All posts by Graham Smith

Graham is a hotel manager who lives and works at The Mill Forge near Gretna Green and has just released his first Ebook 11 The Hard Way. He’s only been writing a short time but has been an avid reader for over 30 years and has also been a reviewer for for over 2 years. Has also conducted face to face interviews with the likes of Mark Billingham, Dennis Lehane, David Baldacci, Matt Hilton, Lee Child, Jeffrey Deaver, Peter James and Simon Kernick among many others.

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Making a point

They crept noiselessly across the tarmac as they approached the van from its nearside blind spot. The father led the way issuing pre arranged hand signals to his son. They’d rehearsed the line they would have to take to remain unseen until both knew exactly where to tread.
+++++Cigarette smoke drifted from an open window until a slight breeze dispersed the cancerous effluent. Conversation about yesterdays match escaped the confines of the van as the two men inside championed their respective favourites.
+++++‘Fuck off, will ya. He was offside.’
+++++‘Then why didn’t the linesman flag him?’
+++++‘It’s always the same with your lot. They get all the breaks. Wouldn’t have been given if we’d been playing anyone else. But Man-Fucking-Ure always get the big decisions, especially at Old Trafford.’
+++++‘We got the three points though.’
+++++The two men were close friends who argued about football with good humour despite their divided loyalties. It was the only way they could keep their sanity when cooped up for hours at a time.
+++++‘Did you hear something then?’
+++++‘No. What was it?’
+++++‘Probably nothing. I think I’ll check it out though.’
+++++‘What’s to check out? It’s broad daylight and we’re not exactly hidden. Sit down and don’t open the door, it’s cold enough with the bloody window open.’
+++++Outside, the father had reached the back of the van and was frantically signalling his son to hurry up.
+++++When the teen reached the security of the back of the van he quietly laid down the canvas bag he was carrying and quietly unzipped it.
+++++The father reached into the bag and removed two plastic five litre petrol cans. One he screwed the filler nozzle onto while he simply unscrewed the top on the other. Petrol fumes filled the air.
+++++Working quickly, the son removed the remaining petrol can and after unscrewing the top, laid it on it’s side underneath the van.
+++++The father used his fingers to count to three and when he reached three the son laid a trail of petrol away from the van using the nozzled can. As the son was doing this the father whipped open the vans back door and launched the open petrol can inside taking just enough time to make sure the two men were splashed with the flammable liquid.
+++++Slamming the door shut he raced across to his son and grabbed the proffered matchbox. A quick strike ignited a match which in turn lit the entire box.
+++++Dropping the flaming matchbox onto the sons petrol trail caused a river of flames to run to the van just as the back door opened.
+++++As the first man stumbled out swearing the flames reached the van and ignited the petrol cans underneath the van causing a fireball to erupt which in turn detonated the one inside via the still open rear door.

Both of the men who were in the van suffered horrific burns and died before reaching hospital.

At a press conference held later that day, the Chief Constable vowed to apprehend the person or persons responsible for setting alight the Police Camera Van, and causing the deaths of two good, honest family men with every means available to him.

The Mourning After

You wake up with dried blood adhering your head to the pillow. The vomit on the bed attacked your nose and your mouth opens as your stomach tried to evict something that is no longer there. A dampness around your groin doesn’t bode well for laundry day.
+++++Carefully you peel the pillow off your head and open your eyes. The floor spins clockwise while the ceiling is going the opposite way.
+++++You can’t remember anything about last night. Or at least nothing after necking absinthe in Shooters. The last time you were that drunk you woke up in a fountain located in the middle of a roundabout.
+++++Feeling your head you find no external injury. The inside is aflame with dehydration which causes spots to appear before your bloodshot eyes, but the outside is unscathed. So where is all the blood from?
+++++Then you see the pair of red stilettos lying tangled up in a white thong. Suddenly you recall the girl from last night, she was tall redheaded and she was wearing the sexiest red dress you’d ever seen. It had shown a hint of cleavage and a slit had kept giving you a flash of stocking top whenever she’d crossed her legs.
+++++You’d chatted and flirted with her. She’d laughed at your jokes, listened to your stories and left her hand on your arm long enough to show her intentions.
Her name was Siobhan or Sinead or something like that. It was Irish and started with an S. That much you could remember.

A lecherous smile crossed your face as you remembered the walk back to your flat. She’d dragged you into an alley and dropped to her knees to give you a taster of what was to come.
+++++You guessed she must be in the bathroom cleaning blood, puke and piss off herself. You’d never live this one down when the lads found out.
+++++So where had the blood come from? A hand rubbed across your face made your nose throb and you felt dried blood caked across your top lip. Thank God for that you thought. You hadn’t wanted it to be her blood.
+++++Getting out of bed you padded across to the window shivering. Had the bloody heating gone again? Drawing back the curtains you could see the smashed window.
+++++‘What the fuck happened last night?’ you asked the empty room.
+++++A glance out of the window showed a police car parked three stories below and two cops walking towards a body in a red dress.

Running downstairs in your boxers with no heed for decency, you sprinted out of the building reaching the body at the same time as the police.
+++++Her dress had ridden up around her waist exposing her crotch. One look at the cock between her legs made you remember everything.


They ran screaming from him, scattering to all points of the compass. Their young minds calculating the best way to escaper their pursuer. He selected one girl as his target and focused in on her. She was eight and was one of the least athletic children present that day. She would provide the easiest catch as her chubby waistline would make her slow and unwieldy.
+++++Her bulk was nearly as great as his, which meant he’d have a realistic chance of catching her. She was running away from him as fast as her legs would take her. Pigtails and shrieks flew over her shoulder towards him.
+++++The father observed with pride as the son hunted down his prey.
Now only thirty feet separated them and the girl was looking increasing fearful as she knew she was gaining ground. The only sounds coming from her mouth were gasping asthmatic breaths. No scream or shrieks came now. Every mouthful of air was forced into her lungs to oxygenate the driving pistons that were her legs.
+++++She was terrified of being caught by her pursuer as she knew exactly what his intentions were.
+++++Twenty feet behind her, the thumping of his superior weight sent great echo’s forward to increase her desperation. She had an idea and veered towards the creek.
+++++By the time she had crested the ridge which started the slope down to the burbling water the gap had closed to ten feet.
+++++She heard the shout of encouragement as his father drove him on after her. She’d never trusted the old man with his pointy face and stinky breath.
+++++Now she was heading down a steeper slope and was struggling to keep both legs below her torso. The mysterious force which was called gravity gave her upper body the extra propulsion the lower half lacked. A fall now would signal the end of her escape attempt.
+++++She glanced over her shoulder to see where he was. Her eyes opened wider as she saw he was now within a couple of feet of her. He saw the panic in her pupils and laughed a cruel laugh which further twisted the knot of nerves in her stomach.
+++++Her attention snapped back to her chosen route. A sapling tree lay straight in front of her so she veered left and executed her plan.
+++++As the tree drew level with her shoulder, she flung out an arm and used the infant oak as a pivot. Her momentum carried her through one hundred and eighty degrees and sent her panting back up the slope.
+++++The move worked, as her hunter shot past the tree before copying the trick with another tree and resuming the chase. She had gained herself twenty feet with the manoeuvre and his breathing was becoming more ragged by the second, as he too toiled up the slope.
+++++She didn’t look back until she reached the top of the slope. The glimpse she afforded herself was fatal, as her tired legs no longer fully obeyed her demands. Left and right legs collided when he was a mere five feet behind her.
+++++He paused gasping for air while as she hauled herself back to her feet with unshed tears in pleading eyes. When she was stood beside him, he simply touched her arm and said one damning word.