A narration of my horror story, Nearby. Sit back, turn off the lights, and enjoy!
Thursday, 28 April 2016
Thursday, 7 April 2016
Frederick loved his garden, almost as much as he loved killing. He would spend hours each week feeding, cutting, maintaining and nurturing the lawn and the flowerbeds, taking great pride in having what was widely regarded as the most impressive garden in the entire town.
It was May, and it was Frederick’s hope that in the coming weeks he would be judged by the local Garden Enthusiast’s Association as the best amateur gardener in the area for an unprecedented 6th year in a row. It was true that the judging committee could arrive on any day with absolutely no advance warning – surprise visits were their speciality - but he was confident that his floral displays and pristine lawn would once again rule supreme. All he had to do was sabotage his nearest rivals with a little weed killer at night. Of course Frederick expected to win regardless, but he never liked leaving anything to chance; just as long as things did not get out of hand as they had done two years before.
Lucy Rindridge had cared for and produced a wonderful floral garden display that year. Even Frederick admitted that she had done herself proud, as he cast his eye over her luscious tulips, roses, and carnations, smiling kindly, of course, while talking to her, but in reality thinking that he ‘could not allow a nigger to best him’.
A week before the judging window opened, he did what he had to do. It was difficult not to arouse suspicion, Frederick’s victims were normally those he thought no one would miss; the homeless, drifters, illegal immigrants, but of course runaways were his speciality – children could be so easily manipulated.
Lucy Rindridge was different.
Saturday, 2 April 2016
Friday, 1 April 2016
Project Notes (Coming Soon)
Script (Coming Soon)
Commentary (Coming Soon)
Thursday, 31 March 2016
Hello intrepid readers.
As some of you know I've been working on a novel version of my short story series, 'Bedtime'. Working on it for over three years! Yes, the amount of time I've poured into it has been a bit ridiculous, and one of the main reasons I would strongly recommend to my fellow writers NOT to go down the crowdfunding route unless you have your plot locked in. In any case, for those following the development of the book, let's have a little recap, and outline where we are now.
Monday, 28 March 2016
The latest Ghastly Tales live stream where Mik, Calum and I played a very strange horror survival game. Great fun, and thanks to everyone who joined in!
The street I lived on at the time was like any other. Not an affluent place, nor one mired in poverty; a mix of kind, selfish, nosey, and apathetic neighbours, some taking interest in those around them, others not. It was a relatively quiet area, but I had a fondness for it, as the large birch trees which occasionally drooped over hedges and fences from both cared for and neglected lawns, reminded me of my childhood. Only the occasional car came plodding through to disturb the peace, joined at times by sporadic domestic arguments which resonated from home to house, unhindered by the quiet; and so children played outside in the summer sun, some more pleasantly than others. Anyone would have described the street from top to bottom as quite, quite, ordinary. I’m sure you can imagine then how shocked I was to find something so utterly terrifying, surrounded by the mundane.
I should correct myself here; it was not what I found, but rather what my neighbour initially discovered which chilled me to the bone. His name was Bill, and he had moved into the house next door only a few months previous. In that short time we had grown to be firm friends; neighbourhood barbecues, Friday nights at the local pub, a shared fondness for classic films - we got on well. One Saturday night I invited him over for a game of cards with a few of my colleagues. I’ve never been particularly brilliant at poker, but I’ve always enjoyed the well-intended banter when placing bets against a good crowd. That night, neither luck nor skill was on my side and I found myself out of the game fairly quickly, so I sat back, had a few drinks, and just enjoyed the good natured name-calling.
The night flew in, and before long the first suggestion of daylight whispered across the sky outside. Everyone else had stumbled home drunkenly by then, with the exception of Bill, so both of us sat in my living room and drank a few more beers - something I was sure to regret in the morning. We talked about many things, his job as a nurse in a local old folks home, and our favourite Alfred Hitchcock films, particularly what we thought he would be making at the time if he were still alive.