The Demonologia Biblica. OUT NOW!

Time to tell it like it is - HORROR - where you want it, how you want it.

I am delighted, nay - delirious to announce the release of the long awaited anthology THE DEMONOLOGIA BIBLICA (TRES LIBRORUM PROHIBITORUM) from Western Legends, edited by Dean M Drinkel.

Dead proud for my nasty tale THE TWISTWEAVER'S SON, featuring ravenous demon the 'Kilcrops' to be appearing alongside stories from the likes of British Fantasy Society authors Mark West, Barbie Wilde, Simon Kurt Unsworth, William Meikle, Jan Edwards, John Palisano, Adrian Chamberlin, Raven Dane and more.

Buy THE DEMONOLOGIA BIBLICA in paperback from:

• Amazon.co.uk
• Amazon.com and all other Amazon platforms

Download THE DEMONOLOGIA BIBLICA to your Kindle from:

• Amazon.co.uk
• Amazon.com and all other Amazon platforms

Do help spread the word, These demons are in need of a good home.

______________________________________

Skin Seeker Goes Pulp

Last year, Pulp Metal Magazine editor Jason Michel threw me an invitation I found hard to resist. He was playing with the idea of a ladies-only issue of his gritty online magazine, and would I like to contribute.

At the end of January, with an introduction by Kate Laity, Pulp Metal's 'Deadlier Than the Male' issue went live, featuring a great mix of stories by Feardom friends AJ Humpage, Jodi MacArthur, Carrie Clevenger and Absolutely*Kate as well as Pamila Payne, Katy O'Dowd, Julia Madeleine, Mav Skye and Aleathia Drehmer. Oh, and me.

SKIN SEEKER

You can read Skin Seeker, my nasty tale of demons, victims and retribution at Pulp Metal now. It's vicious, sweary and not for the faint-hearted. That's the warnings over. Here's a taster...

***

“Shit.”

She was smiling back at him, no tape over the mouth, arms still shackled to the seat. Romeo’s dick shrivelled to a worm as he tried to take in what he was seeing. The woman’s head had rotated on her neck in a spiral of twisted skin.

Still chasing eighty Romeo turned in his seat to stare. The car was empty save for him and an ammonia stench. He wrenched his sticky hand from his jeans, attempting to wipe it clean and not have a heart attack. Where the fuck had she gone? The locks were on – no way had she jumped. The next exit was still another fifteen miles north but he had to get off the road. Right here. Right now.

Outside, a cold mist began to rise. Romeo slowed his speed, suddenly sober; his breath juddered in his chest. The Chevy pitched past him, straight into the fog. Romeo raised a fist but the words stayed tight in his mouth. He felt across to the passenger seat for the bottle of Jack. Instead he found flesh.

*** and later***

“Ya see this, Bigs? They think they caught the fucker that killed your sister.”

Charlie ‘Bigs’ Chivas snatched the newspaper from his colleague’s hands.

“Who is it? Where’s his fuckin’ face?”

Charlie scanned the words then realised the bastard was already dead. They’d got him on DNA and teeth. His sister Lara had been bitten where no human being should – it was the worst of indignity and the Chivas family had only been relieved that the murderer had eaten part of his victim after killing her. Frustration knotted in Bigs’s gut. Romeo Carnalli had been scalped, skinned and thrown to the elements before his corpse was picked up. But a vague promise of post-mortem revenge sparked his soul into action. Someone did this to the spineless little shit; somebody knew. And Bigs intended to find out who...

Find out who the victim was, and whether Charlie got closure in Skin Seeker

________________________________

Demonologia Biblica - K is for Kilcrops

2013 has only just begun and I have news!

Back in August 2012 I was approached by Dean M Drinkel, editor and author (and award-winning screenwriter and director, blimey!) to ask if I'd be interested in contributing to an exciting anthology "about demons" for new publisher, Western Legends.

I um'd and ahh'd then bit his hand off and said "yes please", all very polite-like.

The remit was to write a story of around 5000 words to a given letter of the alphabet relating to demons, which would form The Demonologia Biblica. The cover would come from extraordinary artist James Powell. How could I possibly resist?

K is for Kilcrops

I was allocated the letter K, and despite a thorough trawl through the Malleus Maleficarum, Crowley tomes and a whole library of dark material I've accumulated over the years only one name really caught my attention. A Kilcrops, put simply - the offspring of an incubus and a mortal woman that roams, ravenous - ever suckling, ever hungry.

