Alice is in deep trouble.

The police have found her covered in blood and surrounded by corpses.  The dazed teenager explains that she had befriended an angel to help her escape her tiny Yorkshire village that is situated over a gate to hell.

Why?  Because the Harvest was coming and the love of her life was up for selection.

The Sulphur Diaries Excerpt:

“There is blood everywhere, on the walls, on the tables; I’m not sure what I just stood in, but it’s slippery.

Johnny! I scream, to be heard over the racket from outside, but there’s no answer and I can’t see him in the dim light. There’s a wet thump against the outer wall, though I daren’t look out of the windows. If I do, I might never be able to look away.

The shrieking outside is like nothing I’ve ever heard, and I freeze. Clenching my hands to stop their trembling, I peer into the gloom. Soft red light from some torches show me nothing but a puppet-show of shadows fighting outside. I recognise some of the locals: Mr Higgins, the Croft twins, their shapes easy to pick out as they struggle against the imps.

There seem to be more of them now. Where are they coming from? I remember calling to Lyle – not even an hour ago, however much it feels like days – but why are these imps attacking, why–”

Read the first three chapters here or buy the novel now.

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Alice ‘Murph’ Murphy	Johnny Hunter	Caroline 'Cazza' Higgins
“I want them down there to understand that we love each other.  They only understand lust and what we have – this is pure.  They don’t see that kind of emotion in this village.  I want them to understand that we’re different.  They’ll be scared of us, scared of our feelings.  It might help keep us safe.”	“Murph, you’re such a numpty.  I loved you when I was seven, when you had pigtails and muddy knees.  When I was ten, and you had that revolting obsession with that sewer demon.   I still kissed you!  Even with that sulphur smell all over you and the sticky oozy stuff…”	“No films or good shows on telly, no parties. Oh, Mr. Mason is having a desecration ritual, it might…” Cazza stops when she sees my face. “Okay, okay, no more rituals this weekend. What ideas have you got, then, Miss Grumpy?”

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If you’ve not visited Five Stop before, I recommend you read some more of the stories on there, it’s got a great selection.

The day before Kage Kazumi comes back from the dead, she focuses more on saving her team than on completing the mission – but if luck stays on her side, she might manage both.

She’s sweating hard, her armour is too heavy, and her arm feels numb from her shoulder to her fingertips. She’s struggling to hold an injured Sarge upright, despite his protests, and her upper limb is almost dead from the weight. Her left hand wavers as she holds her pistol out in front, but she keeps herself moving through sheer force of will.

Fry stalks beside her, a slender shadow holding his sniper rifle to his shoulder, scope scanning the distant shadows for an ambush. It’s barely dawn and they’re all exhausted and covered with wounds. Sarge is the worst, a raxirian pirate managed to cut through his shields into his thigh. Sarge’s automated antibiotics have kicked in, but he’s already running a fever and his breathing sounds harsh over the intercom. They’re low on ammo, and they’re still only partway towards escaping the two kilometre long ravaged ship.

“One minute until complete loss of orbit,” a mechanised voice blares over the ships speakers.

Werewolves are so often the domain of men – despite the idea of monthly cycles (with a few days of ahem beastliness) being much more relevant to women – so I wrote this story with that idea in mind.

With the scent of blood in her nostrils, and the feel of flesh shredding between her claws, Bliss raises her head towards the moon and shouts of her joy–a long rippling howl ululating between the tall buildings. The pregnant moon pulls at the darkness in her, her anguished cries the only form of worship she knows.

Dropping her muzzle, she sniffs at the cooling bodies lying at her feet, long tongue lapping at the blood pooling beneath them. A mere sip of their life to keep in her perfect memory, nothing more. She has no need to feed on these pathetic creatures, the only urge is to run and chase and catch. Each kill attains her shuddering release.

It’s almost too easy for her; humans move as if dipped in treacle and they have no idea that she’s there. A slender, golden shadow, not much larger than an Alsatian, she challenges herself by only killing bad men. Scoundrels. She’s sure of it, the darkness within them, as they die.

