“This wonderful little tale leaves me, as it should, with loads of questions and a very eerie feeling.”
I wrote this story – HOMED – to engage readers in the mystery of a child’s life when his secure base changes. It is also a crime story, if you accept a different take on the idea of crime in fiction.
It begins like this: The Tall One said, ‘Here’s his bag. Any problems, Enid, ring me.’ He looked down. ‘Bye, Wilf, you’ll be fine. High five?’ He held up a hand with his fingers spread. I didn’t bite them, though they’re a good size. The front door closed behind him, leaving me in this new sleeping place. It smells of soap, long-ago cats, piss of Young not so long past, and sugar. My shoes are off, bag taken away. The female says, ‘Come and make yourself comfortable, dear. It’s nearly dinner-time. Hungry?’ I nod. I want to eat.