My tale, The Twistweaver's Son is the story of two Victorian sisters separated by the sea, by lust and by obsession.

In the depths of a French forest roams Le Chênard – Oak Man, or Twistweaver – an entity  that seeks out human souls, ever creeping, ever entwining itself into the fronds of mortal minds. And in the village of Noirchapel waits the Twistweaver's English lover Carolyn, nurturing a son like no other, Jacques - and Jacques is desperate to feed.

Contributors

I am so proud to be amongst the contributors to this exceptional anthology, which includes authors I greatly admire such as Mark West, Simon Kurt Unsworth, Barbie Wilde, Dave Jeffery, Jan Edwards, Adrian Chamberlin, Raven Dane, William Meikle, John Palisano... I cannot wait to read all the stories from these hugely talented writers.

Coming soon to Amazon...

SHELF LIFE

This 200-word flash fiction piece was runner-up in the 'One Word Challenge' on the UK's Writing Magazine online forum Talkback.

SHELF LIFE  by Lily Childs

She kept it in a jar.

Every day, Cecile held her breath and snuck into the larder whilst Madame Severin took a nap. The thing was safely hidden behind three rows of Duck Confit, indeed it resembled the meat that wallowed in pale yellow fat, barely distinguishable.

Cecile stopped to wipe the condensation away, as had become tradition. The warmth beneath her fingers grew as she stroked, and she smiled.

“Not long now, little one.”

The jar juddered on the shelf causing a minor kilner cacophony.

“Sshhh.” Cecile leant in and patted the container’s lid. “Don’t let Cook hear you, or she’ll serve you up for supper.”

The jar’s contents shrunk away from the sides. Its flesh quivered, bones poked at the glass in accusation. Cecile stared at the ceiling as the bare bulb flickered and sparked.

“Don’t!”

Her call came too late. The pantry disappeared, drowned in darkness. Cecile ran for the door. Glass smashed and metal erupted all around her. She slipped in a mess of preserved meat and vegetables, her knees slamming onto hard quarry tiles.

Tentacles tore at Cecile’s throat.

Madame Severin arrived. She cursed, scooped up her child, and left Madamoiselle Cecile to flounder in fat.

_____________________________

STARING AT THE PINK - Cabaret of Dread stories revealed

Every Saturday I’m revealing the tale behind the tale of Cabaret of Dread Vol.1’s main stories, together with a short excerpt of each to whet your appetite.

STARING AT THE PINK

The final 'previously unpublished' story of the collection.

One death; two souls departed. How many versions of ourselves are housed in this thing we call a body? What happens if they are released before the corporeal shell has finished with them? Perhaps I should have called this "Giving Up The Ghost". Perhaps not.

I wrote Staring At The Pink for a Daily Telegraph competition but it got nowhere, neither did the other two magazines I sent it to want to publish it. Well, I like it - and that's why I've included it in Volume 1 of Cabaret of Dread so that it has somewhere to rest - amongst friends.

So – what’s Staring At The Pink about?

A young woman dealing with the agony of watching her grandmother die slowly in a hospital bed is shocked to see not one spirit depart, but a second, dark mirror image of her lovely Pink Grandma. Fighting off a spectral assault, the narrator escapes with her own soul still intact. But years later, as she is about to give birth to her own child the grandmothers return - and they're not alone.

Inspiration

Sadly, this story is inspired by a friend whose grandfather was seriously ill, but no matter how sick he became - he wouldn't give up. A medium, who didn't know anything about my friend, told her that part of him had already left and was waiting on the other side for the two parts to become one again.

It struck me that this was a dangerous situation that potentially happens a lot. What would happen if the two parts became permanently split - and which parts of one's personality would sit with which broken soul? The thought still chills me.

Excerpt

Her hand rests over my heart, forcing me to study the transparent fingers. I question everything; how can this possibly be? Yesterday she was here, solid and alive in a hospital bed. Today – she’s alive – solid and just about living in a hospital bed. But she’s changed. Last night, she died.

I saw it all. Moments after the green line ran straight and my grandmother began her journey towards the mythical light the doctors snatched her back; breaking the laws of death. I cried at first with fear and premeditated grief, and then again with a relief full of guilt for my selfishness. I didn’t want her to leave. I needed her. I wallowed in my own self-pity - until I saw what they’d done, the damage their interference had caused and I knew without understanding why or how, that from one perfect grandmother another - her dark side, her nemesis, was torn.

