Fifty years ago, Great-uncle Stanton was a successful author of supernatural horror. His heroes were always brash and unafraid when the reader would have been cowering, while the man behind the typewriter was painfully private, writing under an opaque alias… Continue Reading
Daphne Mills, the sexton at St. Elijah’s Church, parked her white Ford van in front of the lych-gate. She opened the rear doors of the vehicle and manoeuvred a wheelbarrow out the back. Inside it she placed large swatches of… Continue Reading
At first you run on, warm sweat trickling between your breasts. It doesn’t register. Then one day, you notice something out of the corner of your eye. But it flashes by in a blur so quickly you must have imagined… Continue Reading
Once upon a time, when he’d been an active old man, George Porter had shouted himself hoarse about the youth of today and their horrible graffiti. He’d banged his stick on the floor of countless community meetings and moaned to… Continue Reading
Ruby was wearing a cherry red coat, the hood trimmed with white fur, the skirt full from the waist, red boots, berry-bright against the snow. It was lying unusually deep. You might have thought it Christmas, not Valentine’s. A few… Continue Reading