Contents

Important Quote

Title Page

Hemingways

Jane Eyre Epilogue

Ornamental Hermit

Tales from Hollywood

Tips for setting up a ‘Secret Society'

Francis Henry Egerton, 8th Earl of Bridgewater

Features found on A Partybot 2000

Stupid Cult

Nicknames of the Rich and Famous

University Challenge

Ah What Wow

Grades of The Crimson Brotherhood

Time Travel

Reincarnation

Harrods

The Brother Who Cleans

The Wickedest Man in the World

Useful motivations for actors struggling in a scene

Stasi

The House of Lords

Clarkson

About the Author

“You’re on your arse sir!”

Lord Cardigan

‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’  1968

The Inner Inner Circle

21 Flash Fiction Stories

By Andrew Coats

©2014 Duffel Films

Hemingways

Two Hemingways met each other in the elevator at the hotel.

Hemingway thought it was a good chance to weigh up the competition, he smiled to himself; he was a far more convincing Hemingway, more grizzled, more masculine. The other Hemingway grew in confidence too, he thought his beard was far more Hemingwayesque. He also had an unhinged quality and knew the right way to smoke a pipe. Both exit at the 6th floor, grumbling, just like Hemingway would have done.

At 5pm, the look-a-like competition was held in Sloppy Joe’s bar. The judge was the real Hemingway’s brother, Leicester.

At 8pm, the triumphant Hemingway was celebrating; he planned to drink himself stupid. The other Hemingway was locked in his hotel room, staring at his beard in the mirror.

Leicester was in a taxi on the way to the airport.

Jane Eyre Epilogue

A few weeks after they got together Mr. Rochester started to behave like his old self again, losing his temper and moping around in a huff. Within a month he had spent half of Jane’s fortune on trousers. Within the year he had locked her in the attic and declared her mad. Fucking Rochester.

Ornamental Hermit

Today I become a hermit and will live in solitude for the rest of my life; people will ask themselves, where did Spencer go?

After a hard trek through the forest, I found the perfect cave. It felt good to look upon my new home. I imagined myself fully bearded and dressed in animal skins.

I buried my mobile phone.

Inside the cave I sat on a comfortable rock, it was the perfect fit. I put on the fake beard and settled down to some serious musing.

A family arrived in the afternoon. They said it’s always been their favourite picnic spot. I told them of my quest for solitude and my new life as a hermit. I tried to look wise and refused the offer of a sausage roll. It’s not becoming of a future old man of the forest to accept food from just anyone (although I did have a couple of cheesy Knick Knacks).

After waving goodbye to the Walsh family I vowed to move further in to the wilderness tomorrow. I could feel the cold breath of civilisation on my neck.

I dug up my mobile. No messages.

Tales from Hollywood

At a party in Beverly Hills Neil Sedaka and Liberace were introduced by a mutual friend.

The atmosphere turned sour when Liberace suggested to Sedaka that a candelabra or two might liven up his act. Sedaka said he didn’t need gimmicks and liked to make a statement with his music. Liberace pretended to spot a friend standing by the punch bowl, made his excuses and left. Sedaka brooded silently to himself.

Two nights later at the Hollywood Bowl, Neil Sedaka walked on stage wearing a cape.

Tips for setting up a ‘Secret Society’

1. Try to avoid recruiting blabbermouths. The whole point of a secret society is no one knows about it, you can’t have some yahoo going down to the shops and buying a cheese and onion pasty in his sacrificial robes.

2. It’s important to get powerful people interested in joining, judges, policemen, and politicians. The prospect of backslapping, fraud and debauchery should attract the correct clientele. Recruit a wealthy pervert as soon as possible.

3. No women allowed. I know it sounds heavy handed but you must inspect the genitalia of every prospective member. Remember to have fun with it; we use a velvet gauntlet for comfort.

4. No matter how much they pester you, don’t allow the members to design their own masks and horns. It will result in the brotherhood designing bigger and bigger combos until they can’t pass though doors safely.

5. Remember to order the taxis a good hour before the end of the night. Nothing makes the fraters more agitated than hanging around making chitchat while waiting for their transport home.

6. Make sure you draw up a list of rules otherwise things get chaotic pretty quickly. In my experience top of the list should be, ‘No running in the corridors.’