Do we spit out our demons as filth when we pass over, purifying ourselves on the way to an unknown place of rest? In the natural process does that shadow-self quickly dissipate and die? I don’t have the answer because I am not so spiritually minded to have considered it before now. But sitting here, staring at the pair of them – both revived, both breathing – I believe we should leave well alone, and that we are wrong to play God.

Pink Grandma rests beneath the sheets whispering laboured breaths into a clinical pillow. It’s the Pale Grandma that sits beside her who leans forward to stroke my chest.

“I’ll have it,” Pale Grandma says in a voice I struggle to recognise. Her bony claws grasp at my small breast, and I feel her ice in my soul. I do nothing, not out of fear but from teeth-gritting anger.

Pale Grandma has black eyes, not the wistful blue of Pink Grandma’s. They stare at me, those vaulted chasms, expecting me to give in. I return her gaze - defiant. I shake my head.

“No.”

She roars frustration back at me with foetid breath. And is gone.

Pink Grandma - Nana - stirs from her slumber, unaware of the nocturnal separation. She smiles without seeing, squeezes my hand without knowing I’ve clutched it back. I move to embrace her, lingering a while, careful not to damage her frail frame.  When at last she sighs I know it is the end and I hug her closer. Pink Nana dies, for the second time, in the safety of my arms.

***

We planned to call our daughter Rosa...

*************

Like the excerpt? The full tale is waiting for you in Cabaret of Dread! By visiting the book's 'Look Inside' feature on Amazon you can also read the opening tale DRESSING-UP BOX, a few pages of SMILING CYRUS and a handful of mini-tales.

Of course, the best way to read this - and the many other stories in Vol.1 of Cabaret of Dread, is to download it. If you do, I am ever thankful...

Buy/Download Cabaret of Dread from

Amazon.co.uk | Amazon.com

THE TROUBLE WITH MAGICK...

...is knowing which side you're on.

One of my demonlings had her say last night with this teeny tiny flash:

SCRY BABY

He has no eyes, the man staring down at me from the red, red walls. Yet his empty gaze burns my flesh. I pluck a petal from my skins – a gift. It drips with a watery honey, sweet and floral.

“Offer yourself to me.”

His is a voice from beyond. Its owner believes in magick, and it’s true he is adept at reaching our realms. I let him flounder; his words of power gain strength, drawing me towards his throbbing throat.

Quickly, I slip my nectar into his mouth. Magician or not, he will forever speak in tongues. 

IN ADORATION - Cabaret of Dread stories revealed

Artwork (c) Laurence Ranger

Every Saturday I’m revealing the tale behind the tale of Cabaret of Dread Vol.1’s main stories, together with a short excerpt of each to whet your appetite.

IN ADORATION

In Adoration is yet another unpublished story. Not for want of trying. No-one accepted it; no-one explained why they didn't want it. Sod it - I love this diabolic tale. So please take it anyway by downloading Cabaret of Dread for a pittance.

So – what’s In Adoration about? 

Demons. Deities. Sex and horror. Pure and simple.

Mr Fucker is today's pseudonym of aged demon, Reuben. Reuben is bored. Reuben steals souls and has had just about enough of Seabourne's twee congregation.

Father Judas takes the demon under his twitching cassock and together they bring bloody rebirth to England's green and pleasant land.

Inspiration

I'd be a liar if I told you I remembered what inspired me to write In Adoration. What I do recall is regularly seeing a tall, creepy character leaving one of our seaside churches and lurching up towards the seafront, belching and seeming to fondle himself on the way. Dirty old bugger.

I am a very spiritual person who was expelled from Sunday School aged eight for asking "inappropriate" questions about the Gods other peoples and tribes worshipped. I have too much to say about this for this particular post but hell, demons, deities and even the devil - there are a thousand explanations - and none is right or wrong.

Excerpt

*Warning: offensive content - it is 'horror' after all.

“Excuse me sir. Are you alright?”

The voice breaks his reverie. He is not amused.

“I need to get to church,” he grunts. The couple bent over him regard one another, smug in their faith in the Lord.

“Of course.”

He watches the woman in her expensive print dress and pink safari jacket. Orgasm plays between her legs in satisfaction at being such a good Samaritan.

“We’re off to late Mass,” she says. “‘Would you like to come with us?”

Reuben squirms within the new flesh that moulds itself across his skull; it tightens around his throat. Believing the poor man is choking to death, the pristine couple help him to his feet, just about tolerating the stench of his soiled underwear.

