Winding Down by Iris CardenThe calendar’s winding downthey year’s facing its last breath.It’s almost all over,there’s just one more big event.The children are waiting for the guy with the red clothes,the same rosy colouras his lead reindeer’s nose.Christmas music’s playing,in all of the stores.There’s the last of the gift buying,the, tree, decorations, and more. Family and friends will gather,to share gifts and to feast.Far too much food consumed,more than sufficient, at least.So we’ll end the yearin a celebratory tone,enjoying family, friends, food and home.

Director Herbert Part Two by Iris Carden Dr Helen Thompson looked back and forwards between the test results, the MRI image, and the sedated patient on the bed beside her. Dr Ivan Petrov entered the room. “None of them have seen anything like it, and none are willing to try to operate. They all say any intervention is likely to spread it further.” “If the five top neurosurgeons in the state think it’s too much for them, I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Helen said, defeated. “I don’t even know how this could possibly happen.”

All I want for Christmas is indie books! 2025 edition. Independently-published, and small press-published books are often overlooked, but many can be as good as, sometimes even better than, traditionally published books. Because they’re not as well known, I’ve asked authors to tell you about books they’ve written, that they think your family members or friends might love to find under the Christmas tree. The order these books are in, doesn’t mean anything. I entered them in batches, starting each batch at the top of my email inbox and working down.

Director Herbert “Herbert’s flipped his wig,” Agent Scott Cooper said, after the initial greetings in the phone call. “Director Herbert? What do you mean?” Senior Agent Jo Burns asked. “He whirled through here like a cyclone, threw papers around, told Jess we don’t help monsters, we execute them. Jess told him we only kill the ones we can’t help, and that’s been standard practice for years. Director said it’s not standard practice any more, and we have to execute any monsters we know about.” Jessica Adams was the Senior Agent in the Melbourne Human Defence Unit office, where Scott was now working.

The Week in Review, Sunday, 23 November, 2025, to Saturday, 24 November, 2025 What I’ve Written Sunday: Recycled Post: Elf The strange tale of Beatrice, who dreamed of being someone else. Monday: Recycled Post: The Week Before Christmas It was the week before Christmas, and things were going badly for Santa. Tuesday: The Young Sailor A week or so ago, I shared a poem about a lighthouse keeper who listened to the stories of the ghosts of sailors who had died on the rocks where his lighthouse was placed.

You Can’t Go Back Part Three by Iris Carden When I was alive, I was your willing slave. Since my death, you have referred to me as your lover. Now, as you drive the car south, towards more, larger cities, your beauty in the moonlight still captivating me, I know what I truly am. I am your prisoner. I am a puppet you created to serve your own vanity. I am a pet dog you have trained to the lifestyle you want. I have no free will. I have no soul, you shredded that for your own amusement.

You Can’t Go Back Part Two by Iris Carden I am devastated by what you have done, what I have taken part in. My mother’s lifeless, bloodless, body lies on the floor at my feet. I fall to my knees, crying, taking her in my arms, holding her. “Can’t you save her? Make her like us? The way you did with me?” I plead. I cry. I hold her body like a limp doll. You stand there, looking down, cold, aloof, uncaring. You are so beautiful, but so heartless: a statue from a the hands of a most cruel artist.

You Can’t Go Back by Iris Carden We are heading east, back towards Leo’s home city. It isn’t really a choice. West means smaller and smaller communities, diminishing food sources. “We’re not staying,” you say. “We’re spending a day sheltering, then moving on tomorrow night. This isn’t your home any more. You’re not Leo. You can’t go back.” “If I could just see her one more time, from a distance, know that she’s …” “And what if she isn’t doing well? What do you think you could do? Do you think her son reappearing from the grave will comfort her?

The Young Sailor by Iris CardenMy story’s sad, but it’s quickly told,I died far too young, no time to get old.It was the first shipI was hired upon,We passed these rocks,and heard sirens’ song.Captain and crew weredriven mad by the sound.The ship helm was turned.We soon run aground.Sweet was their song,vile was their feasting.Those evil song birds,‘twas us they were eating.Their beaks and claws,like razors slashing,they tore at our flesh, our bones all smashing.

It’s another recycled post today. I’ve had a busy weekend. I promise I’ll have something new for you tomorrow. For today, we’re going back to 2022, and Santa’s issues with his staff the week before Christmas.

From December 2022: the strange tale of Beatrice, who wanted a fantasy life. This story is in the book Strange.