7. There is only one high priest and what he says goes. This isn’t a democracy.

8. Sacrifices are a tricky thing to get right. If it were up to the members they would have one every week. Try to keep it to a monthly treat and discourage any talk of drinking blood to remain eternally young.

9. To achieve the best chanting, it’s a good idea to have a weekly practice session.

10. Make sure your robes aren’t dry-clean only. It’s hard enough getting rid of various stains without having to answer difficult questions at the dry cleaners.

11. Don’t get too attached to the goat. All you can do is make sure he’s comfortable until he is required.

Remember it’s not easy; don’t be discouraged, all the great Secret Societies started small. Even with a membership of one, you’re heading in the right direction.

Francis Henry Egerton, 8th Earl of Bridgewater

My twelve dogs eat with me everyday. I’ll be damned if I’ll suffer any other company. The table is set and the servants lead them in. My dogs and I share the same gusto when it comes to the consumption of our supper (English boiled beef and potatoes), no knives, no forks, no dainty patterned plates, just all that God gave us, hands and mouth, the faster the better.

I can well remember my Aunt Julia’s face when she observed my mastication, you don’t get that kind of eye popping from a Doberman.

When I die I shall leave them nothing. Damned if a dog needs money. They can have their shoes; I’ll give them that, their shoes and their napkins.

My servants? They will each have a mourning suit, a cocked hat and three pairs of worsted stockings; I’ll not have them say that Francis Henry Egerton, 8th Earl of Bridgewater wasn’t a generous man.

Features found on A Partybot 2000

1. Spritzer Nozzle

2. Automatic Compliment Generator

3. Electronic Hooter

4. Wipeable Surface

5. Champagne Teat

6. Receptacle for nuts

Stupid Cult

Frater Ra-The Divine Blacksmith, placed the Sacred Helmet firmly on the effigy of Mokosh. Someone at the back giggled.

Frater Ra spun round. A sea of masks stared back at him.

He resumed the ancient ritual by loosening the brass teats of Zoria. A full-blown laugh. Frater Ra was quicker this time.

“Frater Oroboros! Maybe you’d like to share with the rest of the brethren what you find so funny?”

Frater Ouroboros stood in a petulant way, wearing his robes in the modern fashion. A quiet slapping noise echoed around the Temple of Anubis.  Frater Ra narrowed his eyes.

“Are you chewing gum?”

Nicknames of the Rich and Famous

• Jockstrap.

• The Chief.

• Home-baby.

• Suze.

• Herringboner.

• Havers.

• Sexpest.

• The Phantom.

• Bimbo.

• Ballsack.

• The Cunt.

• Yoppers.

• Dreamboat.

• Philbert.

• Knockers.

• Sweetcheeks.

University Challenge

During Paxman’s intro’ Cappleman sneaked a glance at Lenon, she ignored him and took a sip of water. He risked a smile while answering a question on the second law of thermodynamics. He wasn’t sure but she may have smiled back, just a little one.  At the after-show buffet, he went for it,

"That was pretty close at the end."

"Shut up Cappleman, you’re only here to answer the maths questions!"

He consoled himself by eating a miniature cheese scone.

Ah What Wow

The last surviving DJ on the planet woke early. He watered all of his plants methodically; they were stunted but growing, that was the main thing.

At 12 noon he sank into his seat and flicked on the mic.

After talking for three minutes he picked up the only record left undamaged and placed it on the turntable.

“Ah what wow, he’s the greatest dancer, Ah what wow, that I’ve ever seeeeeen.”

As the sound of the funky baseline carried over the deserted city, he wondered if anyone out there was listening, or if he was just broadcasting to the void.

After signing off, he checked the perimeter fence and went to bed.

He woke early and began to water his plants and was a little surprised to find an intruder standing before him in the studio.

The DJ had never been good with ages but he thought the boy was between 17 and 45.

He was wild looking. Daubed in paint and wearing rags, and a large concentric circle was tattooed across his chest. He was armed with a sharp stick.

“Awandawai” clucked the boy.

The DJ hadn’t spoken to another soul for over 50 years.

“Awandawai”

The DJ was experiencing a serious case of the yipps. He hadn’t dried up on the airwaves before but this was different. His brain was frozen.

