The Best short stories of the year by Turner Maxwell Books ISBN 978-0-9561884-1-0 The Best short stories of the year by Turner Maxwell Books ISBN 978-0-9561884-1-0 The Best short stories of the year by Turner Maxwell Books ISBN 978-0-9561884-1-0 The Best short stories of the year by Turner Maxwell Books ISBN 978-0-9561884-1-0 The Best short stories of the year by Turner Maxwell Books ISBN 978-0-9561884-1-0 The Best short stories of the year by Turner Maxwell Books ISBN 978-0-9561884-1-0Turner Maxwell Books is a low cost bookstore with global distribution, exporting to over 10 countries. We are a co-operative that specialises in viral marketing. It's how people buy books today." What sets us apart from other publishers is our web traffic and online sales conversion. Last year, our book sales grew by 400%. What the judges said: "This is a great book, full of wonderful literature and written by an extremely talented group of undiscovered authors. It should be a best seller. With Turner Maxwell's marketing plans, it will be a best seller." From the applications, a compliation of best stories has been made into a book. This will be marketed and sold through 2009 - available now on the web. Turner Maxwell Books will contact all major agents, publishers, book stores and media. We will market on the internet through our special brand of viral marketing. Turner Maxwell Books provides full visibility of all transactions to its authors. This accountability is done through our annual general meeting where authors have access to every individual sale. Turner Maxwell Books prefers to avoid contracts as we find the sprit of personal trust a more binding covenant than any form of legal documentation. To date a global network of over 50 authors shows the success of this strategy?.like minded authors working together to promote their work. The prize is awarded to the collective group of winners known as the winners of the short story competition, ran by Turner Maxwell Books in 2008. Turner Maxwell Books proudly presents the winners of the short story competition. The Tree. Caireen Kelley. Blood Relations. Heather Newby The black swan. Jennifer McGrath A Careful Man. Joanne Phillips A person like that. Johanna Lipford. Destiny. Leela Devi Panikar. Cherry Pie and Biscuits. Marcus Mcknight. Life is a war…Rebecca Hunt Lena, me and the Artist. Rebecca Stonehill. My sister the sea. Ruth Dugdall Final harvest. Sally Spedding. Cell 6. Sean Stockham. Bullfighters and Baby-killers. Steve Wade Diary of a Haircut. Sue Burge The white valley. Adrian James Thirty-nine countries Seventy five thousand website hits. Fifteen hundred delegations. Turner Maxwell Books short story competition proved to the contest of the year. The publishing agreement, worth over £1000, has been awarded to the winning authors. The book now available for sale, £6.99, will be marketed through 2009. 25% of book sales will be paid directly to the authors. Turner Maxwell Books is a low cost bookstore with global distribution, exporting to over 10 countries. We are a co-operative that specialises in viral marketing. It's how people buy books today. What sets us apart from other publishers is our web traffic and online sales conversion. Last year, our book sales grew by 400%. Turner Maxwell Books proudly presents the winners of the short story competition. The Tree Caireen Kelley She knew that something would happen. All the signs were pointing towards it. Melissa stared out of the window, focusing on the tree closest to the fence to the neighbour’s garden. She despised the man next door who continuously came over to talk her into trimming her trees as the garden “looked abandoned”. True, she never cut the trees and she didn’t even own a lawnmower but she didn’t understand why he had a problem with how her garden looked like. She had bought the house and the garden with the Blood Relations. Heather Newby We moved in after Mother died. It made sense. Even though I’d once yelled at her in a fury that I’d never sleep in that house again, it wasn’t too difficult to add the mental rider ‘while you’re alive’. Over the years she’d destroyed any love I’d ever had for her: apart from driving my lovely Pa to an early grave and sneering at everything I ever did, do you know of anyone else whose mother attended her daughter’s wedding dressed entirely in black The black swan Jennifer McGrath There he was giving me eyes at the bar, his greased hair slicked back, a cheesy grin. Normally I’d give him the finger for thinking he had the right to chat me up, but tonight it was strictly business. He seemed to be attracting a lot of attention, girls pointed at him and whispered, they even wanted to pose to get photos with him. He looked like the right sort. I left my coat on the chair and made a big deal out of saying goodnight to my friends, hugging and kissing and all that shite. Heading outside, I glanced at him as I reached the door. A Careful Man Joanne Phillips Janelle parked across the street and scrunched down as low as she could. The nineteen-thirties semi with criss-cross leaded windows hid shyly behind a round chestnut tree. Nestled within the leaves, a streetlight cast a yellow haze across the driveway, where a grey Volvo was parked. Janelle hunkered down even further until only her eyes remained, reflecting the light in a wide stare. She waited. The man worked the nightshift at Thomson’s. Picking and packing. It didn’t seem a very glamorous occupation to Janelle. A PERSON LIKE THAT Johanna Lipford “Well George…” Harold wiped his mouth carefully with a napkin and settled it back in his lap. “Your sister tells me you went looking for another job today…” He looked at George with a faintly mocking air; George shifted in his seat. “Mind telling us what you found? Has somebody decided your talents are being wasted as a file clerk?” He smiled to his wife and she chuckled. George felt his face grow warm. