, and Julie would be wondering if getting married was really her thing.

Emma, wanting to show off the result of her recent breast enlargement operation, was unsurprisingly chased across the dance floor by a number of teenage lads all wanting to get their hands on her prize assets. Of course, she had been flattered to have been pursued by so many testosterone-fuelled admirers, but the guy she really wanted to accept a drink from was the tattooed beast hovering next to Deano.

Clare cringed when realised that one of her best friends wanted nothing more than to spend a night with a shaven-headed monster, who had spent all evening pouring lager down his throat at an impressive rate, whilst laughing and joking with Deano. Clare hated men with tattoos, and after trying to persuade Emma that she was aiming her sights too low, she gave up when she saw that the tattooed one had moved in for the kill, and was already plying Emma with expensive cocktails.

Extract taken from "But Bloody France!" - part 1 of the "But Bloody France!" amusing trilogy, following the ups and downs in the life of Clare Green, twenty-something, from Margate in Kent.
Get the complete trilogy in "Clare's Holiday" - out now for Kindle via Amazon.