One night, a couple of months ago, she’d not found anyone and she’d spent the night screaming her frustration to the moon. It had been physically painful not to kill the first person she’d seen as the moon pulled at her blood like the tides, but she’d managed to hold the beast back.

Her control is all that keeps her sane.

Read Cage the Beast here – in the Summer edition of Golden Visions Magazine.

My short story ‘Acceptable Suitors‘ is available to read at Romance Flash. I’m pleased to have another story published with them, and I’m honoured that it’s for their one year anniversary, too!

My first story accepted for publication was ‘The Many Deaths of Johnny Silver’, back in November 2009. Originally due to be published as a print magazine, the publication, Sideshow Fables, went through a number of changes before issue 3 was released over the Easter 2011 weekend. I’m thrilled that they’ve released the issue (and I’d recommend reading the other stories – they’re excellent) and that there’s a kindle version coming soon.

Annie Tong (The Tong Sisters 1940-1960): Johnny Silver?  Now there was a man.  Everyone loved Johnny.  Well, ‘cept that clown who killed him, of course.

Claude Wolfe (Wolfman Stunts 1966-present): The way I heard it, Terry, the old elephant keeper, he told me that they found Johnny strung up in the Top, hanging from the trapeze like Jesus on the cross.  Arms spread, head hanging low, he’d been done in.

Chappie Quick (Quick Trapeze 1942-1968): Both our families have worked the Bear Family Circus for generations, so me and Johnny grew up together.  Even as a kid, he was the centre of attention, the biggest, the smartest, the most handsome.  All the girls loved him.  He was born to be under the big top.  When he started in the ring, well, that when the gadjes truly fell in love with him.

Gadjes?  Oh you know, people from outside, the customers.  You.

‘Read The Many Deaths of Johnny Silver’ here.

Our Fathers Eyes

Fluffed up blonde hair, baby blue eyes and lips red like the cherry she still has, Britney’s working that street corner as if she’s been doing it for years. Fifteen going on twenty, she has the pimps wrapped around her finger so we can stake out this spot no trouble. My best friend since infant school, she’s always been the leader, she doesn’t feel the fear that crawls in my gut. She sticks out a skinny hip and wiggles at a lone car as it cruises past, swinging her bulky shoulder bag like a flag.

The streetlight flickers, illuminating the broken down houses, the street littered with rubbish. Peeling posters decorate the brick walls, photos of missing children with lank hair and dead eyes – a black triangle symbol sprayed over them, a red five inside the shape.

Another car crawls past, slithering like a slug, the driver not liking what we’re selling. Rainbow neon disguises the colour, but not the age. Rust drips, a geriatric skin disease. Everything here is old, except us.

Britney turns her back, heading to the woman standing further round the corner. Mercedes reminds me of my doll, Pointy-Tits Barbie, I used to call her. Until I met Mer, I never believed a woman could have boobs that shape. It’s all I can do to keep my gaze on her face.

“Bum a smoke, Mercedes?” Britney holds up her hand and flicks it like a trigger. Sparks fly into the sky. “I can light it myself.”

The whole story is available at Silverthought.

‘Communication’ is now live to read over at ‘Romance Flash‘ – it’s a quick read but I hope you enjoy it.

Communication

The rain pounds against the pavement as I stride towards the office, my blouse soaked almost see-through and high-heels sticking in the cracks of the pavement. Keeping my head down, I dance between cars fighting to move. My goal – the office door – is in sight, when a black wall steps in front of me.
“Hello.”
I look up, my hand shielding my face from the rain. Tall, blue eyes and a scruffy blond mane; Chris – my lead programmer and, in my opinion, the cutest guy in the office. He’s tilting his umbrella towards me with one eyebrow raised. I mentally inventory myself; bedraggled hair, running mascara and peep-show shirt. Damn.

Letters From The Dead – Amazon.co.uk

Letters From The Dead – Amazon.com