Blue Jaguar

I was asked to write a modern day version of Bluebeard for a course on fairy tales I have been taking. Here it is….




On the day Ronald finished his sentence and walked out of gaol, Perdita waited anxiously in the blue jaguar, ready to pick him up. She noted his scowl as he walked across the road.

“I told you not to go in that garage!” he spat with venom, “I told you!!”

“But Ronnie”, she wheedled, “My car has a flat battery and I needed to come and get you. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

They drove home in silence, Ronald’s fingers drumming on the dashboard all the way.

When they pulled into the driveway of their hobby farm, situated many kilometres from any neighbour, Ronald grabbed the keys and ran to the extra-large garage set apart from the house. Anxiously he counted the cars, 1,2,3,4,5,6. He let out a sigh of relief. All 7 accounted for.

He found the gun he’d hidden 6 months before and turned to face Perdita. “I told you” he said as he shot. Bang. Bang. Bang.

“I know” chorused the line of bridely ghosts as they converged and swallowed him whole, “We heard you the first time!”

Perdita walked out from the protective ghostly wall and smiled. She had 7 stately cars to sell and an around the world cruise to catch.

“Thanks girls” she said to the ghosts, “Lovely to have met you.”



Copyright August 2019




Murder On The Haiku Express



Too many people

Crowded station drives me mad

Good to get away


Find a window seat

Settle down and people watch

Safely behind glass


Would you look at her

Running in stiletto heels

Too sharp for the rest


Landscape runs away

Back towards city skyline

Train whistle blowing


Dinner served at six

Opposite stiletto girl

Barely ate a thing



Sat up through the night

Thoughts of impossible things

Long before breakfast


Years ago I swore

To take my medication

My forgotten law


Breakfast was a bore

Eggs and bacon, toast and tea

No croissants for me


There she is again

Tottering on her high heels

All to attract men


Smiling and flirting

The old men salivating

I prefer the scene


Today I will sit

Watching the Nullarbor sway

Side to side on tracks


Perfectly perfect

Dreaming of rainbow serpents

Slithering in red


Communal supper

Oodles of noodles and tea

No one talks to me


I’m invisible

Wearing my magical cloak

Treading carefully


Another dark night

Rattle of the railway tracks

Startled by a scream


Emergency cord

Pulled with help of gravity

Of situation


Whispers of murder

To and fro along the train

Travelling past me


Here come the police

Helicopter rests on land

Previously free


Interview us all

One by one we answer true

Truly was not me


Through the open door

Death rictus the victims smile

Frozen now in time


Stiletto woman

Not a drop of blood in sight

Tablets with her tea


Hours later they leave

Accidental overdose

That they all agree


World begins to move

Leaving my worries behind

Lightness of my mind


Many a lover

Scorned and left for another

Would do as I did


I the murderer

My written confessional

Witnessed in haiku



Copyright July 2019




furious fiction story that did not make the cut {but I’m proud I wrote it anyway}


The air was thick with magic. Not the mealy mouthed, wrinkle your nose, white kind of magic but the down and dirty, dark-minded, we’re going to stir up the world kind. With a little violence on the side, if you want it, and can afford to pay. I pull my hat down a little further, walk through the shimmering crowds as if I own the party, praying I’ll remain unnoticed.

“Well! Well! Well! You have a nerve coming to MY party!”

Music stops and so does the chatter. All eyes are upon me.


I turn around to face the changeling, Susannah.

Despite her long misshapen legs and the permanent sneer etched on her prematurely aged face she is considered a beauty in Faux-Georgian circles. Today she affects a sweet, maiden style. High waisted muslin dress, sprigged with tiny bows, in contrasting shades of blue. Her brother, Percival, stands at her side, sneering and pudgy in his frocked coat and tights. He took snuff, but was not really up to it.

For a moment I forget my lines. Just as the panic begins to rise, I remember and make a deep bow.

“Greetings Miz Susannah”

I follow up with a perfunctory curtsey in Percival’s direction.

“And to you, Duke”

He nods in boredom and signals to the orchestra to commence the next berceuse. The crowds begin to loll and dream dance, helped along by the misty atmosphere of deepest desire.

Susannah glares. I try not to blanche for I know it is dangerous to show fear in front of her. She is my faerie twin; she knows me better than I know myself.  She hates me.

“I told you not to come here”, she says, fingering a knife which has appeared out of nowhere. It is long and thin and looks insanely sharp. “There is nothing for you here, or didn’t I make that clear last time!”

My heart leaps and I feel the place where my left arm used to be. In the depths of my mind it is still there. Feeling brave, and a little desperate, I straighten my spine and tell her straight to her face, “I only want one little button. To complete my collection, you know.”

She looks unconvinced so I continue, trying not to babble, “Yours is the last Button Party of the year. And I only need the one. Please Susannah, I’ll never come here again if you’ll only let me buy the button I need. It’s only one…” my words trail off and I feel tears flowing down my cheeks.

“Oh! For Oberon’s sake! Get your damned button and leave!!”

I bow, smiling underneath my tears.

I buy my button and retire to the belvedere, where my warlock and lover, Aidan, awaits.

“I have it”, I say, handing over the twelfth button.

He smiles, grasps my hand.

“We’ll bring your arm back, then leave.”

Not before revenge, I think, not before I get my revenge.



Copyright June 2019




30-word stories

Way back in April, Writers Victoria had a group flash fiction project which stretched throughout the whole month. 30 days of 30-word stories to celebrate 30 yrs of being.  Even though none of my stories was picked as story of the day {insert sad face} I was given lots of encouragement from people. I am now sharing my stories with you all.


Here are stories 26-30


April 26th – iridescent


Frantic dancing, an iridescent fluttering against the chandelier.

White. Pink. Red. Purple. Blue. Green. White again.

Mustn’t fly too high.


Wax softens in the flames.

And colours crash.

To earth.


April 27th – nacreous


“A word in your shell-like?”

Tentacles ooze around my throne.

As if I, Mother of Pearls, would grant a squid a boon.

“Calamari!” I order.

He dissolves in cloudy ink.


April 28th – treasure


In the crisper, cucumbers aside, under the wilting lettuce, my fingers map the route to the hidden treasure of chocolate teddy bear biscuits.

Off with his head.

He’ll never tell.


April 29th – perfectionism


Each letter I choose has meaning.

Each word I spell has power.

Precise words from my poisoned pen upon the parchment and hey presto, you are gone from my life.


April 30th – pearl


Mum said we will make a fortune. She also said it wouldn’t hurt. She lied. Nine months of agony as my eyes create pearls. Rich, yet blind, a fateful dowry.


Copyright June 2019