Herring House: Stories and Other Writing

    3742501   ©   Kathleen Van Hoffen   |   Dreamstime.com Out of the car, stretching after the three hours sat in the backseat with my head on a pillow, wedged between the seat-belt and the window. The realization that we are here rushes into focus through bleary eyes. The wind cools the side of my face where I’ve dribbled down my chin. Then I’m on! Throwing the book in my left hand and the slime from the Ghost-busters figurine in my right, into the car door and slamming it shut, just shoving the pillow in at the last second before it closes on it. I run to the door wailing with pure excitement and total love. I lift up the letterbox and peer in poking my fingers through and shout “Wally, Wally” he runs to the door with so much energy and he bounces up and down licking my fingers as he reaches up. That familiar click of the lock and sticky foam round the edges of the door peeling apart, and the door opens. My Granddad standing there with his big smile, before he has a chance to sp

  Photot Credit: 30425929 © Winai Tepsuttinun | Dreamstime.com Sometimes we have a prompt and all respond in different ways:  Here's a selection... The grey clouds loom above as if they are spectators of the misery that they bring. Spitting on the people below just enough to let their presence known. Struggling to get through her door she looks up at the sky and wonders what more could try to ruin her day. The large, tattered box she was carrying had definitely seen better days. Feeling a bit of connection to it with its worn edges, and multiple layers of tape barely holding it together, but still hanging on refusing to give up. Slowly descending the steps as the clouds begin to spit more and more the car at the bottom becomes the focus, beckoning her to keep going, the bottom step is slippery as if it wanted one last kick on her day out. It doesn’t stop her though opening the boot of the car she notices that the box may not fit. “Ugh, calm down” she thinks to herself. Frustratin

  6142879 © Christophe.rolland1 | Dreamstime.com I am in a cornfield surrounded by beautiful red poppies, then walking towards a thick group of trees which are all shades of green. I find a bubbling brook, the water shimmering as the water bounces over tiny stones. Stepping through the water it changes its path as it hits my boot. Something glints and catches my eye in the fine earth created by a busy mole last night. It’s a ring with a red and green stone. I pick it up and hold the gold band in my hand, looking at the delicate writing inside the ring. Looking up I see a cottage, white in colour with a picket fence. The garden is full of wild flowers of purple and yellow. Around the door are wild roses, shades of pink, bees buzzing and ants scurrying.  Slowly I approach the gate, it squeaks as I open it. A window to the left shows a figure inside. A large man who glances up as the squeaking reaches his ears. I duck down hoping he has not seen me enter. I look around searching for esc

  Photo credit: 8821963 © Jwfields | Dreamstime.com I sit in my car looking across the parking lot at a crowd of people gathered round the looming double glass doors, chatting amiably. Some happy, some expressionless. A few nervously kicking the ground as the ash on their cigarettes grows longer. “Okay,” I tell myself “You can do this.” I nervously open my car door and start walking to the crowd. Before I could make three steps everybody began to file in through the door, one by one, until it was eerily silent and empty outside. The absence of people made the door appear to grow in size as it was the most important door I would ever walk through in my life. In reality it is. The door handle feels cold in my hand which is surprising as it is a typical Texas summer day, sweltering hot. I push the door, it resists a little as if it is saying “Are you sure?” I am. As I go through the door into the foyer, an older man approaches me and says “Welcome is this your first time?” It must b

  3713026 © Lihui | Dreamstime.com Hanging by one finger, frantically scratching the smooth face of the mountain with the other hand for anywhere to grip on. Both feet slipping up and down like they are cycling the polished face of the mountain, granite shining like glass. Finally, after some tense moments, a small nook left by an old tree root, a small piece of what was once an ancient woodland remains in the odd piece of tree root and empty space they once occupied. Venturing further in Vernon discovers a cave going deep into the rock. The faint sound of water trickling increases the further he ventures in. Eventually coming to a hidden waterfall created from the melting ice high on the top of the mountain, he notices that the cave continues past the water and he proceeds onwards. Something glinting up ahead catches his eye as he approaches, and he can’t believe what he is seeing. The biggest diamond you could ever imagine, bigger than a watermelon, set into the skull of a sabre to

  I was walking the hills of the Yorkshire Dales on a bright sunny morning. I shuffled my way through the crowed trees and came across a small stream. I crossed the battered old bridge, the sun reflecting on the stream, almost glinting in fact. I continued my walk and came across an old farm, I peered through the window to see a man and his dog playing with a ball. I decided against giving the door a knock and walk through the door. I continued, instead, to walk around the farmhouse and on the other side were pigs in pens and other animals grazing. Jo