Last week at Elephant Words, Andrew Cheverton posted the photo that you see up there on the right, of the evocatively named Baskerville Hall.

Over the following six days, six writers took turns to write pieces inspired by it.

On Monday, we got safety information from Schmurgen Jonerhaffs:
What Do You Do When You Meet Dan Lester?

Do Not Run. You can’t outrun Dan Lester so don’t even try. Despite rumours to the contrary, Dan Lester can outrun a human on ANY terrain, uphill or down. People will tell you that you should run downhill when chased by Dan Lester. This is simply a myth – don’t try it!

On Tuesday we got poetry from Ian Sharman:
My Broken Life

The old, cracked
Broken steps
Where your head
Cracked
Broken steps
Where I watched
You
F
A
L
L
Cracked
Broken steps.

On Wednesday we got romantic comedy courtesy of Cynthia Lugo:
Road Trip

“Are we there yet?”
“Um, not quite, no. But almost.”


“Are we there yet?”


“It’s right there ahead of us. Why do you keep asking me that? You can see it for yourself.”


“Are we there yet?”


“Stoooop asking me!”


“Are we there yet?”


“No.”


“Are we there yet?”


“No.”


“Are we there yet?”


“I will kill you in your sleep.”

On Thursday we got a story of activism from Rivka Jacobs:
The Cause

Susan Greenbaum sat alone on the mottled and cold, top stone step. The autumn wind tugged at strands of her graying hair and spun dry leaves in eddies at her feet as they rested flat on the walkway leading to the short garden stairway. She tucked her fingers under her thighs, and breathed rapidly and deeply in an attempt to control her emotions. She focused on her black New Balance cross-trainers, scuffed and worn through hundreds of walks, marches, stand-ins, sit-ins, and clashes with opponents and police.

“Come on, Susan, don’t be like this.”

On Friday we got a glimpse into the life of a jobbing PI, via Nicolas Papaconstantinou:
Carry You Offin

The first thing Carlisle thought when he met the big man was that he looked like the kind of guy in a soap opera who used to be a criminal, but is now trying to become a legitimate businessman. He looked more Eastenders than Hollyoaks, but his dialogue was unconvincing.

The second thing Carlisle thought, as the man lifted him off his feet and into the open air with an easy shove, was of all the different ways that he wasn’t Antonio Banderas.

And on Saturday we got to sit in on a first meeting, courtesy of Andrew Cheverton:
One Cup Of Coffee

She had black hair, and white skin – white so it seemed you could almost see through it – and eyes that were a shade of green only eyes could be; many shades of green, and sparkling. Bright red lipstick. Patchwork trilby.

‟Hi, is anyone sitting here?”

I put down the newspaper I had been pretending to read and, folding it sharply – once, twice – used it to gesture to the empty chair at my table. ‟No. Not at all. Be my guest.”

If you enjoy these stories, please do comment on the site!

Or why not try your hand at writing something inspired by the image yourself? Any reader writing can be shared on the sight, or sent to the Echo via sam.shepherd@bournemouthecho.co.uk