tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74521892341825267322024-03-05T02:24:52.965-08:00Nick Harkins' Twisted TalesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-70348112211025862322018-10-21T04:31:00.001-07:002018-10-21T04:31:02.943-07:00Black SundayRecently, I have treated myself to a number of Arrow Video classic horror flicks on blu ray. I watched the magnificent 'Black Sunday' yesterday, a monochrome gothic classic that looks absolutely beautiful, and still remains genuinely disturbing to this day.<br />
<br />
Barbara Steele really was the ultimate scream queen; she was absolutely mesmerising as the vengeful undead witch, and the innocent Katya.<br />
<br />
Thoroughly inspiring stuff!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-37027321089083368682018-10-18T12:10:00.000-07:002018-10-18T12:10:10.176-07:00Finding my voiceIt's proving even harder than I thought, but I think I'm starting to find my voice again. This story will require heavy editing, but to get to the point where I've atually finished a story, regardless of how good it may or may not be, would mean so much to me.<br />
<br />
Onwards and upwards.<br />
<br />
Has anyone been reading these posts? I don't suppose they have, but it helps me to write down my thoughts.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-87945972952893158842018-10-16T12:06:00.001-07:002018-10-16T12:06:21.238-07:00One step at a timeWell, I'm back on the horse again.<br />
<br />
I have to say that writing fiction after a few years of almost total inactivity is proving harder than I expected. The words come slowly, the ideas are starting to come, but they're not bursting onto the page in the way they were when I was becoming prolific.<br />
<br />
I guess exercising the mind in a creative fashion is much like physical exercise in the sense that it takes time to build up. Just try blasting out a set of press ups after not doing them for a few years. At first, you'll only be able to do a few, they'll be hard, and you'll ache afterwards. But keep at it, and you'll get stronger and faster. It will, I hope, work that way with my writing.<br />
<br />
I've planned out the first story of my comeback (see my recent posts), and have begun, tentatively, to write it. It's daunting, but exciting. I'm going to finish this story by Halloween. Whether it turns out to be any good remains to be seen, but finishing a short story after everything I have had to contend with. When it's finished more will come. Lots more.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-50896685981247606682018-10-04T06:38:00.001-07:002018-10-04T06:40:26.053-07:00Ain't got no time for your video nasty/catch, catch the horror train.......freeze frame gonna drive you insane!<br />
<br />
Growing up
in the 80s, I was a child when the video nasty scandal shook Britain. I
was told by some of my elders, and to a greater extent the media, that
on no account was I to watch any of the ghastly horror flicks that were
circulating at the time.<br />
<br />
Trash! Filth! Sick! Satanists! Destroyers of public morality! <br />
<br />
Of
course, like any child, the whole ridiculous uproar just made me want
to watch them all the more. They fascinated me, and the more illicit
they became, the more I wanted to acquire them.<br />
<br />
I
always remember going to a video rental store with my parents, where I
was permitted to rent a couple of movies most friday nights. Mostly PG
rated films, or if I was very lucky 15 certificates. But in a seperate
enclave, with a handwritten sign above the doorway reading 'Over 18s
only', there was the horror section. I would glance furtively through
that doorway, scared but unable to help myself. The names of the movies,
the terrifying cover artwork, the sense of the forbidden. It's
something I'll never forget.<br />
<br />
The store was called Rolph's.<br />
<br />
And
all these years later, it has inspired my to base a short story there.
It's been a long time since I wrote anything, and it has taken a great
deal of courage to do this. I have been extremely unwell for a long time
and unable to write. But I'm back and feeling better than I have for a
good few years.<br />
<br />
I hope you will like my story when it's
finished, and that you too will feel a little of the illicit chill I
experienced all those years ago.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-89820272864103264562018-09-29T02:28:00.001-07:002018-09-29T02:28:13.004-07:00Veteran of 1000 Psychic WarsI've been away a long time.<br />
<br />
I've walked through fire.<br />
<br />
I've stared into the abyss.<br />
<br />
I've lived enshrouded by a fog of woe and lamentation; bereft of hope, robbed of belief and inspiration.<br />
<br />
But I'm fucking back.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-14877349622748950872016-01-06T13:01:00.001-08:002016-01-06T13:01:30.161-08:00When writing a scary story becomes a nightmare - fight on or quitI've been working on one particular short story for months now. Months. I've written 7000 words, and I'm still nowhere near a satisfying conclusion. I'm not even sure if the conclusion I have planned is very satisfying. I don't think it is. I'm not even sure the beginning or the end are very good either.<br />
<br />
What I thought was an idea that promised so much dark wonder is turning into a nightmare. For all the wrong reasons.<br />
<br />
I now find myself in the kind of position all writers, and, I suspect artists of all kinds experience. I have a decision to make. Do I fight on and try and salvage something worthwhile from the jumbled mess I've spent countless hours of my time on, or do I cut my losses, accept the idea was never going to work, and spend my time on something fresh and new that will work?<br />
<br />
If I give up, does that make me a quitter or a pragmatist? After all, you can't polish a turd. Or can you? <br />
<br />
All I can do is follow my gut. It's time to bail on this flawed tale, as infuriating as that feels. It could've been a contender, but it wasn't to be. Would a painter carry on with a picture where their brush had slipped, or they'd applied the wrong colour? No, they'd tear that fucker up and start again.<br />
<br />
Time to create something new. And that is why we do this.<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-85656560622694050592015-08-19T11:41:00.002-07:002015-08-19T11:41:40.537-07:00Tonight's Star Prize - 100 words of primetime tv terror! A National Treasure returns.....