“Our car is right here. Wait, let me…”

The man places a plastic-backed picnic blanket on the rear seat before strapping the old man in. Reuben spends the journey breaking wind. His hosts open all the windows and still they grin their evangelist smiles, clapping their hands at the Jesus music that speaks to them through the stereo. Frustrated with the overbearing pleasantness Reuben takes the time to vomit down his borrowed suit at regular intervals along the journey. Sirens continue to wail in the distance, disturbing his benefactors.

 “Oh dear,” Mrs Godsquad utters as the screaming grows louder. “I wonder what’s happened. Why don’t you turn the radio on, dear?”

She looks fifty, sounds sixty. Reuben gets inside her head - she is thirty-eight years old. Her husband obeys, flipping the CD off.

“…murder at St. Saviour’s Church, Seabourne. Brian Guilroy, lay-preacher. Husband to Maria and father of Nigel, Constance and Belinda was found in the pews after this morning’s early mass. It is believed the body of Mr Guilroy had been stripped of clothing and his neck broken. Unconfirmed initial forensic reports suggest that stab wounds were found at the base of his skull and at his groin.”

“Ha!” Reuben barks. They don’t know the half of it.

Mr Godsquad gasps in horror. He stares at his wife.

“Brian. Oh shit Barb, it‘s Brian Guilroy.”

Barb glares at him, ready to admonish him for the cuss-word. Instead, she turns in anger to their passenger who is roaring with laughter.

“I really don’t think this is appropriate behavior, Mr…?”

“Mr FUCKER,” Reuben shouts.

The driver pulls over, parking on double-yellows, much to his wife’s consternation. The passenger feels his groin pulse with the scent of the sea, salty in his mouth - in all their mouths. He leans forward.

“Can you smell it, sister?”

The tidy woman recoils yet can‘t take her eyes off him. Reuben unbuckles his seatbelt, staring into Barbara’s pale blues. He moves towards her.

“It’s the stink of my sex. Look at it – it’s hard and it’s fat.”

He shoves his hand between his legs and nods at the woman’s husband. “It’s what he can never give you.”

The wife says nothing. She stares him in the face. Disgust and revulsion don’t stop her gaze straying to his crotch where the mound twitches, filling the old man’s trousers. Despite herself, she flicks her own seatbelt off and reaches for him.

“Barbara. What do you think you’re doing?”

Angry at the interruption Reuben grabs Mr Godsquad’s fine head of hair. Yanking backwards, he quickly snaps the man’s neck. Benevolent Barbara sneers momentarily at her husband before crawling onto the back seat.

The passenger declares himself ‘open’.

With Barbara choked to death between his legs, Reuben decides to take the rest of the journey on foot...

*************

Like the excerpt? The full tale is waiting for you in Cabaret of Dread!  By visiting the book's 'Look Inside' feature on Amazon you can also read the opening tale DRESSING-UP BOX, a few pages of SMILING CYRUS and a handful of mini-tales.

Of course, the best way to read this - and the many other stories in Vol.1 of Cabaret of Dread, is to download it. If you do, I am ever thankful... 

Buy/Download Cabaret of Dread from
Amazon.co.uk | Amazon.com

At last! CABARET OF DREAD - out now.

At last, CABARET OF DREAD: A HORROR COMPENDIUM, VOL 1 is on Amazon's virtual shelves, all ready to be downloaded, tagged and 'Liked'.

Any help in spreading the word will make me a happy, and grateful writer. I would LOVE to know what you think, and would also appreciate any reviews beyond words. Thank you dear friends!

To buy, or download a sample:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007KSVXQK for US/Canadian readers and http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007KSVXQK for Brit horror fans.

Product Description:

A terrifying collection of short horror stories by dark fiction author Lily Childs. These forty-three offerings comprise eleven long tales, including the previously unpublished:

- SMILING CYRUS - dancing dolls of death in your attic
- IN ADORATION - demonic rebirth, revenge and new skin
- STARING AT THE PINK - when the dead don't let go

Studded and stitched together by shorter pieces and tiny 100-word drabbles this first volume of Cabaret of Dread ends with:

- THE INFANTA TRIPTYCH - living, dying art - breathing, pulsing... ancient.
"Extreme vampire horror."

Words spill from the babbling mouths of demons and murderers throughout Cabaret of Dread, combining fear and even humour as the reader encounters serial killers and ghosts, historical entities and psychopaths, not to mention a scuttling vampire or two.