The Week in Review, Saturday, 16 November, 2025 to Sunday 22 November, 2025. What I’ve Written Sunday: New Names, Old Faces Leo/Rick, and Susan, need new identities quickly. Monday: Fool’s Gold Promises only mean something when they’re kept. Tuesday: Afternoon Storm It’s summer storm season. Wednesday: Recycled Post: Techno Ghost Revisiting an early Human Defence Unit story from December 2022. Thursday: Christmas in the House of Death Even people who dispose of bodies for a living need a bit of family time. Friday: Answering the Question…

This story picks up where yesterday’s left off. Answering the Question by Iris Carden “Do you need a hand with that?” The cleaner asked me, as I crossed the deceased’s arms. “No. I’ve got it,” I said, as I rolled the excessively-large corpse into a body bag. “Did you want to answer my question? Or do you need time?” “I said I’ve got it.” I zipped up the bag. Then I pulled the gurney alongside the body, and lowered it. I dragged the head end on to the gurney, and then did the same with the feet end.

Christmas in the House of Death by Iris Carden I suppose it could have been classed as a family Christmas, such as my family was. I had eight bodies in the fridge. That was my allocation from the Christmas road toll, so far. It included a young police constable who was run over by a drink driver, while directing drivers to pull over for random breath testing. I guess that was ironic, as well as being an awful waste of a young woman’s life. We still had Boxing Day to go, so I’d probably be packed solid by the time the funerals actually started.

This is one of the early Human Defence unit stories, from December 2022.

Fool’s Gold by Iris CardenShe’d believed the band of gold,believed when he’d said “I do.”But it was just fool’s gold,because his promises were untrue.He’d vowed to love and honour,but she saw no evidence of either.He’d promised to cherish her for life,but compassion, he denied her.She thought herself a fool,not seeing the truth of what he was.A charming loving maskhid a vicious, narcissist at core.So she made her plan,and packed her important things.She left as soon as she was able,and mailed the fool’s gold back to him.

New Names, Old Faces by Iris Carden We are running, figuratively. In reality, we are driving a stolen car, the car belonging to Richard Evans’ identity being too likely to be noticed. We were in the background of a photograph, leading two, now missing, children, away from a community festival. Not only did you make me feed on a child, now I am in danger, because of you. If not for you, I would still be alive, living my boring life, imagining a love as great as ours, never imagining the horror of it!

The week in review, Sunday, 9 November, 2025, to Saturday, 15 November, 2025. What I’ve Written Sunday: Recycled Post: Curse The strange tale of Karen, who was surrounded by incompetent idiots. Monday: Game Review: Animal Crossing New Horizons My first, and probably last, ever game review. Tuesday: Christmas Gifts It’s time to think about the Christmas shopping, but the important things won’t be under the tree. Wednesday: Recycled Post: Krampus We’re going back to November 2022, and the story of how Jo Burns first discovered the world of the Human Defence Unit.

The Test by Iris CardenIs it COVID, or allergies?Maybe the flu or RSV?The response, now, to sinus pain,is a swab shoved halfway up to my brain.When my sinus already hurts,the swab just makes things worse.Uncomfortable, as this already is,the time’s now come to give it a twist.Now to mix the snot in witches’ brew,and set a timer to let it stew.Finally it’s time, to look for red lines…Negative! Allergy care, and I’ll be fine.

A light little poem from November 2022.

Recycled Post: Krampus We’re going back to November 2022, and the story of how Jo burns discovered the world of the HUman Defence Unit. #shortstory #fiction

Christmas Gifts by Iris CardenDecember’s crowds and heat, make Christmas shopping no fun, so early in November, we get it all done. With a list of the family who we want to gift, with hopes what we buy, will give them a lift. The drama is over, before school holiday chaos, because we’re so organised, it’s great to be us. The wrapping’s done, with some amount of care, despite tape and scissors, disappearing somewhere. At the end of the day, what we’ve bought to share, doesn’t matter as much, …

Review by Iris Carden Yes, you read that title right, this is my first ever review of a game. I’m a words person. I write. I review books. I’m not a gamer. I rarely play games (up until now, apparently.) I don’t review games, and this review, should you dare to continue, will probably explain why. Why am I reviewing this? Simple. It’s taken a massive amount of my time over the past few weeks, and I should have something to show for it. I bought a second-hand copy of New Horizons to play with my granddaughter.

It’s another recycled post today. I promise I’m trying to get my act together, but my body doesn’t want to cooperate, and I’m always out of energy. Here, from November, 2022, is the Strange Tale of Karen, who was surrounded by incompetent idiots.

The Week in Review Sunday, 2 November, 2025 to Saturday, 8 November, 2025. What I’ve Written Sunday: Pirates! Apparently I didn’t have enough story series going on. Introducing Eusebius Brown, who has the imagination of a ten-year-old boy, and the responsibilities of a forty-something husband, father, and accountant. Monday: Message in a Bottle Eusebius Brown is off to a fictional island for a daring rescue, while his son learns a lesson about communication. Tuesday: Sweet Kitty Prettypaws A poem about life with a cat. (Which may possibly have been inspired by Princess, who is more usually known as Princess Sneakypaws, rather than Prettypaws.