Connections eMagazine May 2021 edition

By Sylva Fae

A few months ago, author Tom Benson put out a challenge, to supply him with a writing prompt he could use to generate a short story for his upcoming anthology. The prompt was to be a dialogue between no more than two characters and to be no more than thirty words. I took up the challenge and Tom picked two of my prompts. This also gave me the privilege of being a guest author in the anthology. I wrote two stories for ‘Next Steps’ and I’m proud to share the pages with some of my favourite authors; Tom Benson, Rebecca Bryn, Lesley Hayes, Penny Luker and Frank Parker.

Here is one of my contributions... https://mybook.to/Next_Steps

The Magic Box of Apples

By Sylva Fae

Annie sighed and paused as she heard the tapping from the front door. Nobody used the front, well, nobody who knew her…. Maybe there would be an occasional tap, just to let her know they were on their way round to the kitchen door, but nobody would expect to be let in the front. She listened for footsteps up the side path, but instead, the tapping became

louder and more insistent. Sighing, she removed her apron, wafting clouds of flour away, then headed down the corridor. Front door callers were either unwanted or bad news.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to disturb you…but errr…I think you’ve just been robbed.”

The front door caller was a flustered young man, wearing only jeans and a scruffy t-shirt. He shivered in the chilly evening air, as he faltered, seemingly wondering how to explain further. A gust of woodsmoke-scented wind swirled around Annie, causing her to shiver too. The lad looked harmless enough; whatever was going on was better sorted out in the warmth of the kitchen.

“Well, you better come in out of the cold, love. T’is gonna be a chilly one tonight.” Annie smiled and held the door wide.

The young man hesitated, looking torn between reluctance to get involved, and being polite.

“Come on, you’re lettin’ a draught in. I’ll stick the kettle on and you can explain all about it. I’m sorry but you’ll have to come sit in the kitchen, I’m just in the middle of baking.”

Annie never tired of the smell of baking – scents of warm pastry and stewed apples, spiced with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg, greeted them as she guided the young man to a chair. Annie checked the pies in the oven, adjusted the temperature, then filled the kettle. As she spooned coffee into mugs, she was aware that the lad watched her every move in silence. Finally, she joined him at the table with two steaming mugs and a plate of home baked oaty biscuits.

“OK then, so what makes you think I’ve been robbed? I’ve been here the whole time, and I’ve not seen a soul since lunchtime…apart from you that is.”

The lad warmed his hands around the mug, “I was walking back to my gran’s – I’ve just come from the train station – and I saw someone go up to your porch. I didn’t think much of it really, but then I saw them bend down and take something out of the wooden box. I watched them fill a bag with your stuff, then run off across the road. I’m so sorry, I should have shouted or stopped them, or something….”

Annie chuckled, then smiled at the lad’s confused face. “Have a biscuit and drink your coffee before it goes cold. It’s OK, I haven’t been robbed. That would have been Jean picking up the chutney from the magic apple box.”

You can find additional stories and anecdotes on her websitehttps://sylvafae.co.uk/blog/