Cabaret of Dread is extreme horror FOR ADULTS ONLY. Ethereal and spiritual elements battle with the visceral and the insane; lustful adoration dallies with laboured, lingering death. The Cabaret will shock, it may well offend. But it is beautiful – at least in the author’s mind - and that’s where the darkness lies.

_________________________________

Praise for Cabaret of Dread

"Having read almost every story written by Lily Childs, I can confidently say that Britain has a new Queen of Dark Fiction. The prose crawl off the pages, down your spine, then drag you into the darkness." - Col Bury, Crime Editor at Thrillers Killers 'n' Chillers ezine

Bane by Lily Childs

Original artwork by Laurence Ranger (c)
Copper drypoint etching

A dark, flash fiction tale of oral deceit...

BANE

Ten tales to terrify; Leofric gathers his words together in mind and mouth – and sets the sordid scene. Long had he travelled between battle-scarred lands and darker realms; some had feared the storyteller dead, but now around him children and warriors sit enthralled, with eyes ablaze.

Silence, but for the crackle of flaming logs in their pit.

Night begins its giddy dance, casting shadows over the crowds. Leofric’s humming resonates across the ground. It trembles into the seated thighs of all assembled to rise through their very being. Louder and louder the storyteller’s voice sings its single note until...

“Holler!”

The audience gasps. Children shriek at the sheer volume and slam pudgy hands over sensitive ears. Leofric stands as quickly as his aged bones will allow, raises his face to the sky and starts to talk.

Stories.

His first to third perturb, his face a shifting mask under the moon’s fleeting light.

Fourth to sixth disgust, another face for every tale he tells.

Seven and eight, his faces tear apart.

Nine, the face of a demon spills into the storyteller’s skin.

Ten, Aeglaeca steals every screaming face for himself.

***

The story writes itself.

Pestilence and plague.

The chronicles of death.

________________________________________

Erin Cole asks a probing question about demons and muses

Erin Cole

Many writers feel they can't write without their muse. Others use their craft as a means to vanquish their psychological demons.

In Erin Cole's thought-provoking article Demon or Muse, she asks if the relationship between the two is not deeper than we might imagine.

Please do take a visit to read Demon or Muse, and comment if you will. It's a fascinating discussion - I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.

______________________________________

Interlude by Lily Childs

Do you remember the Dressing Up Box demon? It's found itself a plaything - just for this evening...

Interlude

I hold her, cradle the trembling head between clawed hands and wonder at her beauty.

Eyes wide she stares up at my face. Does she recognise her own image? I stole it when I rebirthed her – she should be grateful.

A song sings, muffled behind the ribbons of satin at her mouth. I have woven them into multi-coloured braids. If she uses her tongue she will find a way out, a release for the nightingale in her throat.

We are naked, she and me; but we differ still. Her mane of gold now pours from my own scalp, studded in swathes and streaked vermilion with my old blood. I take a handful of the fine hair and use it as a paintbrush, dipping it in and out of the open slices at her belly. The thick fluids coagulate almost before I can apply them to my chest where I have tattooed her name. But all is well, the holes overflow with her juices and she is sealed to me forever.

It won’t be long. I reach down to gather the nest from between her legs. Humming an aria I sprinkle the wiry threads into a keepsake box with her brows and eyelashes.

Her last breath’s a pretty one. I help by biting the strap from her lips – I have caught her gasp before she can take another one and I hold her tight as she dies in my mouth.

It’s a hollow death. No shame in that.

_______________________________________

Fallen Angel

Multiply my eyes
by millions.
Stick six sticks
into my sides.
Let me spit on flesh,
vermilion.
Herald me,
Lord of the Flies.

____________________

I humbly accept...

In a drawer there are
pink-ribboned slippers,
full of meat.
I stole the pretty shoes
from a libidinous girl
I found larding
on chocolate at the
back of a theatre in a
bulimic frenzy.

Woke up to some lovely emails of congrats for winning New Flesh's short story competition - on the theme of  "...And that's why I keep my eye in a pickle jar."

I'm well chuffed that so many people voted for my little number Dressing Up Box. So thank you all very much.

Dressing Up Box is a nasty old tale but the main character believes him or herself (depends what s/he's wearing) to be a thing of beauty. You can read it in full here.

