Posts Tagged ‘fiction’

Tempo

Posted: January 13, 2016 in Published fiction
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I’ve now published another new book! My new novel is called Tempo and is available on Amazon UK, Amazon.com and so on and so forth.

A race against time, couple on the run, conspiracy thriller with more than a dash of sci-fi/fantasy in its DNA, it’s a story that proves time flies when you’re on the run. It’s available for an absolute steal at £1.35/$1.99 so why not check it out, remember you don’t even need a Kindle to read it, just the free Kindle viewer app. Below are the cover and blurb.

 

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“On the Greek island of Zakynthos a sexual predator believes his abilities afford him the perfect opportunity for abuse, until a mysterious stranger arrives to prove him wrong…

In a filthy flat in Geneva a man who should be barely thirty years old lies dying of old age…

And in London, a young artist on the verge of fame little realises that her otherworldly paintings have marked her out for death, and the only person who can save her is one of the men sent to kill her…”

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Safe House

Posted: March 13, 2015 in Published fiction
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I’ve now published a new book! My novel Safe House is now available on Amazon UK, Amazon.com, in fact all the Amazons!

A story of spies and ghosts, or as I like to say Spooks vs Spooks, it’s available for the extremely bargainous price of £1.29/$1.95 so why not check it out, remember you don’t even need a Kindle to read it, just the free Kindle viewer app. Below are the cover and blurb. I’ll keep you up to date with sales figures 🙂

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John Tyrell was once a top MI5 agent, but illness has left him a broken man. Called out of retirement to aid in the debriefing of a defector, he reluctantly joins the enigmatic Chalice Knight and her team at White Wolf House.

It seems the perfect location; comfortable, remote, secure…but it’s a house built on blood-soaked ground, a place that reacts to traitors and murderers; and Chalice’s group contains both.

For them this house is anything but safe…

Use Enough Gun

Posted: August 11, 2013 in Published fiction
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I’ve recently had a story published in the anthology Use Enough Gun, which is available to buy in both paperback and Kindle format from Amazon via the following link.

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Monster hunting tales are as old as mankind, and the popular Legends of the Monster Hunter series has offered some of the best monster hunting tales ever told! Use Enough Gun is the third in this series and brings an exciting edge to the collection by exploring what happens when monster hunting goes wrong! Stalk vampires, werewolves and other creatures of legend…but do not expect the hunter to always triumph. Sometimes they miss their target, and sometimes their target gets them!

Featuring “Weapon of Choice” by Paul Starkey

Temp Agency

Posted: February 26, 2013 in Free fiction
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Here’s another little story of mine from a couple of years ago, which is still available (along with many other fine tales) on the 365Tomorrows website.
* * *

The ad said; “I’m rich, you can be too! Call to find out how!”

Frankly it was the sort of ad you see in the papers every week, and you always laugh at the idiots who reply. At least I used to, but the recession was pinching, and my redundancy pay was running out. I was desperate.

The interview was laughable. Just a bland guy called Tony asking me inane questions in a hotel room, followed by him waving what looked like a calculator in my face.

‘Congratulations,’ he said afterwards. ‘You’re hired.’

‘Yeah but hired for what?’ I asked, suspicious that I was about to be asked to strip.

‘Why to time travel of course.’

Desperate or not, this was the point when I stood up, flipped him the finger, and headed for the exit. Before I could reach for the doorknob however, it vanished…along with the door. Suddenly I was facing a counter, an old cash register welded to it by rust; empty shelves lined the back wall, cobwebs everywhere.
Turning I discovered I was in an abandoned shop. The windows had been badly boarded up- and sunlight streamed in through myriad gaps.

I wasn’t alone. ‘Welcome to 1978,’ said Tony.

I was in shock, stumbling to the nearest gap in the boards, weaving my way like a drunkard (Chronosickness Tony calls it). Peering out I saw a busy high street. Only the people were dressed in out of date fashions, and the cars looked ancient yet brand new at the same time. Sweet Jesus this was the past…
A moment later and I was back in the hotel room, back in the now. ‘So,’ said Tony. ‘Want to be rich?’

I nodded like an idiot and he explained how it worked…

Firstly Tony is from the far future. He won’t tell me exactly when but whenever it is, it’s dull, and he seems a lot more at home in 2009 (apparently THE year to be seen in). To live here however, he needs money. Now I know what you’re thinking; time machine/lottery numbers/horseracing etc …doesn’t work. Time is a bitch, a cantankerous bitch at that. She won’t let you profit from future knowledge. Winning lottery numbers fail if you bring them back, horses fall…

After trial and error though, Tony discovered that time has nothing against hard labour, and nothing against putting your earnings in a high interest account then drawing the proceeds out in the future. However it only works with money earned in the past (trust a woman to be that fickle).

So Tony hops back, gets a job as a labourer for a week or two, banks his wages and skips forward to live off the interest.

He got rich, but he also got greedy, and he quickly figured out that he could only earn a finite amount alone. If he had help however…

So now I have a new job. I’ve been a street sweeper in 1970, a navvy laying railway lines in 1925, heck I even helped build the Titanic. I never have to work more than a week, then I return to the instant after I left to discover I’m a wealthy man.

