Think you have what it takes?

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

A cruel wind blew sleet into Michael's face as he walked from the Job Centre. It was mid December and still he had no work. This year it would be his son's first Christmas and there was nothing in the bank.

He asked himself to what lengths he would go to get money. Would he steal? Would he lie? Would he kill?
He passed a news-stand where there was simply a slot to receive coins. For a moment he thought to steal an evening paper but dropped in 40 pence that he could ill afford. Even as he did so he despised himself for his honesty or was it cowardice? Was he simply too soft for hard times?
As he glanced at the paper an advertisement caught his eye. "Casual labour required for the hand preparation of premium live turkeys. Apply 6 am Celestial Farms, North Sidings Industrial Estate.
Michael felt a tightening in his gut. Here was a chance, here was a way ahead. He thought of the things that so many men had had to face in war and disaster. He thought of the birth of his son and how the blood, and the vicarious experience of pain had nearly made him bolt. Standing in the street, broke and ashamed he knew that a certain moment had arrived in his life and that a truth about himself would live within him.

The next morning Michael stood in the yard at Celestial Farms. A large man in a padded check shirt was standing by an old van.
" Transport to the farm c'mon let's go" he shouted
Michael got in. Several other workers were already there.The air smelled of poultry,alcohol and sweat. He sat down on the slatted bench next to a thin young woman with her ragged hair tied back.
He tried a bright "Hello".
" No English!" came a voice from the darkness "Asylum, that's the only word they teaches 'em."
The van moved off and out onto the frosty Downs. Soon they arrived at the farm which was a series of pre-fabricated sheds. Check shirt was shouting again "No work no cash let's go"
Michael followed the girl into the shed. Everyone took positions in front of metal frames that hung at shoulder height. At the other end of the shed a door slid open and a farm trailer loaded with live turkeys was pushed in. The workers made for the trailer and each snatched a bird.
Micheael watched a dirty faced man quickly snap the neck. He hung the body still twiching on the metal frame and plucked. Seconds later he tossed it on a trestle-table where Check shirt was seated.
He wanted to run away, from the shed, from himself. The thin girl was killing a large stag bird. She placed it head down in a tripod clamp and pulled its neck with a lever. Then her pale hands plucked, the feathers falling around her feet.
Michael felt himself pushed from behind.
" You come to watch?" bellowed Check shirt.
" I'm new" he replied.
Check shirt pulled him to the trailer.
" Grab one and kill it" he ordered.
Michael grabbed a bird that struggled and escaped. Check shirt drew back an arm as if to punch. He grabbed another but revulsion translated into physical weakness. The neck was like steel rope.
" Kill the bloody thing!"screamed Check shirt.
Just then the thin girl approached. As she walked she quickly killed the bird she was holding with the ease of a clown making shapes with balloons. For an instant she met his eyes and handed it to him. In silence she showed him how to hang it and how to push the thumb up through the breast feathers. Tough wing quills were pulled with pliers which she kept in her pocket.
As he finished each bird she gave him another, walking and killing,killing and walking. Michael surveyed the other workers: a large Roma gipsy family dark and loud, a Slav who drank some kind of alcohol from a bottle,the dirty faced man,the silent frail asylum girl who looked away but was always at his side.
They worked on, he plucking,she killing for both of them. The floor was deep in feathers spattered here and there with blood if an artery broke in the neck. Michael's hands blistered then bled, his own blood mixing with the turkey blood. When the last bird was done they went to the table where Check shirt handed out the money -£20 for the Slav,£19 for the girl. Michael received £8.
She looked brazenly into his face and then at the money in his hand. She held out her palm and he gave her £2. She nodded and almost smiled. He could smell her - maybe a little greasy hair, maybe a little sweat. He studied her face enjoying her pale silent strength, the dirtiness they shared, the untidiness of their beating hearts.
" Tomorrow - Yes?" she said.
" Tomorrow - Yes" he replied quietly as if it were adultery.
Once back at the plant the girl walked straight to the gate where 2 men were waiting in an old Ford Granada. Michael watched her get in the back and the car drive away. The dirty faced man pushed past him.
" Bloody illegals - taking our work." he growled.

That night Michael returned to his home but hid the existence of the girl. What tenderness he had left in his heart he shared secretly with this meagre plain partner who knew his shame.
The next days passed in the same way. His earnings grew,his hands still bled but gave up pain. Each night he gave her what he felt he owed and each time she took it saying simply.
" Tomorrow - Yes?"
In these words he was anchored to her and to his failure. Every morning as the trailer came in he resolved that he would kill. But he did not.
Two days remained and now there were many large stag birds.That morning as she placed one in the clamp and pulled down the lever she halted as if in pain and made a quick appeal with her eyes. He went to her and clamped the lever around the neck. He pulled and felt the snap. He handed her the twitching bird, went to the trailer and took another.He looked at her but her gaze was on the floor. Then he was killing, plucking fast and killing again.He felt a joy at the killing in that she could see that he was now her equal. She seemed not to notice but whenever he needed the pliers for the wing quills she held them out.
When they queued for their money he collected £14, she £12. He held out £2 perhaps because he needed her dependence in exchange for his. She took the money.
There was a sudden shout. One of the Roma men cursed at Check shirt. A fight started and the crew quickly formed a circle cheering. Michael led her outside.
It was dusk. Against the darkness and the cold indifference of the evening star, rooks in V formation called their longing for the high empty trees. They stood close and he took in her high cheeks,her nose rather sharp, her lips a little thin, her grey green gentle eyes. He touched her cheek. She raised her hand as if to push him away but slowed and rested hers on his pressing it closer. If ever he had wanted anything it was at that moment to kiss her. To kiss her hands, the lids of her closed eyes. For a second she turned her head against his fingers and firmed her lips in the merest kiss.
The crew began spilling from the shed and she stood back.Check shirt had a bloody nose and the roma clan an extra £10. Business had been done.
She stayed beside him as they drove to the plant. At the gates the two men waited in the Granada. She started to walk away. Michael called at her back.
" Tomorrow - Yes?"
She stopped and he went to her.
" Tomorrow - No" she replied.
Beyond her the car door opened and a man stepped out. Michael saw her tense. Quickly she reached into her pocket and took out the pliers.She pushed them into his hands and walked to the car.
He watched it drive away until it was lost in the tangle of lights on the City Ring Road.
Michael made his way home. He knew that he had come far enough to know that until that instant he had never loved and to feel no shame at his tears.