My prize for winning is paperback copies of the TOE TAGS 2: BLOOD & BIZARRO anthology, DOOM MAGNETIC! by William Pauley III and STATE OF THE DARK by Brian Barnett. I'm looking forward to receiving them and will post up reviews. I'm also reliably informed that Lee Hughes has a story in Toe Tags so if that's not a bonus, I don't know what is.

The New Flesh is a fabulous site dedicated to the weird, the bizarre and the horrific. Check it out. Subscribe to it to receive regular doses of distracting delights in your Inbox.

The Infanta Triptych

I am exquisitely pleased that a piece I've been working on for weeks The Infanta Triptych has been accepted into Red Skies Press' Their Dark Masters anthology. Editor Mark Anthony Crittenden asked for my piece Walls of Flesh a little while ago and I promised him something extra.

The story's about an ancient set of three conjoined paintings, the subjects of which are vicious, bloodthirsty and diabolical. And they like to play.

I'm very proud to be part of this antho. It has some great authors - Lee Hughes, Barry J. Northern, Mark himself, Erin Cole, Tyree Campbell, Gregory Miller, Melissa Farrar and others. It's going to be a tight fright and I can't wait to see it in print.

Thanks Mark for being such an encouraging and supportive editor.

Might post a teaser shortly before the book is published...

___________________________________

Acceptance into Daily Bites of Flesh

Great to hear this morning from Pill Press' Editor Jessy Marie Roberts that my new piece 'Spangles' has been accepted into Daily Bites of Flesh 2011.

Pill Hill's own description of this great anthology says:

"Daily Bites of Flesh 2011 is an anthology of 365 flash fiction stories, each assigned a calendar day, offering horror readers an opportunity to enjoy one story per day - even with a hectic schedule. Pill Hill Press is actively seeking FLASH FICTION, 500 words or less (firm) about ZOMBIES, VAMPIRES, WEREWOLVES and other MAN-EATING/BLOODSUCKING CREATURES. Should have strong elements of HORROR."

The submission period is still open, but closes on 3rd November so if you have something for Daily Bites, visit Pill Hill for more info and sub. guidelines.

Dressing-Up Box at The New Flesh

The marvellous horror/bizarro site that is The New Flesh is running a competition on the theme of "...and that's why I keep my eye in a pickle jar." Details here.

My entry Dressing-Up Box is a demonic dance that gave me the most inappropriate pleasure to write. TNF accepted the submission - and it is now up on the site.

Do pop over to have a read and make a comment. I'd love to know what you think.

__________________________

The New Flesh - Submission Accepted.

Thanks to Brian Barnett, co-editor of deliciously dark The New Flesh for accepting my submission to TNF's Inaugural TNF Flash Fiction War.

Mine is a demonic little tale called Dressing-Up Box that Brian kindly said is "very Clive Barker of you". Shucks.

It'll run on Saturday 18th September. I'll link to it on the day.

Anyone else entered?

___________________________

Little Demon - for Chris Allinotte

Chris, after reading your marvellous little tale of veg and demons, I happened across these photos of my own little Demon. She doesn't like spinach either.

Little Demon with Daddy

Little Demonette

____________________________________

The Devil In Me

Michael J. Solender, prolific noir author and satirist invited me to to write as a guest over at the NOT

My new piece The Devil In Me is up on his site now. Feel free to pay it a visit and let me know what you think.

Here's a taster...

The Devil In Me

The last time I saw The Devil he was dancing on stage. 

What I was doing there, I can’t be sure. Sleep had evaded me – I swear I was awake. It was one of those vivid ‘between the veils’ moments where the extraordinary seems real; when you can fly without wings and fall off cliffs without landing. It was a moment when being invited to watch The Devil trip the light fantastic seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

His voice rang out as I entered the darkness of the endless auditorium.

‘Ah, Jimmy. It’s been so long, so long.’

Read the full story...

____________________________________________

The Lee Hughes/Lily Childs Interview

Master of the Horror Ceremony, Lee Hughes agrees to talk to Lily Childs about what bites and excites him:

Lily Childs: Lee, welcome. Your writing thrills the audience with mystery, suspense and sheer horror. What inspires you, historically and on a day-to-day basis?

Lee Hughes: Historically: History is a font of horrid escapades and shenanigans that will inspire me forever and a day. It all mainly stems from people's stupidity or arrogance, but it doesn't half make you think 'hmmm, there's something in that.'

