Liquorice Shoelace

By James Field

​Who are the ghosts: them or us?
On his way home from work, Frank, a humble accountant, witnesses a man jump in front of a train. The shocking suicide leaves Frank distraught, but the next day, he sees the same man again, alive and in a wretched state. Determined to solve the mystery, Frank investigates, only to watch his world fall apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Field
• Release date: Oct 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9788293174608

James Field

I was born in Essex, England, in 1951.My early days of work as an engineer led me to Norway where I met my future wife Kari. She moved to England where we married and raised our two daughters. We moved back to Norway in 1985.My wife and I now live far in the north, well within the Arctic Circle, in the land of the midnight sun. Life here is slow and comfortable, blessed by unspoilt nature and its magnificent moods.Being creative in the written form gives me vast pleasure. I hope, dear reader, you will take a break from your world and lose yourself in one of mine.

Book preview

Liquorice Shoelace

A Cloud Brothers Short Story

James Field

Copyright © 2016 by James Field

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Edited: Alexander Rollins

Proofread: Lucas Evart

Foreword

Would you like a FREE copy of all twelve short stories in the Cloud Brothers series? All I hope for in return is an honest review.

Fetch your FREE copy of 'What on Earth' HERE

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Contents

1.Chapter One. Front to Back

2.Chapter Two. Back to Front

Afterword

Chapter One. Front to Back

Friday afternoon

'Baa!' I bleat as the afternoon herd of humans presses me toward Milliner Street's Tube escalators. A muffled bleat drifts back. I recognise a commuter comrade, impeccably dressed in suit and tie, with a folded umbrella in one hand, and a leather briefcase in the other. Although I know nothing about my fellow commuters, many of us enjoy a sense of camaraderie in our habitual daily toil.

I lift a fresh plump carnation in my lapel and sniff; a small celebration to mark the end of the working week. Joyce, my darling wife, loves flowers. It's a shame she's not home this weekend. She's an architect, away on business in Reykjavik. She's pregnant, and at the relatively late age of thirty-nine, the chance of a normal birth is high. It's a relief. We've had a hard year, what with her father passing away and the stress of an earlier miscarriage.

As I shuffle further into the station, I feel a strange shift in my mood. A premonition makes my skin crawl and I glance over my shoulder to see if the Grim Reaper is breathing down my neck. Hmm, I don't like it. I shudder and hesitate, but the herd's single-mindedness drives me onwards towards the trains.

Once on the long escalator, my head spins, I feel sick, and I drop my briefcase to grab the black rubber handrail. I knead my eyes with my other hand, difficult while holding an umbrella. My vision is sharp, but it has taken on a bright red hue, as if blood has filled my eyes. Sound is muffled too, like I'm listening to a hundred conversations through a metal pipe. What's going on? I have never suffered from migraine, is this what it's like?

As the escalator deposits me at its foot, I find my briefcase, lose my balance, and totter like a baby taking its first steps. Something definitely isn't right. I've never seen the world coloured red before. Should I wait for it to pass, or try to make it home before I collapse?

Habit directs me along the narrow platform to the tunnel mouth where