Thursday, 21 January 2010

Pretty Pinholes

My latest contribution to Thrillers Killers n Chillers has just been published; thank you Col and Matt.

It's called Pretty Pinholes. Read it here.

Hope you like it...


The factory floor was cold beneath her naked back. Hard on the shoulder blades, crusty against her splayed buttocks.

The only light - a breath of radiance shooting through a distant keyhole - spangled across the thousand pin heads that pierced her trembling flesh. A bed of nails, she was. Only more so.
Crouching, near-naked himself except for the daggers, he took to his feet. Nothing could threaten the verve that prickled his skin, full as it was, with exaltation.

A Taste of Magenta

Take Me Down, Sir

by Lily Childs (c)
'Crow' artwork by Laurence Ranger (c)

The searchlight from Tom Shaman’s soul bled pale amongst the treetops.

‘C’mon old man’ he whispered. ‘Help me out. Just one more time.’

The crow found him first. Its blue-black feathers flurried in the twilit sky like the tattered jacket of a jaded Morris dancer. It landed gracefully beneath a guardian oak where Tom lay reclined in half-meditation; half-naked, fully despondent. Troubled by the shaman’s weary demeanour the crow danced around the man’s feet, eyeing him through dark beads.

‘What ails you, friend?’

‘She’s gone. I’ve lost her.’ Tom shook his head, distraught. ‘Take me into the darkness, Crow. I’m begging you.’

The bird hopped onto Tom’s shoulder, claws piercing bare skin.

‘You’re not ready. You don’t have enough experience. This could destroy you.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Without her I’m nothing. Please, take me down.’

The crow stabbed at an errant feather with its silver beak.

‘Prepare then, Tom Shaman. This may be your final journey.’

Fluttering up to stand upon Tom’s shaven head, the crow wrapped its wings of midnight around the man’s face. Cautiously, it laid its chin on Tom’s forehead. They both heard the dark side calling. And were gone.

They travelled deep, deeper into the place of deity, of creatures unseen, of life forms unknown. They came to rest.

‘Where’s my wife?’ Tom cried out loud, breaking the rules. He hung his head, sobbing, expecting nothing.


Tom squinted into the void.

The body of Magenta Shaman drifted into view. Small and still. And quite dead.

This is a little taster from my Magenta Shaman stories, which are coming on strong at the moment.

The above was my entry into Jason Evans' Clarity of Night comp. It didn't get shortlised but had some great comments.

Well done though to Lee Hughes whose amazing 'The Mending of the Broken' came third in the Readers' Choice Award plus some Honourable Mentions - very well deserved.
Lily Childs is a writer of horror, esoteric, mystery and chilling fiction.

If you see her dancing outside in a thunder storm - don't try to bring her in. She's safe.