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Want to get some practice?

Just need an excuse to put pen to paper?

Then enter the Secret Attic Short Story Competition!

Each month you can submit an entry that will be passed onto our judges who will pick the best and award a winner. During some months the subject matter will be a 'free for all', where you can write anything you like, other months will have a specific theme.

Previous Competition Winners

February 2005 David Willshaw

April 2005 Christine Sutton

May 2005 George L Darley

July 2005 Robyn O'Hara

August 2005 Richard Adamski

September 2005 Hannah Southgate

October 2005 Heather Parker

December 2005 Feathers by Bob Lakin

January 2006 RD Larson

February 2006 Debra Spiller

March 2006 Nethi Sette

April 2006 Joe Louis

May 2006 Kim Montgomery

Love of Literature by Raymond Hopkins, Kronoby, Finland

Missing by Debra Spiller, Kent, UK

Diary of a Ghost by Suzanne Ralphson, Leicester, UK

Shreds of Love by Irene Edwards, Angus, UK

Lip Service by Will Orr-Ewing, London, UK

Red by Gary Campbell, Mount Gambier, Australia

Leaving The City In Ruins. by Trevor Nicholl, Manchester, UK

One For The Watercooler by Simon Maltz, London, UK

My Own Personal Time Machine by David Darlington, Guernsey, Channel Islands, UK

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go back in time? You know, go back in time and change something in the past. Something that you’ve always regretted doing, or not doing. Something someone else has done that you want to change. Something that, should you change it, would make your life in the present day a lot better. I bet you have, at one point.
You see, we all have things in our past that we would like to change. Some people, given the chance, would go back and kill Hitler, or Saddam Hussein. You know, men that have killed many innocent victims and probably deserve to die. Killing them early on in their lives would prevent at least three wars, wouldn’t it? And those are only the ones I’m aware of.
Others might go back and place bets on horse races they know the results to, or get the winning lottery numbers for three months on the bounce. Some would save a loved one’s life, or prevent someone from doing something that has catastrophic results. Certain people may even go back and simply observe times gone by; see what the dinosaurs were like, go to a Jimi Hendrix gig, see if the sixties really were the best years to live in.
Sure, everyone has thought about it at one point. The reason I’m saying this is because I have wanted to go back in time and change one thing, ever since I was twenty two years old. It’s a thing that has haunted me for the last eight years. A thing so bad that I can't stop thinking about it, and have had to quit my job and move away from my home.

I was born in Guernsey, in the Channel Islands. You’ve probably never heard of the place, but it’s not important to the story. So yer, I was born in 1977, thirty years ago. I did well at school, went to college and then University, in Durham. Those were some well good times. I was there for four years and got myself a Bachelor of Science, before joining a reputable offshore Channel Island bank.
The first few years of work were excellent, and my pay had exceeded my expectations. Finding work was a breeze by the way, because of how well I’d done academically. I took a role as a senior fund administrator, which soon developed into a supervisory role. I was lucky, and loving it.
I met Claire, the love of my life, at work. She was upstairs, in trust administration, and we started knocking around together within my first few months. She was beautiful; long brown hair, blue eyes, as tall as me (which incidentally is only five foot eight) and shared a love of most things that I did. We were perfect for each other, and we spent three years of blissful happiness together. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. Life was sweet.
Then it went despairingly wrong.

