Dark Scribe's Blog, page 3
November 27, 2013
Reviews
I just love reviews. They can tear your book apart, or show that you entertained the reader; but BOTH should be welcomed with open arms! My aim as a writer is to suspend a moment in time and take the reader to a different place; what KIND of place is irrelevant provided it makes them THINK! I have never set out to create a literary masterpiece, (it would be lovely if one were considered as such but not overly important) but to simply put My imagination out there and see what happens. I write to ease the cacophony of images/sounds that flow through what passes as My brain each day; to not do so would become unbearable very quickly.
When you take the time to write a review on a book bear in mind where it has come from...you may love it or hate it but the Author shared a part of THEM with YOU so at least acknowledge the gift.
When you take the time to write a review on a book bear in mind where it has come from...you may love it or hate it but the Author shared a part of THEM with YOU so at least acknowledge the gift.
November 23, 2013
Thought Of The Day
A little wisdom from an unexpected source...
"When you have your sights set on a star that is all well and good; however if you take the time to look around you may find just what you need here on Earth."
My Daughter aged 17.
"When you have your sights set on a star that is all well and good; however if you take the time to look around you may find just what you need here on Earth."
My Daughter aged 17.
November 22, 2013
Thought Of The Day
To err is human,
To forgive divine.
To UNDERSTAND takes something special.
To forgive divine.
To UNDERSTAND takes something special.
November 19, 2013
Food Chain Review By Orchard Book Club!!
The lovely Rachel has reviewed Food Chain, and posted her article here : http://orchardbookclub.wordpress.com/...
November 9, 2013
Audio Blogs?
I have received requests to do audio of a few chapters..and being a technology dinosaur I haven't the foggiest on how to start! If anyone has advice/tips then I would be grateful!!
November 7, 2013
Thought Of The Day
Another great quote, and one I found pertinent to Me...I am sure it will resonate with many of you.
"To truly be a part of someone's life is not a right; you earn it with love and understanding, support and guidance,and the giving of all that is good in you. If they allow you in, cherish the gift."
Rachel Coley-Holmes.
"To truly be a part of someone's life is not a right; you earn it with love and understanding, support and guidance,and the giving of all that is good in you. If they allow you in, cherish the gift."
Rachel Coley-Holmes.
November 4, 2013
Food Chain On Kindle!!
Here at last, the new breed of horror you have been waiting for!!
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00GFQBTHQ
US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GFQBTHQ
Youtube: http://youtu.be/5ZUE5IXJnLo
Get it while its hot!!!
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00GFQBTHQ
US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GFQBTHQ
Youtube: http://youtu.be/5ZUE5IXJnLo
Get it while its hot!!!
Food Chain Out On Paperback!
Available NOW on Createspace: https://www.createspace.com/4510590
Be the first to get your hands on a new generation of horror!!
Be the first to get your hands on a new generation of horror!!
September 24, 2013
As Promised: A Taste Of Food Chain!
Food Chain
The copper tang of blood competed with the acrid smell of urine to be the dominant force in the room. Even though he had just fed, his sensitive nose was sending mixed signals to his brain; hunger and desire boiled and churned to make him shudder.
He licked at his hands, the thick deposits of her essence providing a sweet dessert to the main course, his belly full now. The curtains allowed a sliver of light from passing cars to strobe around the room, and he growled quietly in his throat when it illuminated his food on the bed.
Like most of his recent meals she had welcomed him at first; only when the true nature of what she had before her came to light did the fear begin. His red-rimmed lips twitched in a smile; he had a lot to thank the current batch of “Romantic Horror” writers for! It is what had brought him further west than he had ever been, the willingness of an American girl in deepest Afghanistan fuelling the idea of ready prey…and he had not been disappointed so far!
Crossing into the UK had been a lot easier than he imagined, and now he had found a lair from which to roam the Capital he would stay a while.
He stood and stretched, his eyes glancing at the windows to check on the progress of dawn (the only thing in current folklore that was nearly correct) and decided it was time to move. He walked around the bed and recovered the leather bindings used to keep his food still (they were precious to him); the lifeless stare from his victim made him pause in slight regret. She had been young and attractive, perfect for breeding, but his hunger and lust had been too strong after the journey across the Channel. Reaching out, he stroked her cheek almost lovingly before slipping a long nail under one glazed eye and deep into the socket. The eye popped out with a wet slap onto her face; a quick twist and pull to release it and he had his prize.