Of course Tony takes half, but so what… I’ve worked just a month in the last year, and earned well over a hundred thousand.

Gotta go anyway, Tony has a new job for me in 1815. Only pays a shilling, but with that much interest I’ll be wealthy enough to take a year off. I’m meeting him at Waterloo. I’m assuming he means the railway station…

I’ve just published a small anthology via Amazon/Kindle which can be purchased via the below link for a very reasonable price…

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Devils-Amber-Street-ebook/dp/B00AY55WY0/ref=sr_1_13?ie=UTF8&qid=1357679042&sr=8-13#_

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When a young couple buy their first home they expect to have to do a bit of DIY, they don’t expect fiery demons in their spare room…

The Devils of Amber Street is a novella that defies expectations. Also included within this book are the following short stories

The Bonaventure Jane: In Elizabethan England self-styled detector of innocence George Tellant strives to clear a young man charged with murder…

Megg: On another Earth, in another time, a kingdom is threatened by dark forces, and a young girl seeks help from a mysterious old sorceress known only as Megg…

The Wolf: In 14th Century England wolves were a constant danger, but as two brothers go out one morning to hunt a particular white wolf, there may be something even more dangerous abroad…

 

 

Christmas with the family

Posted: December 25, 2012 in Free fiction
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Here’s a new short story, written especially. Wishing everyone a ghoulish Christmas 🙂

* * *

Once upon a time there was a woman named Grace. She lived in a remote area of Scotland, in a house that was far too big for her, a family home though she no longer had a family.

Despite being almost sixty, she was a strong, sprightly woman, and as she did each Christmas Eve, she tidied and arranged the house, hung decorations and placed a dusty old angel atop the tree; preparing everything for the return of her family on Christmas morn.

Some might have seen this as a somewhat redundant task, for Grace’s two children had been taken from her when they were mere bairns, and her husband had left her shortly afterwards, when he realised that she would never be able to let their children go.

Grace of course realised that Christmas, more than any other time of the year, was a time of miracles, of hope, And, most importantly, a time of family. And so each year she followed the same routine, made everything ready for the return of her loved ones, set the table with the kind of precision only a woman who’d been a matron for many years could muster, and then she went to bed early, though like many during the hours when Christmas Eve becomes Christmas Day, she did not sleep, so excited was she at the prospect of her family finally returning to her.

The snow had yet to fall this winter, but it was still a cold and blustery night, and her house was old and ramshackle. She shivered beneath many blankets, and tried not to hold her breath each time there came the creak of a floorboard, or the groan of a window frame from somewhere deep within the house.

Eventually, despite her excitement, despite the howling gale that swirled around her house as if God himself were trying to sweep her home away, she slept. And whilst she slept, she dreamed, of little Michael, and bonny Miranda, and of her husband, Brian, of the twinkle in his eye. When she awoke she awoke with a smile.

There was, of course, no stocking hung from the end of her bed filled with treats, the kind of stocking she’d got as a child, the kind she and Brian had snuck into the bairns’ rooms many a time to hang upon their bedposts. She did not take this as a bad omen, did not lose her hope. She dressed quickly, yet smartly, pinning her long white hair up with care as if she were still planning to conceal it beneath a nurse’s cap.

She crept slowly downstairs, her hand trembling against the worn wooden bannister. She could hear nothing from below, no voices, no carols echoing from the old television in the sitting room. There was no laughter as children opened their presents.

Still she did not despair, did not turn her back on the possibility that this year, this year the miracle would finally happen.

The door to the kitchen was firmly closed. She lifted the latch and, taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Bright December light streamed in through the windows, so the table was illuminated fully, and so were the members of her family seated around it.

Grace released her breath with an exhale that became a girlish, yet nervous, giggle. Like a wee child she skipped towards the table, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her son as she passed, wary of somehow spoiling the enchantment.

She took her seat at one end of the table. At the other end sat her husband, there was no twinkle in his eye yet, but she knew that would come. To her left sat Michael, her strong wee boy, and to her right was her most precious angel, Miranda. Her children looked at her, their expressions frozen in place as if they too feared that to speak, to acknowledge each other’s presence, might shatter the magic of Christmas morning.

In the end though, excitement, pure unbridled joy, meant Grace couldn’t wait any longer. “Merry Christmas!” she cried, tears of happiness wetting her old weathered cheeks like mountain streams coursing down the ancient, craggy mountains that surrounded her home.

None of her family responded. None of them moved. Not her husband, not her son, not even her wee angel. The three corpses sat rigidly, held in place by petrification and time. For a few seconds more, Grace continued to believe that they might still return to life, but then her tears of joy turned bitter.

She left the table and went into the sitting room. She did not turn the TV on; she didn’t even turn on the lights. She merely sat in her old armchair and wept. She wept for a long time, she wept most of the day until, just before dusk, she gently carried the bodies of her family back to their resting place in the cold, arid cellar.

After the last journey she paused at the top of the cellar stairs for a moment. Looking down at the three bodies sat in a circle on the dry stone floor she smiled sadly to herself, then turned the light out and closed the door.

Maybe next Christmas…