GAME THREE

Read the stories, guess which one is AI. Answer revealed at the bottom.

Story 1

The red phone box on Albion Street hadn’t worked in years. Its windows were clouded with grime, the receiver dangling like a broken arm. Yet every Thursday at 8:15pm, the light flickered on.

Mira noticed first. She’d been using the box’s reflection to fix her lipstick before quiz night at the nearby pub. “That’s not right,” she told the barmaid, tapping her Guinness glass. “Phone boxes don’t charge themselves.”

By November, half the street had opinions. Old Tom swore he’d seen the dial turn on its own. The Patel twins claimed to hear rotary tones after last orders, a low purring that wasn’t quite ringing. The council found no wiring, just a dead spider plant someone had left on the shelf.

On Christmas Eve, Mira pressed her palm to the glass. The light flared. Through the murk, she glimpsed her own reflection holding a receiver that hadn’t been there moments before.

Next morning, her voicemail held seventeen seconds of dial-up screeches followed by that voice. Too clean, too clipped. “Balance zero. Recharge immediately.”

The box was gone by New Year’s Day. In its place: a fresh “H” painted on the tarmac, its edges bleeding into the cracks like it was still wet.

STORY 2

Jim loved his van. It was red and shiny, not in a metallic, showy way, but in a clean, cared for way, washed and polished every week without fail. The van had been his pride and joy for seven years, never letting him down except for that one time the alternator went. Even then, he’d forgiven it immediately. Yes, Jim loved his van. But he hated cyclists.

Why should they get free rein to do whatever they wanted on the road? Why weren’t they registered? A cyclist could crash into you and then vanish down a one-way street, never to be seen again. Like that bastard last month – some lycra-clad prick who’d swerved too close, scraping the side of his van before speeding off. Jim hadn’t even seen their face. Could’ve been a man or woman, not that it mattered. Just another unaccountable nuisance on two wheels, one that had cost him £800 to fix the bloody dent.

“Fuck,” Jim muttered, his fingers tightening on the wheel. The memory still made his neck grow hot. He’d been stuck in traffic that day too, just like today. Always stuck behind some self-righteous cyclist thinking they owned the road.

A cyclist was about a hundred feet ahead now, approaching a pedestrian crossing. The lights had just turned red. The street was empty except for some old bloke shuffling along the pavement who clearly wasn’t going to cross.

“He’ll just go through,” Jim said aloud, alone in his van. He could already picture it – the arrogant twat glancing left and right before pedalling straight through the red light like they all did.

But the cyclist didn’t. He stopped, one foot on the pavement, waiting patiently like some sort of saint. Jim’s mouth actually fell open.

He was so stunned he didn’t even notice the lights change, not until the police car pulled up beside him, because he hadn’t moved in three minutes or so. The officer tapped his window. “Everything alright, sir? You’ve been sat through two light cycles now.”

Jim blinked at the green light ahead.

STORY 3

Mr Dalton looked out the cracked window of his 3rd floor classroom in inner city Birmingham. Smoke from buses drifted up in the humid air mixing with the old smell of chalk and worn out paper. It was 1976 and the school was falling apart around him peeling paint broken radiators and kids who stared through him like they were ghosts

He fixed his worn tie and turned to the blackboard. Similes he said voice kinda sharp. Can anyone give me an example? Quiet. Jimmy at the back scratched something rude into his desk. Sharon lit a cigarette with the confidence of a lady twice her age

Mr Dalton knew their lives weren’t easy dads jobless mums working two jobs flats cold even in July. But knowing didn’t make it easier. He came here young full of ideas and passion thinking he could change the world with poems and patience

Now he wondered if he even made a mark

A chair scraped loud across the floor. This is pointless muttered Andy grabbing his coat

Sit down Dalton said sharper than he meant

Andy stopped then walked out

Dalton stared at the half done sentence on the board. A simile comparing hope to

To what?