Anything from Cults, the ones going back to the dark ages to Jim Jones managing to get 918 people to top themselves, whilst living in a town named after him. Something like that gets the whole thought process going on how did he achieve it. Then you realise he was only one quarter of the problem, it was the gullible muppets that made up the other three quarters for believing that there was a hole in their life that only this man could fill. From that my mind starts thinking, what was missing, what put them on that path? From there, hundreds of stories could develop about the horrors that carved those Jim-Sized holes.

Back further, Typhoid Mary. A woman forcibly quarantined twice, infected 53 people and was still in complete denial that there was naff all up with her. The list of people and things throughout history is just ripe with inspiration, the darker and the more sinister the better.

On a day-to-day basis there's nothing really interesting happening. Maybe standing in a queue and coming up with new ways to kill someone, starting with the asshat in front who can't count out ten items because he blatantly has a week's worth of food in the fast checkout line.

As for anything else, the news is boring. Our politicians fill up the space, and who really cares, 3 wise monkeys come to mind. The remainder is just the all too familiar kids stabbing each other over who owns the corner by the kebab shop, or America's having a game of paper, scissors or rock, with one country or another, only instead of a rock, they've brought a gun to the game, that's not proper news.

LC: Do you remember when you first thought 'I want to be a writer'? Was it a gradual thing or a eureka moment?

Lee: I didn't read much as a kid. Then for some reason I bought a few of the Star Wars follow on books. I was 16 and working in a factory and a workmate suggested trying a proper book.

I read the Magician by Raymond E. Feist. That book knocked me for six, 900 pages and basically read it none stop. There were a series of them. I was gutted when I'd read them all, so moved on to the Belgariad. They were tremendous as well, but I was thinking I bet I can do that. So I started writing away, all garbage, but I carried on, mainly for my own amusement.

Worst invention ever was the thesaurus built into word, highlight-right-click 'Ooh that words much longer, must be better.' But the moment I decided I definitely wanted to give writing a try with a passion was when the same feller at work lent me Stephen King's IT. I'd not read horror before that. Two pages in and I read something along the lines of, "His pants were so tight you could see the veins of his cock." or something like that. I was just in shock, thinking you can't write things like that, can you? I read that, then a few others of his, Some Herbert and Barker, then I realised, oh yes you could. So with Ogres and Wizards forgotten I tried a little bit of horror. Basically pages of me swearing, killing and torturing stuff without any real thought to content, thinking back it probably read like Roy Chubby Brown reading out a list of Bosnian war crimes. But I enjoyed it.

LC: Your name appears across the blogosphere in all the best places, and you are known as a prolific submitter of quality fiction. How do you stay on top of what's going on?

Lee: *Blushes a little -but grins-*

Any blog I'm interested in I follow. So each day I can just scroll down what anyone's added and go for a mooch.

Websites I use RSS feeds that alert you if site content changes, it's a bit time saver, especially if I'm keeping an eye on certain markets I'm thinking of submitting to. There's also a great writing community about and if we find little nuggets of gold in open submissions somewhere we tend to let everyone else know.

LC: I agree, RSS Feeds are great. I couldn't live without them.

LC: Your series The Osseous Box appeared on Matt Hilton and Col Bury's Thrillers Killers 'n' Chillers, to great acclaim. How would you describe this complex tale in terms of storyline and theme? What's happening with it at the moment?

Lee: As with most stories one little tiny idea can become something that excites you enough to start fleshing it out. The Osseous Box is an item that both good and evil want to get a hold of. So there's the two sides not sure how to find it, then they begin to find trails so it becomes this vicious race, kinda like a Deadly Dastardly and Macabre Mutley Wacky Races but with lots of people ending up dead in many a cruel and unusual way. As it unravels they learn what the box is, how it was made, and what it contains. That's basically when all Hell breaks loose, so to speak.

I'm actually novelizing it at the moment. When it was going up in parts over at TKnC they had to be around the 2k word mark. I felt that each should be connected but be able to stand alone. So I had to leave a lot out and compact a lot of other bits. So novelizing it seemed the right approach. Chapter One which is Part One over at TKnC has swollen from 2k to just over 5k. Besides, as I stopped it at Part 13 over at TKnC no one knows the ending lol, actually, I didn't either, that's why it stopped.

LC: It's great to hear about the OB novel. Good luck with that and let us know when it's been snatched up by an agent.

LC: You write in a variety of genres; horror, crime, noir, sci-fi etc. Do you enjoy one genre over another?