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Tonight’s Star Prize<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">He didn’t look like he did on TV. He smiled, but it wasn’t
the charming, cheeky smile of Saturday night tea time. It was fierce, leering.
His eyes burned, wet and bulging as he reached for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Said I’d won tonight’s star prize, just like on the telly.
He laughed then. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Forty years ago now, but I never forgot that night. Ever. He
died last week, it was in all the papers. “National Treasure Dies”. I was glad
when I read it, smiled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">But that night he came back to me. His hand, cold and white,
reached under the covers.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-54281375668644281272015-02-15T10:02:00.000-08:002015-02-15T10:02:39.424-08:00It's Under the Bed - More 100 word flash fiction horror. An ancient evil lurks amongst the dust and toys beneath a young boy's bed
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">It’s Under the Bed<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Mummy says there’s nothing under my bed but dust and old
toys. Daddy says the same, gets angry when I try and tell him. Hits me. Tells
me to be a man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I go to bed hurting. Trying to cry quietly so it doesn’t
hear me. The thing under the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">It’s old, it tells me. Older even than my Granda. It’s seen
everything, knows everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">And it’s done bad things. Tells me about them, its croaky
voice coming from under the bed. Chuckling as I quake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">It says soon it’ll take me to the bad place under the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-2181865728688804072015-02-09T13:11:00.000-08:002015-02-09T13:14:15.185-08:00No Comfort Breaks Required - 100 Words of Terror as a businessman finds a ghastly way to solve his staffing problems...employing the deceased!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">No Comfort Breaks
Required<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I should have thought of this years ago. For too long I
suffered the burden of a demanding workforce. Never satisfied. Forever bleating
about their “rights”. Damned socialist nonsense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Mama DuChance changed all that, came to me with an idea.
Employ the dead to work my call centre. Their needs, as far as I can tell, are
few. Being dead, they enjoy no protection under discrimination laws. I can
pinch the women’s bottoms with impunity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">What’s that damn noise coming from the trading floor? Some
kind of chanting. One word: flesh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Chairs scrape as they rise. They’re heading this way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-63126692334134964592015-02-08T08:53:00.000-08:002015-02-08T08:53:28.019-08:00Out of Town - 100 Word Horror Tale of Retail Atrocity, that'll make you GA(s)P in terror!
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Out of Town<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I pull into the retail outlet. My wife’s birthday tomorrow
and I haven’t got her anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">They all look the same: the stores, the cars, the people.
Same clothes, same vacant eyes; dead black holes, lifeless but for the embers
of greed. They want things. I think I’m supposed to want them too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">They sense my lack of belonging. Manicured hands grab me,
carry me into a department store. My clothes are replaced with designer
garments, a needle jabbed into my neck, freezing my muscles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I’m lifted to the window and positioned with the other
mannequins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">You’ll probably see me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-89791538238348258852015-01-11T08:58:00.002-08:002015-01-11T09:06:01.498-08:00In the darkest reaches of the Hebrides, buried in the frozen peat it lay. My novel stirs, takes shape and prepares to rise.It's been far too long since I posted anything on my blog, this is partly due to the excesses of the festive period, my own engagement to my now fiancée, and extensive research and planning of my first novel.<br />
<br />
I've written many short stories; both flash fiction horror and longer stories, but the business of writing a novel really is something else. It's both incredibly daunting and intimidating, but also tremendously exciting. It has given me a sense of freedom I've never experienced creating short works of fiction; the possibilities are literally infinite. Where do I take these characters, what drives them? How deep into the world of the occult and supernatural do I want this novel to go? Am I writing a horror novel or a fantasy novel, and does it matter? These are all questions I'm currently asking myself, and at the moment, changing my answers on a daily basis. Slowly but surely though, I'm whittling down the possibilities, like a sculptor watching a piece of rock gradually take place.<br />
<br />
All I can really reveal at this stage is that it will be a gothic horror tale set in the Highlands of Scotland, set partly in the modern day and partly at the time of the tragic 19th century Highland clearances. <br />
<br />
I hope people will like it. I do anyway, so that's something.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-91118823022552982972014-11-16T03:25:00.001-08:002014-11-16T03:25:20.799-08:00100 Word Horror: Gunpowder, treason and seditious literature; a Guy must burn!
