I love to write. I’ve written children’s novels, books for young adults, loads of horror and quirky stories which have found homes in magazines and on websites in the UK and in the States. I’ve written romance novels and even some erotica.
Generations of Love
Samantha Dury listened to the creak of the stairs as her daughter, Olivia, crept down to the hallway. She was sneaking out to meet her boyfriend, Jack. It was raining hard, but obviously not hard enough to stop Olivia’s deceptive little mission. That was the bit that upset Samantha, the fact that her 14-year-old daughter had lied to her. She’d promised not to see Jack until his parents backed down and gave the relationship their approval, but here she was slipping through the front door and skulking down the front drive on her way to meet her first love outside the school gates. Jack went to an all-boys school – part of his parents’ ‘no girlfriends regime’ – and was generally picked up every evening by either his blustering father or cold, tetchy mother. Tonight, Tuesday, was football practice night, and the one evening his parents both attended literary appreciation classes. This gave Olivia and Jack a precious hour in each others company.
Films Where Horror is Heard But Not Seen
Sometimes you just want to see the monster. Imagine King Kong with no actual Kong sighting, just the suggestion that a giant ape was causing chaos and destruction, a shadow sweeping past the top of the Empire State building, an angry roar from a creature just off-camera. No thanks. Show us the ape!
The Invisible Boy
It didn’t take Jason long to figure out he’d turned invisible overnight. When his mother walked through his bedroom that morning to open the window – as she did every morning, just to let him know he stank now that he was a teenager – she didn’t even look at him. She did look in his direction once, but her gaze went right through him, as if she was admiring the poster of Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas on the wall behind the bed. He even said ‘morning, mum,’ as she walked back across the room, which he never did. And she just kept going through the door, which she didn’t bother to close - it’s not like an invisible boy needs privacy to get dressed.
Mike was stoned the night he saw the spaceship. Dave was there too, but he was unconscious, lying in the grass on top of Primrose Hill, smouldering spliff hanging from the corner of his mouth like a mini exhaust pipe.
The pigeons are courting outside the living-room window. It is a black, sickening sound. The worst sound to wake up to. Before I open my eyes, I see the male’s bloated, dirty body, head held up so proud. I have bought rat poison to kill them. I’m intending to mix it with some bread and other tasty tidbits and leave it on the ledge outside my bedroom window. I hope they won’t die there. I don’t fancy finding stiff, maggot-invested pigeons when I open the window to a new day.
“What happened to people feeding the pigeons at Trafalgar Square?” asked John, settling on the sofa with a fresh glass of wine.
Harris hated trendy bars, particularly expensive trendy bars. He’d pleaded with Annette to meet him somewhere else, but she’d insisted on this particular venue. He’d also begged her not to be late, leaving him on his own feeling utterly conspicuous and spending a fortune on gin and tonics to hide his nerves.
Looking Back at The Blair Witch Project
It’s hard to believe in this social media and internet savvy age, that 21 years ago two young filmmakers were able to convince moviegoers that The Blair Witch Project was a genuine documentary. But that was the premise of the online marketing campaign that had punters clamouring to see this independent horror film, made for around $60,000 dollars and going on to generate some $250m worldwide.