Agathos Daimon
Bio
Thank you for dropping by!
Here at Agathos Daimon we have a collection of unique and quirky fiction / fantasy stories for both adults & children.
We hope you enjoy what you encounter with us. With Love and Best Wishes,
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Curator of Stories
Stories (12)
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The Twizel Manor Chronicles
Kazimir Ears pricked upright Esfir sat upon the uppermost bough, claws gripping the bark she was at one with the tree, breathing in harmony with the rhythm of the wood hidden by the shadows of dusk. All her thought focussed on the cluster of voices in the grand confluence below, the space between the multiple branches of the ancient oak. A sacred place for all of the Iaru it had become the meeting place of the Aiga. Through the flickering flaming leaves of early autumn Esfir could just make out two grey smudges deep in discussion with a third, larger figure which appeared to her as a silent swarm of flies, full of restless disquieting purpose.
By Agathos Daimon2 years ago in Fiction
The Paradise Gate
Lake District. May 2019 ‘Welcome to The Poppies, folks. Travelling light, are we?’ George asked the couple dripping on his foyer carpet, merged into each other like rivets in steel. He guessed they were mid-forties. Him perhaps a bit older than her, although difficult to tell. ‘If you've more luggage in the car I can bring it up afterwards, once you've checked in. No point in going back out there if you don't have to, is there?’ He flipped open the registration book and offered them a pen.
By Agathos Daimon3 years ago in Criminal
Upwardly Mobile
It was Saturday and Julia found herself once again anxiously peering out of her living room window looking for him. She ached to see her postman, with his chiselled jaw and firm thighs, standing at her front door holding out the promised brown paper package. Staring out at the car choked street running past her terraced house down to the seafront she was conscious of her curtains dangling precariously from the broken plastic tracking above. She shuffled in threadbare slippers to the middle of the small bay, craning her neck. The only movement to be seen was litter in the wind.
By Agathos Daimon3 years ago in Confessions
The Glove
2015 ‘Just here please, on the corner. Thanks.’ Barbara thrust a £20 pound note at the driver as he pulled into the curb. ‘Keep the change.’ Bending to scoop up her canvas shoulder-bag from the floor, her eye was caught by a flash of vermillion under the front seat. On impulse she stuffed the item into her jacket pocket, before exiting the taxi. She glanced at the clock above the station entrance opposite. She was just going to make it. A biting March easterly swept off the Tyne, snaking through the streets, snatching at the hats and scarves of people hurrying between imposing neoclassical structures. Buses queued at obstinate traffic lights. She inhaled their fumes mixed with drifting odours of stale cooking oil from nearby take-aways.
By Agathos Daimon3 years ago in Families
De Ja Moo
De Ja Moo Susan was early. Not that she'd needed to rush. Patricia was always late, if indeed she turned up at all. If it transpired to be the latter today then Susan was OK with that. There were worse things in life than to be stood up at her favourite café, Jericho. In fact a small part of her hoped that's how it would turn out.
By Agathos Daimon6 years ago in Humans