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Remember, Remember <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Every year they burn a Guy in our village. We all gather
round, young and old in the dark autumn night. Tall shadows. Smiling faces in
the blazing amber glow. Hot dogs and mugs of steaming tea, enjoying the crackle
and pop of the burning wood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">And the screams of the Guy. The sizzle of his scorched
flesh. Roasting meat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">There’s always someone to be made an example of. A
dissident, a traitor to be sent screaming to hell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">This year it’s going to be my son. I feel no sadness, he was
caught reading banned literature and must die.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-45223711086373622822014-09-28T04:33:00.000-07:002014-09-28T04:33:17.351-07:00New story up on Popcorn Horror & the inspiration behind it<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Popcorn Horror have kindly put another one of my stories up on their site:</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://popcornhorror.com/matter-destiny/">http://popcornhorror.com/matter-destiny/</a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">It's a gruesome tale set in two very different pubs in two contrasting parts of London. The inspiration for this story came on a recent visit to London's famous Theatreland. We called into an old Victorian pub on Drury Lane before going to our show, and while knocking back a pint or two of London Pride, I looked around me at all the theatre memorabilia dating back maybe a century or so, and wondered what kind of characters must have sat in my very seat drinking just as I was.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">The idea fascinated me. Actors, musicians, writers, politicians? Almost certainly. Gangsters, thieves, murderers, fraudsters? Quite possibly. Thinking of what those four walls have seen in all the years the pub has been running sparked my interest. But it was the collection of rather ghastly looking clown masks behind the bar made me want to develop my interest into a story. I felt uneasy as I looked up at them and wondered what it would be like to be alone in the bar in the dead of night and see one move it's eyes, even <em>talk</em> to you...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">And so 'A Matter of Destiny' was born. Please do check it out and feel free to let me know your thoughts. And maybe next time you're in an old pub, or indeed any old building, have a little think who and what those four walls have seen. What might even still be there. Watching. Listening. Waiting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-46119030943476180732014-09-21T06:24:00.002-07:002014-09-21T06:26:18.707-07:00Tears in Joyland - My thoughts on Stephen King and his recent novel 'Joyland'So, ten minutes or so ago, I finished Stephen King's 'Joyland', and I am so moved by its tragic and bittersweet majesty, that I just have to write about it. If I don't, I could sit here weeping like a baby. You will find no spoilers here, but that book moved me more than any other for a very, very long time.<br />
<br />
First things first: wow.<br />
<br />
I've been a Stephen King ever since I read 'Salem's Lot' as a petrified 13 year old, quaking in my bed, dreading having to get up and put out the light. Terrifying as that first experience was, I've been hooked on horror ever since. As years went by, I worked my way through all of King's classic work, with perhaps 'The Shining' being the highlight for me, closely followed by 'The Stand'. Thrill after thrill, terror after terror followed, and for many years, he could do no wrong.<br />
<br />
But then, somewhere in the mid 90s it all started to go horribly wrong. His novels failed to grip me, often seeming like horror-by-numbers, perhaps even that King essentially didn't really care. Anything with his name on it was going to sell, so what the hell? By the time the millennium dawned, many of his novels had gone from steady mediocrity into the murky depths of the almost unreadable; 'Cell', 'The Duma Key', and the atrocious ending to the already deteriorating 'Dark Tower' series, led me to adandon King, so I thought, for good.<br />
<br />
I only picked up 'Joyland' because it's part of the 'Hard Case Crime' series I've been enjoying lately, featuring hard-boiled crime fiction from old masters like Donald Westlake and Mickey Spillane, as well as badass modern noir from the likes of the delectable Christa Faust. Well, how glad I am that I did give my old hero another chance. 'Joyland' is a beautiful, funny, tragic and at times devastating ride; full of incredibly well-drawn characters, and a magical setting. A park 'selling fun' at the end of an era as the corporations grew ever more powerful and squeezed out the independents, a time when the magic of a carnival was real, not carefully planned and scripted. A time that is now long gone, but, thanks to the imagination of Stephen King, is relived in all it's glory. <br />
<br />
Looks like I'm getting back on that ride I stepped on as a scared kid all those years ago.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-25978756628617956472014-09-10T12:33:00.002-07:002014-09-10T12:33:33.208-07:00The King is Dead: An abominabal Royal Succession. Stately terror in 100 wicked words!