“Awandawai!”

Suddenly the room was full of savages. They advanced on the DJ and before he could gather his wits, a cloth bag was forced over his head and he was bundled from the studio and transported to God knows where.

When the bag was taken off his head it took a while for the DJ to get his bearings. He hadn’t left the studio for years. Rubble, scorch marks, vegetation covered the buildings. He was in the centre of the old city.

Hundreds of chanting savages surrounded him, flinging their arms around and grinning.

The crowd parted.

The Head Savage strolled toward the DJ. He had a transistor radio dangling from a thick cord around his neck and was dragging a large axe behind him. A hush fell.

“Awandawai!”

The DJ despaired, they were obviously trying to communicate with him but he was at a loss to understand.

Somewhere a clock struck 12.

The Head savage grabbed the transistor radio and clicked it on. The crowd leaned in, listening.

Silence.

The crowd began to murmur.

The Head savage grew uneasy, shaking the radio, confused. His attention turned on the DJ. The savage made a real effort to enunciate the words.

“Aw wha a wow!”

The crowd turned nasty. A couple of burly savages grabbed the DJ and held him down.

The DJ struggled as he watched the axe being dragged towards him.

Suddenly it came to him, these savages were his audience. They were waiting to hear his show! Just before the axe connected with his neck the DJ was truly happy. Someone had been listening!

Grades of The Crimson Brotherhood

• The Neophyte

• The Outer Circle

• The Inner Circle

• The Inner-Inner Circle

• The Über Circle

• The Square

• The Secret Square

• The Sexy Boys

• The Spiritual Being

• The Supreme Magus

Time Travel

It took me ages to find the right box. Lead. That should last for at least a million years. I picked one up in a junk shop in town. £25.

I wrote the note and sealed it in the box and buried it in the back garden. This is what the note said:

Future time travellers. Hello. My name is Steven.  I’m leaving you this message in the year 2014. If you find it please feel free to pay me a visit. I’ll be at Latitude: 54.975077 Longitude: -2.466688 at 10.30pm (GMT) 23 October 2014.  You should know that my interest in time travel is purely scientific and not motivated by greed or revenge.

At 9.30pm I biked up Comb Hill and waited. At 11pm I biked home again.

Reincarnation

I recognised Father as soon as I saw him. He strutted with a confident gait, bold as brass.  He had returned as a turkey cock. We passed each other with gentle cordiality. I tipped my hat, he clucked; a perfect continuation of our relationship before the accident.

Harrods

Top floor.

He sits in his armchair and reads The Times.

The buzzer sounds.

He takes the lift to the Lingerie Department.

The customer is furious; her bloomers have been mis-sold to her.

The manager fires him on the spot.

He cries a little.

His children will suffer.

The manager is unrepentant.

The customer is happy; incompetence vanquished.

He takes the lift to the top floor.

He sits in his armchair and reads The Times.

The buzzer sounds.

He travels down to the Pet Department.

The customer is furious; his rabbit has been mis-sold as a guinea pig.

The manager fires him on the spot.

He cries a little.

He forgets to mention his children.

The manager raises an eyebrow.

The customer is happy; animal identification in the store, strengthened.

He takes the lift to the top floor.

The manager is there to greet him.

He fires him on the spot.

He cries a little.

His children will suffer.

The manager is unrepentant.

He collects his copy of The Times.

He takes the lift to the ground floor.

The Brother Who Cleans

As the ‘Brother who Cleans’ Frater Hanuman had to wear a pointy hat. It was 3 foot tall and secured by a strap under his chin. When he mopped the floor the younger brothers would throw rings over the hat. It was a game designed to belittle him. Hanuman mistakenly thought it made him popular. Every time they got a ring on, he whooped out loud.

The Wickedest Man in the World

The Saharan sun was making Victor uncomfortably sweaty. He and Aleister Crowley had been walking for hours to reach this spot. They set up camp and prepared for the ritual.

It was here that ‘The Beast’ revealed to Victor the practicalities.

“Really?”

“Yep, says so in the book.”

“What book?”

“The one I showed you in the hotel.”

“Oh.”

Victor began to remove his belt, followed by his trousers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep, 100 percent.”

“Honestly ponestly?”

Crowley looked annoyed.