You see, like I said, we all have things that we regret, and if we had a time machine, we’d go back and make them right again. Now, mine wouldn’t be going back and killing Adolf or Saddam, or even taking all the winning lotto numbers back and winning millions of pounds. No, I’d go back to the night that I slept with my boss from work and got her pregnant.
Mandy Townsend was forty seven years old at the time. She had curly teeth, an ever expanding waistline and a savage perm that made her look like an uglier version of Deirdre Barlow from Coronation Street. I reckon she must’ve only ever got men into bed by getting them drunk. That’s the way she got me.
It was the Christmas ball, the year was 1999, and I went unaccompanied. Claire was out of town on business, and whilst away she was looking at wedding dresses. We were due to be married in March 2000. Anyway, I went alone, and sat at a table with the rest of our department. I drew the short straw and was positioned next to “Randy” Mandy.
‘ Mikey, I see you’re sitting next to the queen of the table?’ she said, before spewing out a horse like bray that was masquerading as laughter.
‘ Looks that way Mandy,’ I said through clenched teeth.
‘ Glass of wine my dear?’ she asked, pouring me one anyway. I’d decided beforehand not to get pissed but, after seeing who I was sat next to, changed my mind. I nailed a whole bottle of house wine on my own, four Jameson’s’ and ginger ale, and nine pints of lager. I was trolleyed by nine o’clock.
A few colleagues have told me since that I was dancing to S Club Seven by ten o’clock, being sick by half ten and by eleven, Mandy had gotten hold of me and was moving me around the dance floor. I was apparently leaning on her, using her as a stand to keep me from falling to the floor. Then I started tongue kissing her, in front of all of my (and Claire’s) colleagues. Tony Collins (from my department) told me everything the week after. I was devastated. He even had video footage taken on his camcorder. I never watched it though.
No one saw me after midnight, which was a blessing. I can’t remember anything until the next day, when I woke up to find Mandy lying next to me, naked as the day she was born, fast asleep, snoring. There was a set of false teeth in a jar by the bed, and a permed wig on the floor, surrounded by my clothes. A used condom was stuck to my pillow. The room stank of stale cigarettes.
‘ What the hell?’ I whispered, to no one at all. I didn't have a clue where I was, but suddenly had an overwhelming urge to get out of the room, fast. I slid quietly out of the bed and pulled my boxer shorts down off the lamp shade. There was a towelling robe on the floor with the name of the hotel embedded into the breast. I knew where I was, the same place we’d had the ball. That was a start.
‘ Mikey?’ Mandy asked, and I froze. The room was very dimly lit, the time being six in the morning, but she was still able to see me. ‘Where you going?’
‘ What? I’m going home, Mandy, that’s where I’m going.’
‘ Oh, I see,’ she said, wiping sleep out of her eyes with one hand and reaching for her teeth with the other. ‘You got what you wanted and now you’re running off. Bye then.’
‘ You took advantage of me Mandy,’ I said, gathering my tuxedo, shoes, socks, and any other bits that were strewn around the room. ‘I was drunk. You’ve ruined everything.’
‘ Calm down Mikey, just calm down. I’m not gonna tell anyone.’
‘ Really?’
‘ Sure. I don’t want them knowing about us. Jesus, just piss off.’
I ran home as fast as I could, burned my tuxedo and spent three hours in the shower. Claire came home that evening and I greeted her naturally. Maybe she wouldn’t find out, I thought. I was terribly wrong.
‘ Mikey, we need to talk,’ she said to me at work the following Monday, and I knew what it was about. I explained it all to her, told her I had only kissed Mandy, and nothing else. She was upset, slapped me, cried, slapped me again, and then said she forgave me. It took a week, but we were kind of back to normal. After Christmas and New Year the whole Mandy incident was temporarily forgotten.

As February started I was back to enjoying my life. I was due to get married in just over a month, and Claire was happy again. Then Tony came up to me.
‘ Sorry to hear about what’s happened mate,’ he said earnestly, patting me on the back.
‘ What?’ I really had no idea what he was banging on about.
‘ Mandy. Being pregnant. Surely you know?’
‘ What?’
‘ Oh shit, sorry mate.’ He made a fast exit, and I headed for Mandy’s office. She confirmed what he’d said, and also added that Claire knew. I went looking for her and never found her. She flew back to England that night, before I even had a chance to explain. But what would I have said? Exactly. I’ve never spoken to her since.

So, if I had my own personal time machine, I’d go back and not go to the Christmas Ball in 1999. Simple. That would make my life a HELL of a lot easier. I wouldn’t be stuck in England, afraid of going home, for one thing. And I would be married to the only girl I ever loved.
Last I heard of Claire she was married to Tony (from work) and they have two kids, a boy and a girl. Fair enough.