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The King is Dead<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The old man had been in bed for weeks. Too sick to move his
brittle, creaking carcass. Rotting from the inside, his decomposition already
begun. His courtiers, practised in sycophancy, masked their distaste at the
cloying stench. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Only his eyes seemed alive. Bright, sharp. They darted
around the royal chamber, following every movement of the chosen few allowed to
witness his demise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">His latest demise. Not his final demise, that wouldn’t come
for centuries, perhaps not at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">His Grandson and his wife were, as carefully co-ordinated,
expecting a baby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Here one goes again, what?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-63788647294706034572014-07-28T12:43:00.000-07:002014-07-28T12:43:14.246-07:00A note about my 'latest' storyMy most recent addition to this blog is in fact an old story I wrote a few years ago that I recently came across again. It's one of the first stories I ever wrote, and was decent enough to be runner up in a short story completion. Although there are things I would now change, I am still very proud of it, and have fond memories of writing it.<br />
<br />
Whilst it's not a horror story like the rest on this site, it is seriously fucking dark. I mean darker than the deepest point of the blackest black hole in the outermost reaches of the darkest part of the cosmos.<br />
<br />
It's inspired by an incident in the <em>Yorkshire Evening Post</em> around the time I wrote it about a raid on a Leeds brothel. It occurred to me that slavery and sexual violence and exploitation for profit exists amongst the wealth and commercialism of this modern city; the poor, the lost and the dispossessed live out lives we can't imagine, far beneath the cracks, and I guess I wanted to tell a little bit of their story.<br />
<br />
Hope you like it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-73044330086475157902014-07-28T12:25:00.003-07:002014-07-28T12:44:12.387-07:00Short Story: Voiceless<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Voiceless<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">By <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Nick Harkins<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">From<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The</i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yorkshire
Echo<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">A
young woman of unknown identity died of stab wounds in Leeds City Library
yesterday evening. It is believed that the woman, aged between 16 and 20, could
be of Eastern European origin. Police speculate that she may have been a victim
of the sex trafficking phenomenon which has exploded in Leeds in the last five
years. It seems that she was stabbed as she entered the building, stumbled
through the doorway and collapsed. Police are appealing for witnesses, or
anyone who may know the woman’s identity to come forward<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">They promised me work
in a nursery looking after children in a big, modern city in Britain with one
of the finest Universities in the country. I’d be getting good pay; more than
enough to cover my living costs, and my hours would leave me more than enough
time to study. I could take evening classes in anything I liked, and I would
have unlimited opportunities.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">A bright, beautiful
girl like me could be anything I wanted there. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anything</i>. The woman put her hand on my shoulder affectionately. Her
cold blue eyes peered into mine and seemed to soften; melting like the ice in
Riga when the spring comes and the Russian winds stop their remorseless
assault. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The couple had
approached one night me as I’d finished work at the bar I worked in in Riga.
