Helen French is a full-time writer, book hoarder, TV-soaker-upper, and biased parent. She also looks after digital projects (from websites to webinars) on a part-time basis.
You can find her on Twitter @helenfrench
I stood by the empty riverbed, watching and waiting, trying not to fall asleep standing up. Birds screeched overhead, swooping in circles, as if they knew something I didn’t. “You all right, Devad?” the man to my right asked. Nain, his name was. A scout of sorts. He was short … Continue reading
* Winner of the 2020 Story of the Year Award * It was easier than I thought to teach Albert to run up the grandfather clock on command but much harder to get him to come down again at a decent speed. “Don’t overthink it,” I coaxed, as the mouse … Continue reading
Bree lay on the ground, head aching, as they talked over her. She hated those pious cows. Why had they brought her outside? She wanted another bottle of vodka, not rescuing. “I’m still not sure why you’re doing it,” said Denna Kinjiun, the resident elderly busy-body, talking to someone Bree … Continue reading
The coastal road between Southport and Ainsdale is edged by sand dunes, covered in long rough grasses that look like hair. Cars rush past at sixty miles an hour, headlights glaring, stereos blaring. I walk home on the seaward side of the road, traversing the dunes as clocks tick past … Continue reading
My daughter’s imaginary friend most likely came about because of loneliness, I surmised. It was all my fault. Nevertheless, it didn’t seem to matter too much as she played under the slide on the eighth level of Kastak Island. She laughed and chattered away. So what if her friend wasn’t … Continue reading