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Lady Sato's Curse

  Lady Sato’s Curse.  A short story by Stevie T.  It was a lovely Sunday.  Not too hot, not too cold.  Just right, in fact, for wandering around the stalls, laden with antiques, on Portobello Road Market in London. In good weather, this is where you would always find Michael Clayborne, and today was no exception. He'd been perusing half a dozen stalls already and was slowly making his way back to Ladbroke Grove tube station.   Hello, I haven’t seen this stall before. A folding table wedged between two regular stalls. It looked very much like it had been set up hastily. Michael rubbed his chin and took off his sunglasses. A cursory look told him what he was already expecting.  Mostly tat, mismatched china, dirty brass objects, a bit of jade, some bronze. But you never know. A small carved jade tiger caught his eye and Michael moved closer for a better look. An elderly man, in worn blue trousers, an oversized grey cardigan and a green c...
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The Leopard That Changed It's Spots

  The Leopard That Changed It’s Spots. A short story by Stevie T. 1. I carefully laid out the tea tray, just as she liked it. A place for everything and everything in it's place, was her mantra, and I'd grown up with that ringing in my ears. The bone China teapot in the centre, and everything else, milk jug, sugar bowl, cups and saucers, a plate of biscuits, all neatly arranged around it. Six digestives, three each. Three biscuits is enough per person! I'd grown up with that too, and much more besides. Three Yorkshire Tea teabags in the pot, one person person and one for the pot, so many of mother's household rules to remember. I partly opened the kitchen door, leaned over to pick up the tea tray off the counter and then, using the outside of my left foot, pushed the door all the way open. I stepped through and out onto the patio decking. My eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the sudden burst of sunlight, but the reactive lenses of my glasses darkened and I sp...
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