I’d seen them watching me throughout the evening as I moved between the wooden
tables, carrying huge trays loaded with flagons of foaming beer for the tables
of British men. They scared me these men with their flushed, leering faces and
their harsh songs, bellowed at the tops of their guttural voices. Whilst some
of the other girls at the bar openly flirted with them to get better tips, I
would collect the bills and scurry back behind the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The man and woman were
sat alone at a small table in a quieter part of the bar; smartly dressed and
polite. Sipping vodka and talking quietly hand in hand, sometimes kissing and
often laughing together. They looked to have been in their late twenties, around
ten years older than me. I remember thinking of what my parents might have been
like at that age, and thinking they would probably have been much the same. My parents
had died many years ago, leaving me with just my older brother to care for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">After the bar had
closed and the men had lurched off to the strip clubs, hooting and snorting
like hogs, I set off on the short walk back to the tiny apartment I shared with
two other girls. As I opened the door and stepped into the street, there they
were. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Them</i>. The nice couple from the
bar that had smiled at me, and given me a large tip and told me to treat myself
were waiting for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I was already planning
on getting myself an IPod so I could carry around all the records that reminded
me of home before my parents died. My father had loved The Beatles and used to
tell us that they were his brothers. We would sit in our small living room on
Sunday afternoons, listening to the illicit cassette tapes my father had kept
from his youth behind the Iron Curtain. Warm and happy as the snow drove
against the window; big, beautiful snowflakes dancing swiftly through the chill
air then tapping softly on the glass. We would laugh at father and ask him how
four men from Liverpool could be his brothers, and he would laugh with us and
say there were his brothers in his heart.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The lady told me her
name was Velna, and introduced the man as Peteris, though as he spoke only
Russian in a harsh accent I found difficult to make out, it was Velna that did
most of the talking. Velna was blonde and pale skinned, with a slim, graceful
figure. Her eyes were an icy piercing blue, and I felt even then that there was
pain behind those eyes. I wondered what this beautiful woman had been through
in her life, and felt an almost sisterly affinity for her, feeling that she was
someone who had suffered like me, knowing that she would never harm me. We were
the same. She had seen something in me that made her want to help me, and I was
willing to do whatever she thought was best for me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Leeds was the place,
she told me. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Leeds</i>. I’d never heard
of it, but that night we set out for my new life. I had nobody to tell I was
going. My brother was serving in the navy; my parents were dead. I went back to
the apartment and threw together some clothes, my few cd’s and the framed
pictures of my family together in happier days, and set off for my new life in Leeds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">******<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Velna told me
eventually I’d become numb to the pain, numb to the degradation from the
monsters who came to me. I didn’t listen. I would learn to switch off and take
myself away somewhere I couldn’t be reached, she assured me every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then before I knew it, my debt would be paid
and I’d be free to start my new life. She never wanted to tell me how much of
my debt was still outstanding, just that it would be soon. I would search those
cold blue eyes for any trace of the kindness I had once believed in, but found
none. I knew that she had done the same things many times before, and had
pushed the buttons she needed to.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Her face was a brittle
mask of cruel indifference at all times, hiding behind the cheap makeup she
wore to disguise her diminishing looks. Only once did I see the mask slip, when
I asked her how she came to be involved in such things. She had screamed at me,
the vilest abuse coming from her once pretty mouth, and tears running from her
eyes, no longer blue, but reddened and puffy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I didn’t ever want to
become numb. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Comfortably Numb</i>. A song
my brother used to play in his room when we were young. His room with its
bright, striking posters and strange books; his beloved guitar he had saved for
as a teenager, and his paintings. It seemed so magical to me as a child. Dark
and wonderful; a place of haunting, psychedelic music and creativity where my
brother would paint or read and play his guitar, sometimes showing me how to
play the chords of songs I liked, or letting me lay on the floor reading the
stack of Marvel comics he loved. I was too young to understand much of the
English they were written in, but I loved the vivid, colourful characters that
flew through the heavens or climbed skyscrapers, punishing the bad people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I know about bad people
now; real bad people. I knew as I lay on the filthy sheets of the bed in the
room they kept me in that no costumed hero was coming to save me. Nobody knew I
was there. Nobody. I had wanted to call my brother before I left Riga, but
Velna told me I could call when we got to Leeds. But, on arrival I was shut in
this room and watched at all times with no contact with the outside world,
other than the men whose lust I endure, is forbidden. They told me they know
where my brother is stationed and if I try and leave, they’ll kill him. I
believed them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Every city has those
who fall between the cracks, the dispossessed and the wretched; living shadowy
twilight lives amongst the cafe bars and the huge corporate temples of tinted
glass and concrete. I had known this even in Riga, and now I knew I myself had
become part of this voiceless underclass. Would any of the countless people
that walk past this house of illicit lust every day, oblivious to its true
purpose, care if they knew I was here? In the three months since my arrival,
each day of abuse had further confirmed my belief that they would not. Voices
such as mine are not to be heard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">******<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I have no idea how long
I languished in that place, losing any hope of release. I rarely saw daylight,
and was never allowed to leave the building. Like all the girls, I ate my
meals, such as they were, in a squalid basement beneath the parlour. I was
allowed one meal a day, and was given six hours to sleep between each shift. At
these times, I would huddle under my thin, drab blankets and picture those days
in Riga with my parents and my brother. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I soon realised it was
pointless to resist the men who came to my room. If I did, I was beaten by
Peteris and warned that my brother would be harmed. The men varied in age and
appearance, but I rarely saw any spark of kindness or compassion in their eyes.