He dropped the chalk

The bell rang late as usual. The room cleared out

Still standing Mr Dalton whispered to the quiet Hope is like a flickering bulb always close to burning out but still glowing somehow

He picked up the chalk and wrote it down. Just in case someone came back

STORY 4

It had been a long day> Jeff had finished work way after hours and was now heading home finally. The office had been hot and noisy, His project needed a massive redraft and he wasn’t in the mood for the motorway exit to be closed. He travelled to the next exit. Now the choice. Double back and take the slip to the main road or keep driving and use the farm roads back to the village. Farm roads it was! It was dark so at least he’d see any headlights coming towards him. He’d not been this way in a while and had forgotten about the tight bends and the trenches the tractors had dug out of the road surface. He took his time. A few turns later he was on the final stretch. The hedges were high on either side as he turned the final corner towards the little row of houses. Accelerating out of the corner, Jeff thought about the cold beer waiting in the fridge.. And then he saw her. A girl, youngish, teens probably in the middle of the road, her face turned and staring straight at him. He hit the brake, it didn’t take much to stop as he wasn’t moving fast. Slowly he looked ahead, but he couldn’t see her. Sweat found it’s way onto his top lip as he realised he hadn’t stopped in time. He undid the seatbelt and slowly pushed the door open. He pulled himself out and crouching, moved towards the front of the car. Looking down, he saw, nothing! Moaning to himself he crouched all the way down. Switching on his phone torch, he looked under the car. Still nothing. Confused, Jeff looked around. The hedges. Had he knocked her into the hedge. Nothing to see. He didn’t know what to do. Had he imagined it, but her face had been so clear. He looked back the way he’d came. Walking to the back of the car, just in case, he saw nothing but road, but just there was a tree, a big one. There was a gap in the hedge where it’s thick, gnarly trunk sat. He shone his phone torch onto the tree and grinned when he saw the way the lumps and bumps and shadows seemed to form different shapes. That must be it. The headlights hit the tree and it looked like someone. Jeff let out a breath and hung his head in relief. He got back into the car and noticed he hadn’t switched it off. Fastening the belt, he headed towards the houses. A shiver ran through him as he thought about how his imagination had run wild and looked in the mirror to say good bye to the tree, straight into the eyes of a teenage girl, dressed white, standing in the middle of the road.

STORY 5

It wasn’t a normal house. It was large and nestled in a group of tall trees. It sat facing out at the top of the hill, like it was watching. To casual viewers it was just a nice house, but to Billy it was wrong.

Around the house were smallish wind turbines, certainly smaller than the ones you see on wind farms, but they never moved. And that one lonely electricity pylon with no cables attached to it. What did it mean? Billy sat with his binoculars pointed at the house. Never any movement, never any sign of vehicles, but at night flashing lights could be seen above. OK it was the flight path to the airport, but that didn’t mean they were ALL planes. 

LIghts came on in the evening, but he could never see anyone moving around. Billy had been watching for 2 months now. He had lived in his little flat for years and hadn’t noticed the house before, it’s like it appeared from nowhere. The online chat boards were full of stories about buildings just appearing. But no one could agree on why they were there. Were they Government institutions monitoring the surroundings, was it extra terrestrial beings watching us for weaknesses. Who knows? But Billy was sure if he kept watching he’d find out. 

It was when he started taking pictures things changed, he printed the pictures A4 size and pinned them to the wall. He noticed the wind turbines had moved, the blades in slightly different positions. What did that mean? Was it a code, a secret message for others. He set his camera to take pictures every 15 minutes through the night and then checked them in the morning. The picture printed out. The house was in darkness apart from 2 lights in the upper floor, 2 strong lights like eyes. The house was watching Billy.

CLICK TO REVEAL AI STORY

STORY ONE

https://ko-fi.com/flashfictions

If you’d rather swap a coffee for something you can actually keep, the FlashFictions book is there for you.
Same weird ideas, just bound together.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0G34YZ9B2