As he walked out through the quiet apartment block the orb swung from his fingers; something to chew on before he slept.
Chapter One
Arnie Pierce was tired, and even the second cup of coffee this morning had not shaken the bone-deep lethargy that filled him. He hated his life, every aspect of it, and it was eating him slowly into an early grave. The sound of HER moving around upstairs made him mutter and rise to prepare to leave. He hated Dorothy most of all. Which was in fact a lie; he still loved her very deeply but HE was a disappointment to her. She never failed to mention that far younger men had been promoted past him; not directly, but it came out in casual conversation whenever he mentioned work. She blamed him for their lack of children, the “waste” of her youth, and the fact she couldn't go shopping in the stores the OTHER wives of executives could! She had retreated across their marital bed to stay firmly behind a wall of cold sheets; and god help him if he touched her without permission!
He nearly made it to the front door before her voice once again cut him to the core.
“No need to rush home tonight. I have invited Jane round to watch a movie, and you will just clutter the place up.”
He turned to look up at her as she stood halfway down the staircase. She still had a figure to die for (hours spent mimicking various celebrity trainers in front of the TV) and her looks had if anything improved. It made him ache for her, and he despised her for that. He shrugged and left the house.
He climbed into his “Lower-Middle-Management” car (her words) and pulled out onto the leafy pleasant street. The house was the one thing she didn’t complain about. He had inherited the property from his late father, and given his current salary he would never have been able to afford a place this size. At 45 he felt his life was over.
The usual crawl into work was eased with the tomes of the morning radio DJ; a well-known personality who had an edge of irreverence that never failed to make him smile. The news at 8.30 wasn't much to cheer about; the recession was cutting deeper, the war against terror was claiming more soldiers, and another gruesome murder to stain the beautiful City of London. He needed a fucking holiday away from everything.
Charlie the Concierge nodded as always as he passed through reception heading for the elevators. On those nights where he “didn’t have to rush home” he and old Charlie had chatted and become quite close. They were both Ex-Military; however Charlie had never really left the service…he had simply grown older and swapped uniforms. They exchanged stories from their past, and sipped at illicit Whisky from a secret stash behind the reception desk. They would talk again tonight.
Escaping from the confines of the elevator was a relief; the overpowering morning aftershave and perfume had nearly made him gag; however he WAS following a delightful smell down the corridor towards his department! Elaine from “Overseas Sales” wiggled and swayed not 2 yards in front of him as she too made her way to her desk, and his stare at her ass must have caused a physical burn. She looked over her shoulder with a sly grin, but on seeing who it was her eyebrows went up.
“Why Mr Pierce! I could almost feel your eyes all over my bum! I never took you for THAT kind of man!”
Arnie shrugged (a habit that was becoming more pronounced with the years) and smiled back at her.
“You should know it’s the quiet ones you have to watch Elaine!”
She wrinkled her face as she digested that image, and he could see she was struggling to come back with a riposte. Failing to find something either cutting or polite she just shook her head and increased her pace. She didn't fancy him either.
Arnie sighed and eased himself through the heavy doors into his domain; Customer Service & Marketing (UK). He glanced at his watch (0855 so time to grab another coffee) and weaved between the closely packed desks towards the coffee machine in the far corner. It had a crowd of worshippers already in attendance, and all greeted the fellow addict with nods or smiles. All except one.
Russell Bates was his direct superior, and never missed an opportunity to let him know.
“Be quick with that please Pierce, I have dropped some files on your desk that need immediate attention.”
Arnie pretended he didn't see the sympathetic glances among the others.