The worst were the married men. The men in smart suits. Men with wives and
children and nice houses in nice streets somewhere in the suburbs of a city I
had barely seen. I always knew they were married. I knew they wanted to do with
me what they wouldn’t with their wives who raised their children; raised them
to be cold and cruel and to feed mercilessly on others like their fathers. They
forced my flesh into submission and took me without a flicker of emotion,
hating me and hating themselves and their wives and the careers they eked out
in the cold, featureless towers I’d seen when they brought me here. I was the
outlet, the pressure valve that stopped them going crazy; the voiceless, unseen
keeper of suburban sanity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">It was one such man
that unwittingly afforded me my opportunity of escape. A tall, grey haired man
with dark, narrow eyes that burned with malice, I had come to recognise him as
a regular visitor. Believing himself to be something of a tower of attraction
to women, he had paused in the doorway on his way out to flirt with Velna.
Knowing Peteris to have already gone out and that I was safe from his wrath, I
fled to the doorway and burst into the street. I gulped in the chill, fresh
evening air. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Running frantically, I
hoped to find somewhere public I could get help and the safety of a busy place.
I made my way through past shops, now all closed for the evening, I passed bars
but was afraid to go in and face the kind of men that had been my tormentors.
At last, I saw an old official looking building and thought it may have been a
police station or a courthouse. As I burst through the doorway, I heard
Peteris’s taunting voice as the cold blade slid into my back. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I look down on my body
lying in what I can now see is a library. The ambulance crew are trying to
revive me, but I’ve gone. I feel no sadness, for now I am free. Nothing can
hurt me again. I got to see Leeds after all, but I won’t stay. Snow is
beginning to fall; I can see the first flakes dancing in the amber light of the
city outside, falling lightly on the passing cars and tapping gently against
the windows. I can hear music playing somewhere close; the slightly muffled
sound of an old, much-loved bootleg cassette.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-48586925671740190442014-07-14T12:44:00.001-07:002014-09-10T12:35:52.341-07:00Mummy Dearest - a brand new 100 word horror story<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Mummy Dearest</strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I assumed if I could contact dead loved ones they’d be just
like they were in life. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Ask me how I am, tell me not to worry, they’re happy. Inter-dimensional
pleasantries; something to alleviate the loneliness since Mummy died. Just me
and Molly now; Molly and her grey muzzle.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">How wrong I was. Mummy has changed and not for the better. Didn’t
think the Ouija board would work, but it did. She spelled out the words with my
finger. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">S-H-O-U-L-D</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">B-E </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">U</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Then Molly’s heckles rose. Her growls guttural words. She
sunk her greying muzzle into my throat and tore.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-52386245625893388242014-06-25T11:55:00.003-07:002014-06-25T11:57:51.672-07:00Review of Clive Barker’s NightBreed Issue 1<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span></o:p></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first issue of Boom! Studios eagerly anticipated new
comic book series <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Clive Barker’s
Nightbreed</i> hit the shelves in the UK on 28 May, finally expanding on the
mythos Clive Barker created in 1988 in the novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cabal</i>, and in the movie adaptation <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nightbreed</i>. A dark, horrific, but ultimately quite moving tale of a
group of freaks, misfits and monsters living in Midian, a secret underground
community beneath a cemetery, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nightbreed</i>
has gained a devoted cult following over the past few decades. An Occupy Midian
movement was even formed as an online pressure group to demand the release of
the full unedited vision of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nightbreed</i>
movie Barker intended, but never got to release.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Occupy Midian haven’t got their way just yet, but the first
issue of this new series of comics is sure to delight <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nightbreed</i> fans as much as readers new to the gloriously strange
world of Midian. Piotr Kowalski’s artwork is exquisite, truly capturing the
macabre settings of the original book and film, and resurrecting the strange
cast of disparate characters; the savage, the lonely and the seductive with all
their drives, hungers and desires.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the original novel, we discover little about how the
various bizarre citizens of Midian came to arrive there, and this is what the
comic series sets out to address. The narrative flits back and forward in time,
introducing us to characters before they arrived at Midian, building on their back-story
and expanding the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nightbreed </i>mythos.
