Four things have come available to download all within short space of each other. There is the short story The Half School, which I posted earlier on this site, there is the long short story The Gauntlet of Gore, another short story called The Gremlins, and a collection of paranoid horror called Faces in the Dark, which includes The Gremlins.
I’ll focus on Faces in the Dark for this post, and make separate posts in the near future for The Gremlins and The Gauntlet of Gore, and give you something to read of them.
Faces in the Dark primarily features the novella and hallucinogenic road horror The Violet Dark, of which there are a number of consecutive parts to read already up on my site. It also includes all of my ‘paranoid horror’ short stories: The Watcher, Keep it Clean, Anamia, The Gremlins and Dead Streets.
You can find it on Amazon.
Here are the blurbs for each of them, see if I can arouse your interest…
The Violet Dark
When you leave the paths of light, you fall and you fall forever.
A man finds a woman crouched over the body of her murdered father. The man is hallucinating on a liquid drug called violet, and offers it as a promise of escape. The woman, numb with shock and grief, takes it and soon finds herself in a ‘beautiful nightmare’, the shadowy world of the violet dark. They ride the endless roads on motorbikes, lost in the drug and almost lost to reality…
Terrible, grotesque things are hunting them. If only she could convince herself that the danger was all in her head…
The air is black, and I do not sleep. The hours tick by. I do not sleep because someone is watching me.
Keep it Clean
Have you ever been swallowed by a public toilet?
No? This man was.
A scatological horror so odious you’ll be showering non-stop for days.
Assorted entries from the Anamia Diary, found among possessions.
Care is advised before reading, especially for those who have or have had an eating disorder.
All around the world, things go missing. Some of the time they inexplicably reappear, hours later, after the whole house has been turned upside down. Then, there they are, in a place you had checked four times over, looking smug.
Some of the time they don’t come back. You know, you know for absolute fact that the item could not have left the house, perhaps not even left the room where you last saw it, maybe only a few minutes ago. Keys, a TV remote, a pair of glasses, a bookmark. They have nowhere to go to, no means of escape, and yet gone they are.
This is not a story about the things that go missing.
This is a story about what takes them.
It was between Hallowe’en and the advent of Christmas, that half-haunted and melancholic time of year when spirits and ghasts one by one went to their slumber in the hidden places. I had spent the night drinking and smoking with a friend, and now in the small hours I set off on the pale roads to home.