“Are you my Chela or not?”

“Ok, Ok, where do you want me?”

“Bend over that rock.”

Later, back at the hotel, Victor had a nosy for the book but couldn’t find it anywhere.

Useful motivations for actors struggling in a scene.

- Try it with more feeling!

- Imagine you’re talking to a small duck.

- Shout it louder.

- Try it in French.

- Shout the last word in the SENTENCE!

- You’re on the deck of a sinking ship trying to attract the attention of the first mate who is preoccupied with lighting his sea pipe.

- Act like you’re annoyed at being asked to do it in the first place.

- Imagine your shouting instructions down a well to a Latvian child who has broken his leg.

- Try it with a lisp.

- Pretend to be the sister of the character who you are supposed to be playing.

- Before the take, rub Tabasco on your eyes/balls.

- Leave long pauses between…the…words.

- Storm off set and sit in a caravan for 20mins.

- Be drunk.

Stasi

This was the fifth mission in a row they had insisted he wore the moustache. He tried to convince them that it made him ‘stick out’, he told them he was sure people were staring at him but it was no good. He dabbed the moustache on his face and went to work.

First off, he broke in to the home of an elderly couple and subtly rearranged their furniture. Then he infiltrated the kitchen of a lawyer and changed his brand of tea to a cheaper variety.

Later in the locker room he stared at his top lip in a mirror.  When he returned home he sobbed uncontrollably for an hour.

Maybe tomorrow they will let him wear a beard.

The House of Lords

We were all lounging in our room, Lord Waldrem, Lord Quintin and I, when the usually calm Bishop of Durham rushed in; he was shaking from head to foot.

“I forgot to nod!”

Now, to the ordinary commoner this doesn’t seem like a terrible offence, but to a peer nodding is damnably important; on entrance to the Lords we’re all expected to nod in the direction of the chair where the queen sits. Not to the chair of course, or the absent queen, but to a queer piece of fabric that rests on the arm of the chair. Ask not what for! Anyway you have to nod at it otherwise you’re in dreadful trouble, and in the H.O.L this means a trip upstairs to get a tongue lashing from Mr Phips.

“You should leave the country!” suggested Lord Waldren.

The ‘Bish’ said he would, but his sister was getting married this weekend so he had no choice but to stay in Blighty.

“Slip him a back hander.” Piped up Lord Quintin. We ignored him; he was so old fashioned when it came to a crisis.

There was a pounding on the door.

“Quick!” I cried, “In to the cupboard.”

The bishop folded himself inside and I squeezed the door shut. We all held our breath. After the pounding stopped, in marched Lord Sugar. He asked to borrow a cup of sugar. What an ass!

That evening at supper, the Bishop of Durham was summoned to Mr Phips’ office. We all looked down at our soup as the condemned man shuffled by. Lord Sugar threw a bread roll at the back of his head.

Clarkson

Henry had agreed to play the character ‘Clarkson’ on  the new T.V show ‘Top Gear’ as a favour to his agent; it wasn’t supposed to be a long-term thing.

Henry worked hard on the ‘persona’ of Clarkson. He modulated his voice to fit, he found the perfect wig and bought the famous ‘blue jeans’ in a charity shop in Pimlico. He thought it would be a tiny job, one episode to pay the bills, then he would move on to bigger and better things.

As ‘Clarkson’ became more popular, his wages increased and Henry found it harder to leave to pursue other acting jobs.

He wore the costume to parties, never breaking character. He opened supermarkets, churned up fields in his 4x4 and wrote a ridiculous column in ‘The Times’.

When Henry began to spend more time as ‘Clarkson’ than Henry, he knew it was time to hang up the curly wig and walk away.

The BBC told him that plenty of actors would be interested in rebooting ‘Clarkson’, in fact Jeremy Irons was chomping at the bit to take over.

Henry couldn’t stand the thought of someone taking over his life’s work and making a hash of it. He signed up for another 6 seasons and never took the wig off again.

About the Author

Andrew Coats is a film-maker who lives in Newcastle upon Tyne.

His films include, ‘The Insidious Dr Fu Manchu’, ‘Hemingways’, ‘Stupid Cult and ‘Meeting in Progress.

You can find out more and watch his work at www.duffelfilms.com