The themes of isolation, prejudice and persecution so evident in the novel are
continued and developed as the future citizens of Midian struggle to live above
ground amongst ‘normal’ people. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course as in the novel and movie, the real monsters are
not necessarily who they appear to be. The distinctions between good and evil,
beauty and beast are often blurred; the hunted can become the hunter, the freak
can become an object of forbidden lust. This was always a big part of the
appeal of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nightbreed</i> and it’s great
to see this spirit continued in this new expansion of the story.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This first issue shows great promise about what could be a
fantastic series, and will please existing fans of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nightbreed</i> and gain many more with its blend of gruesome horror, and
strange sensuality. Midian has opened its gates once more.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-55618208748579623992014-06-23T13:00:00.001-07:002014-06-23T13:00:42.379-07:00Update on latest story and upcoming workChildren of the Night,<br />
<br />
This post comes with some regret and embarrassment that it has taken me so long to add any new material to my blog, or to my work on Popcorn Horror. I've had a two week holiday away, and since my return I have not had as much time to write as I would like. <br />
<br />
The office I currently work in is closing and my last few weeks have been a string of leaving parties, meals and of course my own preparations before I start my new job. Life, basically, has got in the way.<br />
<br />
Now I am in a more settled position, I aim to step up my writing more than ever before. I have so many ideas dying to burst out onto the page, I'm very excited about exploring them. I hope you will explore them with me, too.<br />
<br />
There will be a short story in the next week or so, numerous flash fiction bloody chunks of hideousness, and the planning stages of my first novel are ongoing. Around 10,000 words written to date.<br />
<br />
Nick<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-16386980644551066222014-06-23T12:48:00.001-07:002014-06-23T12:49:15.960-07:00Flash Horror Story: A Helping Hand<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">A Helping Hand<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I was alone in the wilds when I found it, hiking deep in the
Red Cuillin beneath iron skies. I rounded a bend and saw him; a crow trapped in
a baited cage. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">He stopped hopping around and looked at me. His eyes
gleaming, knowing, filled with a hideous intelligence. Guttural words sounded
in my mind, harsh, croaking sounds. Instructions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I crouched by the cage, put my hand between the bars. He
gouged at my palm, greedily devouring the oozing blood until I passed out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Now I’m in the cage. A trapped bird, frantically screeching
at the man walking away.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-10047868300638276212014-06-01T12:38:00.001-07:002014-06-01T12:41:14.849-07:00Legends and Lore at Lochmaben Castle: Spooky happenings with Mostly Ghostly<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><u>Legends and Lore at Lochmaben Castle</u></strong></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A raven greets us from his perch atop the ruins of Lochmaben Castle</td></tr>
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On Saturday 17th May, my partner Sarah and I attended the Legends and Lore tour at Lochmaben Castle organised by <a href="http://www.mostlyghostly.org/legends-lore-dgarts-fest/" target="_blank">Mostly Ghostly Investigations</a>, a team of paranormal investigators from Dumfries & Galloway in South West Scotland. It proved to be an incredible evening for many reasons, and caused me to reassess my beliefs in the paranormal.</div>
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We arrived on a cool spring evening to the ruins of Lochmaben Castle, the ancient dwelling of some very illustrious characters from Scotland's often bloody history including Robert the Bruce and James II who took the castle when he defeated the Black Douglas family in 1455. Mary Queen of Scots is also known to have spent at least one night in the castle. Given the history of sieges and bloodshed on the site dating back to the early 1300s, it is perhaps unsurprising that the site is home to a number of local myths and legends, with numerous paranormal experiences reported in and around the ruins.</div>
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There is an immense sense of quiet and tranquillity at the site; once home to the mighty and the regal, but left to crumble gently by the dark waters of the castle loch since the Union of the Crowns in 1603. That is a very long time for any restless spirits that may reside there to mull over their fate, brutal and bloody as it almost certainly was is most cases. And so, more so than at any other historic building I've ever visited, I felt something beneath the tranquillity. I felt a definite sense of sadness; an aura of melancholy that permeated the whole surrounding area. I'm unable to explain this even to myself. Perhaps it struck me as sad that what would once have been a great place of strength has been neglected for centuries, and the feeling merely came from my own subconscious. Perhaps, but I don't think so.</div>
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As we waited with the other guests, a large raven landed on top of a crumbling tower and peered down at us, perhaps wondering why this secluded spot had suddenly been invaded. A moment or so later, our hosts arrived dressed in full gothic regalia to make a very dramatic entrance. They led us to the banks of the loch, where we disturbed a group of drunks who'd obviously spent the day fishing, drinking and smoking mind-altering substances. The look of surprise on the face of one particularly intoxicated drunkard was especially amusing as he awoke from his slumbers to find himself surrounded by a ghost tour. Ignoring the slurred and nonsensical contributions of the three drunks, our hosts continued to regale us with tales from the castles dark history, local legends including a reputed local vampire, and tales of otherworldly sightings in the area.</div>
