CABARET OF DREAD - News and Book Cover

I've been gathering all my short horror stories, from the less-than-drabble to the big fat five-thousand-worders. Some have appeared online, others only in print, still more have never seen the light of day. The result is that I have enough pieces for two volumes of deepest, darkest tales to terrify the blood from your veins.

The books will be called CABARET OF DREAD. Volume 1 is in production at the moment and will be available as an eBook for Kindle in March.

I thought you might like a glimpse at the book's cover, and to read a short excerpt from one of the stories...

In Adoration - an Excerpt [If you're easily offended - you shouldn't be here.]

Reuben slips a withered hand into a side pocket of his sensible jacket and rummages – an old man seeking a buttermint. He squeezes hard. Thick red liquid oozes through the grey cloth in blooms. He brings a bag out of his pocket and thrusts it towards a straggling child.

“Want a cherry?”

Reuben delights in the girl’s scream as she runs away to catch up with oblivious parents. By the time she reaches them, she won’t remember the scary man with blood on his teeth.

The suit hangs off the body he is wearing; cheap fabric, and designed for a younger, oh so much younger man that Reuben had pleasured to death in some other town along the coast. He snorts at the memory, his expression turning to derision as he shuffles within the octogenarian skin he has adopted for the day. It itches. He scratches at his face, watching the flakes fall into his lap, already dead.

***

“I’ve been waiting for you Reuben.”

‘Reuben’ sheds his clothes and the outer flesh of that day’s victim. He stands before the Holy Father. His peeled skin is the dark blue of game that has hung in a butcher’s back-room for a month. As he reaches the pulpit the spikes and jewels that habitually decorate his body burst forth once more, taking their place upon the landscape of his living corpse. He lunges.

“You don’t frighten me,” the priest smiles.

Reuben isn’t the demon’s true name. He has hundreds of names, and none, but the good Father needs something to remember him by. Face to face they stare each other out, nose to nose, rancid breath mingling between them in the sacred air. The building shifts. It skews. Pews crack with the weight of the confrontation. The knee-cushions unravel, disintegrating the biblical quotes so neatly strewn across their tapestry. Father Judas throws himself to the cold ground as stained glass shatters and sprays the holy structure with killing shards.

The demon pulls the man of God into his embrace. His split black tongue sucks that of his master. Their cocks fight each other for attention before they fall into each other, plunging back and forth. They fuck. They spill. They die a thousand deaths....

Much more to come...

Your thoughts are very welcome, nay - invited. Thank you.