Lee: Horror is always my first love in the genres. You can be so free and do whatever you like. A lot of my horror stories actually started out as crime, but then I got to a plot block and thought, 'Sod it!' *Enter monster here and let the bloodshed commence*

Noir is a fun one to write, though it's one of the hardest to get right. That's why Noir writers like Paul D. Brazill, Keith Rawson, Michael J. Solender etc are pretty much at the top of the list because they constantly get it right.

Sci-Fi ones come from my love of the film genre. Aliens, Star Wars, Bladerunner. Problem is mine are all fun Sci-Fi. I'm just not clever enough to do the hard sci-fi. That's why I just make names up for stuff.

LC: What is a typical writing day, and where do you do it?

Lee: I'm an early riser, always have been. So I'll be climbing out of my pit between 5:30 and 6:00. The wife on the other hand is the opposite so it's a good quiet time to work on arthritis of the fingers at the keyboard. I'll also put in a few hours in the evening. It depends how lazy I am, or if I'm trying to keep to a schedule, like a deadlines fast approaching.

I used to write in the spare room but it was too cold, also I'd keep wandering off to see if I was missing out on anything. So I moved into the lounge and it is pretty much the perfect place. I don't mind the noise from the telly, or anything like that.

LC: Who do you read? Which three books would you recommend and why?

Lee: Stephen King, Clive Barker, Ian Rankin, James Herbert, Richard Matheson, Arthur Conan Doyle, Jules Verne, Richard Laymon, Patricia Cornwell (Until the Scarpetta books become more like recipe books) Matt Hilton, Lee Child, Chris Ewan (He actually wrote the first in his Good Thief Series in the Flat beneath me), the list is so long so I'll stop there.

The Stand by Stephen King - I love Apocalypse books. That one was just so well written, the writing was as clever as you can get, you just saw all the places they were travelling through and felt on the road with them. That feeling of freedom they had, no one else about, could do as they wished, but also the fear of the lawlessness, and the survivors that embraced it.

The Magician by Raymond E Feist - The first proper book I bought, it's been read about 8 times in the last 15 years since I bought it, the pages are now jaundiced, but I won't replace it.

The Travelling Vampire Show by Richard Laymon - The voice of this book flowed with such a great ease it reminded me a lot of Stephen King's The Body. But of course, this is the late Laymon we're talking about so it soon gets pretty nasty in all the best ways.

LC: Some great ones in there, Lee. I agree. SK's The Stand is always in my top five and I'm a humble worshipper of Mr Barker. But this isn't about me. Back to you...

LC: You've had some great achievements with acceptances and publications over the last 12 months. Which of these are you most proud of?

Lee: I feel proud of all the stories that get published, whether online or in print. But to pick one would have to be that first paying acceptance last year in the print anthology Cern Zoo: Nemonymous 9. My story 'Turn the Crank' got some good reviews. Even had great things said about it in Black Static a print horror magazine. The whole anthology has been long listed for the British Fantasy Awards this year.

The best though from it, for me was getting my name mentioned in the Best Horror of the Year Vol 2 in the summation of the year section and then also at the back. There were 40 odd honorable mentions given out and my name was one of them. It was just strange seeing my name on the same page as some of the greats.

LC: Well done. After al that, is there a Lee Hughes novel on the horizon?

Lee: As I said, I'm doing the novelization of The Osseous Box. Then there's another novel I pretty much finished last year, but it's more of an apocalypse action with a dusting of earthly sci-fi. I'll just run with the one I'm working on at the moment. Hoping to have it done and polished before the summer and then begin the daunting but hopefully fun part of trying to snag an agent, decent or otherwise will do.

LC: Busy, busy, busy then. So what's in store for Lee Hughes in the coming months?

Lee: I've a few more short stories coming out in some anthologies. My story Contraband is in the horror/sci-fi book No One Can Hear You Scream. The Cat's Away appears in Don't Tread on Me a book about revenge. The Mending of the Broken will appear in 365 Days of Flash Fiction, I've two pieces in A book of Flash fiction, First, Second, and Third and The Last Clown appear in that one.

I'm submitting to a few more, ones that catch my eye.

There is a fiction thing coming soon, but I can't talk about it, I'm pretty excited about it though as it means I must be doing something right, just hope I don't screw it up!

LC: I doubt that very much. Thanks for coming in to The Feardom Lee, and good luck with everything coming your way.

Lee: Thanks for listening to me waffle.
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