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Soon, we moved back to the ruins of the castle to attempt to actually contact any spirits that may dwell there using divining rods and crystals. This was a very interesting experiment and something I'd never heard of before. Using my divining rods, I reached out to anyone or anything that might be able to hear me, and established 'yes' and 'no' movements for the rods. To my surprise the rods did actually move, and it did seem some form of communication was established. I proceeded to ask a number of questions, that seemed to confirm that something could hear me, but not see me, and that it would like to live again. Of course, I have no way of knowing whether I did really establish contact with anything; it could have been the breeze moving the rods, or I could even have been subconsciously moving them myself. But, as with the sense of sadness I picked up on, I did genuinely feel like there was a presence of some kind.</div>
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The evening concluded in incredibly dramatic fashion when the whole group gathered in one room in the ruin; a place where many inexplicable things have been seen in the past. We were gathered in a circle and Kathleen (pictured above) spoke out to any spirits present to show a sign that they could here us, and distributed question cards amongst the group for people to ask of any entities that may make their presence known. At this point, a number of people in the group became distressed, with one woman close to tears and one gentleman having spotted what appeared to him to be the figure of a small boy. A lady next to me felt a very strong presence, then a few seconds later I felt a cold shock in my left arm and lower back, causing me to jolt my head round. It felt almost like something was tugging me. The atmosphere began to intimidate me a little at this point, and it was a feeling I've never experienced before and can't explain. Of course, it was getting late by this point, the temperature was lowering and there was a breeze, so it could just have been a burst of wind. But I'm convinced it wasn't. Surely I would have felt a gust of wind in more than just my left arm and lower back, and it was a strong burst of cold energy, far more powerful than a gust of wind.</div>
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We said our goodbyes on what proved to be an incredibly dramatic evening, and as we moved through the deepening gloom away from the castle, I felt very strongly that I would not have stayed there on my own for the night under any circumstances. Gradually the cars pulled away as we made our way home, leaving the castle alone in the dark once again. </div>
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Crumbling. Contemplating. Watching?</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-77025372858603077582014-05-26T08:12:00.000-07:002014-05-26T08:14:18.334-07:00Back from the NorthHello Fright Fiends,<br />
<br />
I'm back from my sojourns north of the border in beautiful Dumfries and Galloway, Scotland, land of my birth, and have my quill in hand ready to assault your senses with more hideous tales of the unspeakable.<br />
<br />
As well as experiencing some incredibly beautiful countryside, wildlife and some sumptuous food and drink, I saw and experienced some rather macabre things whilst there, particularly on a ghost walk with local paranormal investigators Mostly Ghostly <a href="http://www.mostlyghostly.org/">http://www.mostlyghostly.org/</a>.<br />
<br />
More on the ghost walk to follow, but for now, suffice to say it was a remarkable evening.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-25937101616477413512014-04-22T14:20:00.003-07:002014-04-22T14:20:55.090-07:00Trouble at the Mill - New StoryCheck out my latest story to be published on the awesome Popcorn Horror website. If you haven't visited it before, you should check it out. It's full of excellent indie horror content from up and coming film makers, artists and writers, like yours truly!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://popcornhorror.com/trouble-mill/">http://popcornhorror.com/trouble-mill/</a><br />
<br />
This is a longer tale than the flash fiction I've been publishing on this blog lately, and is an exploration of a number of ideas I've been mulling over for some time. Essentially, the industrial past meets the corporate homogenised present with some spectacularly nasty results.<br />
<br />
Enjoy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7452189234182526732.post-18879655757600684192014-04-09T11:16:00.000-07:002014-04-09T11:20:17.804-07:00Tonight's Short Story: A Far Greater Pain<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>A Far Greater Pain</strong></span></div>
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They say there’s no greater pain for a parent than burying your
own child. They’re wrong, of course. Hearing muffled screams from beneath the
earth after the burial is far worse.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Neil was two, mauled to death by our neighbour’s dogs. He died
in my arms while the neighbour smoked weed. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">But I heard him thumping his coffin, crying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was dragged away from the cemetery,
screaming and clawing.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Now I’m home and he’s here with me. Says I left him to die
underground, let him down. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">He demands milk, he suckles me then bites. His teeth are
like needles.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06037276843387326385noreply@blogger.com0