Smoko At East Seaham

By Ken Blowers

Ken Blowers has developed a firm following of readers from the first three collections in his continuing set of Short Stories. Now he entices old friends and new to the world of mystery and intrigue in perfect bite size pieces for ‘Smoko’. You can join Ken for ‘Smoko at East Seaham’ and be transported across time in a short space of time to tales of merriment, mystique and manslaughter!

Yet again Ken entertains readers with a smattering of subjects across a smattering of suburban settings to take us on a short journey out of our humdrum day.
This volume of short stories covers everything from the perils of online communication to touching insights of loving relationships and as usual, has something to offer everyone. All you need to do is be ready for the unexpected (like any good Scout!) and you will survive the rollercoaster ride of reading Ken’s latest offering.

With ‘Smoko At Seaham’, your ‘appetite’ is assured of being well and truly sated as you keep up with Ken's next compelling volumes of short stories, with the next one coming soon...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Blowers
• Release date: Jun 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311575180

Ken Blowers

"I like to get well into my stories from Page 1. They are low in background trivia and high in rich dialogue and action. I have no interest in how my characters are dressed, or how they walk or talk – unless it’s directly related to the way they act. This makes my short stories short and punchy. They are all the better for that.” Ken Blowers. Ken Blowers is a 'Queensland Senior' writer of short stories and one-act plays. He was born in 1934, the youngest of seven children in the small fishing port of Lowestoft, Suffolk, England. His father died in 1939 when he was only 5. As a 6 year old he suffered the trauma of enforced evacuation from a coastal area threatened by enemy invasion. The returning home a year later to face the rigors of heavy enemy bombing. On leaving school at the age of 15 in 1949, Ken became an apprentice coachbuilder - at that time a woodworking trade! He was made redundant on immediately on completion of his apprenticeship at the age of 21. Thereafter he engaged in a variety of employment spheres to support his young wife and two children: fitter, car salesman, electrical salesman, postman, insurance agent, factory manager, shopkeeper, and barman. Disillusioned with his employment prospects and looking for a new start, he applied, through Australia House in London, for enlistment in the Royal Australian Air Force. He signed up on a Wednesday afternoon, flew out on the Thursday, and arrived in Australia on the Saturday (27 November 1965) which, he has been known to say, demonstrates how desperately Australia needed him! Having enlisted as a clerk he quickly taught himself to type so he could move to a higher pay level!. Having no formal education qualifications at all, he enrolled in the Victorian Correspondence School (for kids in the bush!) and after attaining matriculation standard, he eventually become a commissioned officer. In 1985, at the age of 51 and after 20 years Air Force service, he retired (with the rank of Squadron Leader). Ken and his wife Jean lived on a 28 acre property, where he bought and built a steel-framed home, over looking the valley. In 1992 the author and his wife moved from NSW to Queensland to be closer to their two daughters and their three grandchildren. Interestingly, it was their happy experiences together in their local U3A play-reading classes that encouraged him to take up the pen! He has since become a prolific writer of 1,000 daily quotations, 48 short stories, and 40 one-act plays. He now lives in Mitchelton, a north-west suburb of Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. And he recently retired from writing a total of 30,000 postings in Ken’s Corner, in his UK, Suffolk, home town website lowestoftonline. “To write good short stories you don’t have to live to a ripe old age first– but it sure helps. I can’t stop writing short stories. My characters just won’t let me.”” ___________________________________________

Book preview

SMOKO AT EAST SEAHAM

By Ken Blowers

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First published by Linda Perry at Smashwords 2nd June 2014

This second edition published by Linda Perry at Smashwords March 2015

Editing by Eagle-Eyes Editing Solutions

Cover Illustration by Paulien Bats

Copyright (c) 2014 by Ken Blowers

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

CONTENTS

Rhonda’s Christmas Wish

The Odd Couple Of Sheilas

Self Defence

Nightmare At ‘Cosy Corner’ Online

De-Bagged

The You Know

The Man With Two Left Feet

Long Time Missing

Getting On Online

CHAPTER 1

RHONDA’S CHRISTMAS WISH

It was Christmas Eve and turning dark; with the wind getting up and the trees already showing their displeasure.

Rhonda, who lived in a nice little cottage in the rural village of East Seaham, New South Wales (Australia), had just emerged from the shower, was putting on her best bright red dressing gown and talking to herself - as she was apt to do. Saying aloud, but softly: 'Oh, Lord - I do so wish I didn't have to be alone again on Christmas Day...!'

She was then immediately startled and alarmed by the sound of what she thought might be someone moving slowly through the shrubbery along the east side of the house. But she dismissed the idea and continued drying her hair and looking at her clothes trying to decide what to wear for Christmas Day.

Sadly, she wasn’t expecting any callers, but the house, as usual, was spic and span. As usual, she had put up a few home-made decorations. Christmas, she always said, just wouldn’t be the same without little things like that.

Suddenly, she thought she heard that noise again. ‘Yes! There…, there it is again.’ It was a rustling, shuffling, sort of sound like something, or someone - moving about outside. ‘Oh, no,’ she thought. Has someone out there been peeping through the gaps in the curtains – and… and watching me? Watching me getting changed?

Rhonda was not generally a nervy person and certainly not the sort of woman to cower in fear. In fact, her reaction to danger was more likely to be the most practical response imaginable. For instance; after a dreadful car crash many years ago, she had emerged from the wreckage badly shaken, but not injured. She had then calmly picked up the lifeless form of her baby, wrapped it in a travel blanket and left it with a passer-by. Then she turned and went back to help the injured and dying from the other vehicle! ' Plenty of time for tears later,' she had confided to those who wondered at her fortitude and great strength of character.

Some years later, when her dear husband Alfie, died suddenly, on the bus from Brisbane to Sydney, she had sat quietly, nursing him in her arms, as if he had fallen asleep, nothing more. For hours she sat waiting still until all the other passengers had disembarked before informing the driver: 'I must tell you, my dear husband died – a few hours ago. But I saw no need to alarm all the passengers unnecessarily. My Alfie, wouldn't have wanted that, either, I know.'

Outwardly dominant and strong, she used to say she kept her tears, like her prayers, for the privacy of her pillow. That was Rhonda!

She hurriedly finished dressing and moved out of the bedroom, down the hall and into the kitchen. The noise outside seemed to follow her, dragging through the miniature ivy and brushing against the trailing bougainvillaea. Her alarm was beginning to mount. ‘I must keep my wits about me’, she thought. Then: 'Would you like a cup of tea, Alfie, dear?' she called out, somewhat loudly. 'I'll just pop the kettle on,' she added - feeling just a wee twinge of shame at her blatant attempt at deception.

'Oh...' she groaned softly as the fierce pain of arthritis stabbed her left hip joint with enhanced savagery. Divine retribution perhaps, she thought, for telling fibs. But then, Arthur-Itis, as her dear Alfie used to call it, was her only close companion these long, lonely, days.

She passed into the lounge room, which still bore strong reminders of Alfie's presence - photographs of him in and out of uniform, sports trophies