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled. “A kind of prospecting job.” Destiny Leela Devi Panikar Death comes sooner or later, violent. At times, many wish for death sooner. In Al-jihad, being spared rape, torture, murder, robbery and bombing is foremost in everyone’s mind. Khandan, an out-of-work antiquities professor, his wife, daughter and mother-in-law lived in a bungalow that had been in his family for generations. He maintained a semblance of life as a wealthy man. It was when he signed up to train as a security officer that his troubles began. Cherry Pie and Biscuits Marcus Mcknight It was that time of year again. For the seventy seventh time, but only my twenty fifth, it was my grandma’s birthday. Duty called to me. * Ever since my parents had died, the fire that had burnt both my home and my childhood and turned them all to but ash, my Gran had taken care of me. Taking me into her home, bringing me up as a son of her own, she had nurtured me through my grief and the lack of understanding that any six year old would have had, being the only survivor of such a traumatic event. Life is a war with the trolls in the vaults of the heart and brain Rebecca Hunt Walking back down the hill in Greenwich Park, Canary Wharf winks at me. I return a shy smile and sit on the grass for a minute. Surrounding me, south London’s dogs are busy with their individual missions. A spaniel moves past me with its teeth in a stick. A collie and a huge black dog make introductions, become bored and separate. The black colossus lumbers forwards at an uncomfortably fast pace, the thumped footsteps bouncing its face. Something wet falls out its mouth and I turn away. Nervous energy camped in my chest sends off a furious stream of telegrams, instructing me to check the time. I do. It’s nearly 11am. Lena, me and the Artist Rebecca Stonehill ‘To dear Miss Katharina,’ the letter read, ‘I am much obliged to you for returning my glove to me. I am quite attached to that particular pair and I am, therefore, very grateful for your trouble. If you would care to call at the hotel one afternoon I would like to invite you for tea and thank you in person. I enjoyed meeting you on the train. Yours,’ and then his name in a great, bold flourish. I never did go and meet him. I was having far too exciting a holiday to barely give him a second thought. But I kept the letter and now it sits hidden at the back of my closet like a dark, stained secret. MY SISTER THE SEA Ruth Dugdall The door to the cottage is still green, but everything else is different. The stable stands empty, paint peeling like dead skin, sharp flakes under ancient hands, her own skin loose on thin bones. It makes her sad, that the new world has no time for dray carts; but then she’s out of touch. She isn’t a child anymore, like when that green door was new, the paint still wet as she pressed her hand to its shiny surface. Her mum whacked her for that, but her Dad said her print would be there forever. Making it alright. This stable – it was a home too. The horses winyed when they saw her. She is Constance now – the girls at the home are very proper like that - but she was always Connie when she was young. When she lived here. FINAL HARVEST Sally Spedding “This wind must be the breaths of too many souls.” Said the young, black-haired Madame Lefour before eyeing the rows of vines in her small vineyard that still needed pruning. “So what does that make clouds?” Her six year-old daughter Leonie squinted upwards as her mother paused for a moment. “I suppose they’re what’s left of the departed. Les disparus.” It wasn’t very convincing, but not the reason Leonie frowned. She didn’t like Maman supposing anything. She had to be right. After all, she was her mother. “You mean, their bodies?” She persisted. “If you like.” Cell 6 Sean Stockham ‘Take me with you,’ she pleaded, ‘I’ll try harder, I promise.’ Jamie had left Katie standing there that day two months ago. The thought never occurred to him that he’d miss her. Now he sat at a rickety old pub, in some godforsaken town, taking long swigs from his brew and remembering the warm embrace of his wife. ‘You want somethin’ else?’ came the barman’s voice. ‘I want quiet.’ ‘Yeah? Well go find ya’ damn house.’ Bullfighters and Baby-killers Steve Wade A baby boy died during my night-shift on Friday. He was seventeen months old and had a smile so angelic, I could almost have begun to believe in God again; the way I did when I was a kid, before I had sense to realize there was no sense to anything. A hole in his heart. That was the boy’s condition. There was nothing we could do, but we tried to do it anyway. I’d been on twenty-four-hour call, worked twenty-one hours, and stayed on for a total of thirty-three hours without uninterrupted sleep. I would’ve stayed awake forever if I’d been able to keep that child alive; but he was born to die. We’d known this when he was still in his mother’s womb. Diary of a Haircut Sue Burge 18.00 Auras and coffee I’ve arrived at Pete’s straight from work and I’m unsuccessfully looking for something to lock my bike to on the ground floor stairwell of his block of council flats before I go up. A big man with a belly and tattoos comes out of one of the flats and eyes my hair thoughtfully. “You going up to Pete’s love? Don’t worry about the bike darling, nothing’ll happen to it.” He lifts it nearer his door and grins at me, “You go on up love, see you later.” Pete opens the door on the first ring, his hennaed mullet and bouffant moustache should go with a happier face but, as usual, he looks drawn and anxious. His open-necked shirt reveals at least four reasonable sized crystals hanging round his neck. One of his cats, the little grey one, winds itself through my legs as I go in, I bend to stroke her, “Which one’s this Pete?” “That’s Tiny, she’s the one with cat AIDS.” THE WHITE VALLEY Adrian James Mahoney cursed his luck and, not for the first time, stormed off. “Didn’t anybody tell him patience is a virtue!” noted Elliot as he stepped back from the well and stared blindly at the accursed object before him. “I don’t know what to do next, Jay. That sonofabitch is locked solid.” Jay Thomas passed his partner a supportive grin and approached the well. The iron lid that sat over the mouth of the opening was, as Elliot stated, firm and seemingly unmoveable. “Let me see if some brute strength from these mighty limbs of mine can save the day,” he declared, tongue in cheek, and then began to grip the lid and pull. Behind them, the canyon was silent, its white walls rising Heaven-high on either side of the trapped trio. In the distance, Mahoney was scrambling to get a foothold, trying for the umpteenth time to scale the valley hills but to no avail. Elliot could hear him swearing aloud and walking round in circles each time he slid back down to the valley bottom. “Give it a break, Mahoney! No one can scale those walls! It’s impossible!”

