Man Flu



Just caught a stinking cold.

Been tracking the blighter for days. First got wind of it last Tuesday, running wild in the local school.

Then heard it had been seen trying to get into the old folk’s home. I’ve been outside, waiting, watching. Thought at one point I’d missed it. I was about to call it a day when I saw it trying to sneak in with one of the cleaners. It never stood a chance. I had it safely neutralised and boxed in minutes.
Must rush, just had a message that Man Flu’s in town and needs dealing with.

Mike Jackson




“But doctor, what about this voice in my head?”
“Stress, Mr Carson. I’m going to give you a sick note for two weeks. I suggest you use that time for a relaxing holiday.”

I first entered Tim Carson’s body three weeks ago. He is desperately trying to rationalise my presence. I’ve done my best to explain what is happening but he won’t accept it. A shame really. I’d hoped we might co-exist harmoniously.

I will use this two week holiday to finalise a total merger.

By the time he goes back to work, he will be a new man.

Mike Jackson

The 8.37 to Bridlington



The instructions had been clear – ‘Load your cases onto a trolley. Then, with the castle on the hill to your left. Head straight for the brick wall with the sign saying PLATFORM 7’.

We looked at one another, counted three, and charged. It worked! We’d passed straight through.

As we dusted ourselves down and looked around us our excitement turned to dismay.

The train waiting on the platform was not the Hogwarts Express, ready to take us off to our new school and untold adventures, but the 8.37 commuter train to Bridlington stopping at Collingham, Hutton Cranswick, Driffield and Nafferton.

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

What Harm Will It Do You?

A 100-word story by Mike Jackson


Go on, you know you want to. What harm will it do?

Look at those pretzels. Don’t they smell yummy!

Or what about a big, fat, juicy hotdog with lashings of onions, covered in tomato ketchup?

Tell you what, I’ll cover my eyes. That way I won’t see you.

Honest, I promise, I won’t peak. I’ll keep them covered until you’ve finished. That way nobody else will know anything about it.

We’ll keep it a secret between the two of us.

And when you’ve finished I’ve got some ideas as to other temptations you might like to give in to.

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Photo prompt courtesy of  © Roger Bultot

The Return Journey

A 100-word story by Mike Jackson


“Remember.” I whispered, “We walk across the bridge, dead quiet, not a whisper. Got it? And no stopping for a quick peep over the edge. Remember what happened to Jimmy yesterday.”

We got to the middle before we heard the thing sniffing. It knew we were there.

I grabbed young Sally Tompkins and tossed her over the rails. Huge, hairy arms grabbed her mid-air and dragged her beneath the bridge.

There was a cracking sound of bones snapping and her screaming stopped.

As we safely reached the other side I wondered who I’d have to sacrifice for the return trip.

Mike Jackson




I wonder if I’ll recognise him.

It was 20 years ago. Went off with the barmaid from the Red Lion. Or at least that’s what Aunty Sue said.

I just remember how much I missed my dad. In the midst of all the anger and shouting, I simply cried.

Then I spot him. Coming towards me. He’s just as I remember him. Older but still that sparkle in his eyes.

I smile but he doesn’t notice.

Then someone shouts ‘Daddy’ and runs towards him. He hurries past me.

Then the tears start. Just as they had all those years ago.

Mike Jackson

100-wordstoryfor this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The Battleground



I’m not surprised it should end here.

This has always been the hub of our home. Evening meals as a family, the kids covering the table with their homework.

Then, when they left home, it became our battleground. You occupying one end of the kitchen table me the other. Taking turns to throw barbed comments and hateful accusations across no-man’s land.

I’m not sure what was different about today. It might have been something you said but I can’t think what. I simply remember screaming, lashing out, hitting you again and again with that old iron.

So utterly satisfying.


Mike Jackson

100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.