Turner Maxwell Books proudly presents the winners of the short story competition.

The Tree.                                            Caireen Kelley

Blood Relations.                                Heather Newby

The black swan.                                 Jennifer McGrath

A Careful Man.                                   Joanne Phillips

A person like that.                             Johanna Lipford

Destiny.                                              Leela Devi Panikar

Cherry Pie and Biscuits.                  Marcus Mcknight

Life is a war…                                   Rebecca Hunt

Lena, me and the Artist.                   Rebecca Stonehill

My sister the sea.                              Ruth Dugdall

Final harvest.                                     Sally Spedding

Cell 6.                                                 Sean Stockham

Bullfighters and Baby-killers.           Steve Wade

Diary of a Haircut.                             Sue Burge

The white valley.                                Adrian James

ISBN 978-0-9561884-1-0

The best short stories of the year by Turner Maxwell Books

Published by Turner Maxwell Books, PO. Box 1287, HP11 9DS

First published 2009

Copyright © Authors named within this book

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means without permission in writing by the named authors or Turner Maxwell Books.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which this is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The purchase of this book is a private sale between the reader and the publisher; at no stage will indemnity be claimed against the publisher. The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Warning: May contain expressive material, which is not intentionally offensive.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed are the work of the authors’ imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental and may be more the work of your own imagination. Why not write a book yourself? Turner Maxwell Books are an alternative co-operative of new writers, working towards publishing inspirational literature.

Printed and bound in the United Kingdom for Turner Maxwell Books.

Thirty-nine countries

Seventy five thousand website hits.

Fifteen hundred delegations.

Turner Maxwell Books short story competition proved to the contest of the year.

The publishing agreement, worth over £1000, has been awarded to the winning authors.

The book now available for sale, £6.99, will be marketed through 2009.

25% of book sales will be paid directly to the authors.

Turner Maxwell Books is a low cost bookstore with global distribution, exporting to over 10 countries.

We are a co-operative that specialises in viral marketing. It's how people buy books today. What sets us apart from other publishers is our web traffic and online sales conversion.

Last year, our book sales grew by 400%.