Just less than two miles away from Arnie’s office was the start of the West End and its associated bars, restaurants and theatres. Behind the Prince Edward Theatre on Brewer Street there is a narrow service alley, and this runs for around 50 yards before terminating at a set of dumpsters. All of the buildings that fronted the street had their own; but it was the Prince Edward dumpster that was home to Emily Crown. It was very rarely used, and when it was it tended to be old costumes or scenery that was thrown over the high sides; both very useful to a woman living on her wits! Over her current 3-month residence, she had acquired a very useful wardrobe of warm winter clothing AND a couple of posh frocks! The bruise from the fake Doric column had faded somewhat now; its arrival in the early hours of one morning catching her out in the open…and squarely on the forehead! She touched the bruise and winced…stupid fucking time to throw stuff away! She prepared her “Day Bag” before climbing lithely over the side to drop into the alley. Today was going to be a “reconnaissance” day; her activist group had a tip that the Minister for Home Affairs was having a night out at the Palladium tonight, and her job was to check out the security around the old building.
With her usual confident stride she joined the pedestrians flowing through the area, aware some gave her sidewards glances, but fuck them…she liked the way she looked! At 28 she looked ten years older, her hair a mass of purple dreadlocks, no make-up and clad from head to toe in surplus Army gear she looked exactly what she was…a woman on a mission! Emily Crown NEEDED a cause, ANY cause, that would fuel her dislike of society. Her current group were somewhat confused Anarchists with undertones of Earth Mother and Eco-warriors…all women who wanted to make a “difference”. Emily didn't know if she had EVER made a “difference”, but if SHE didn't do something then who the fuck would? All she knew was the world was going to be fucked in around 50 years if society kept shitting on it they way they do now; but not if she could do something about that! The guy they were targeting tonight was an arrogant prick who at their last meeting called her a “Filthy Dyke” (she liked women but not in THAT way) so it would be brilliant to spoil his little junket tonight! The fact that he knew her meant she wouldn't be part of the “Assault Group” (and she was pissed about that) but she had an important part to play; find a gap for them to sneak through! The Ministers agreement to allow drilling for oil in the Snowdonia National Park had outraged many, but it was HER group that were going to make him sorry. That thought added a spring to her step on this fine morning.
Detective Constable Eddy Palmer swore loudly at his superior.
“Don’t drive like a twat Sarge, I've just spilled my fucking tea all over my leg!”
Detective Sergeant Paul Brewer laughed and tugged at the steering wheel again to just miss a cycle courier. He wound down the window to shout a curse at the offending rider before looking down at the mess in the passenger seat.
“I told you not to take the plastic lid off! Why do you think they give them to you with a fucking top on you daft bastard?”
Eddy Palmer looked at the older man with disdain.
“When Mr Styrofoam Cup invented the fucking thing, he didn't envisage it having to deal with a demented old fart like you driving a fucking car!!”
His Sergeant frowned and looked hurt.
“I may be a few years older than you sonny, but I'm not demented!”
He swerved again to miss a bus AND a mother with a baby, before mounting the side-walk to stop near a newspaper vendor. He held out his hand for his daily copy, the vendor shaking his head as the car screeched back onto the road and continued it’s mad dash across the city. Eddy covered his eyes and hoped to god no one would get killed.
“What’s the rush Sarge? I know you always drive at warp speed, but today you seem to be trying to break some kind of fucking record!”
Paul Brewer threw the newspaper at him.
“Read the fucking headline.”
It screamed out from the tabloid.
“Another corpse found in the city! Reports are coming in about another victim found raped and partially eaten in Soho! The Police are still clueless as to who may be committing these terrible crimes…”
Chapter Two
Sgt. Brewer slid the car to a halt at the edge of the cordon. The striped tape flapped lazily in the warm morning breeze, and seemed wholly inadequate to keep the ogling crowd at bay. The few Uniforms present did their best to convince people there was “Nothing to see here” as the two Detectives followed the Coroners gurney into the building. The first face they encountered was Chief Inspector Hardash (no prizes for guessing what HIS nickname was) who was looking extremely flustered. He mopped at his face with a handkerchief and looked relieved to see them.
“In 25 years on the Force I have NEVER seen anything like that! Make sure that the body is well covered when they bring it down; if any of those fucking parasites (he waved at the photographers clustered outside) get a picture then all hell will let loose!”
Brewer and Palmer exchanged glances before the Constable spoke up.
“Do we have ANYTHING to go on Sir? This is the second case in as many days; surely the bastard has left us some clues this time?”
The Chief Inspector took a deep breath, and some colour returned to his ashen face.
“Oh he’s left us with LOADS of clues Detective Constable! That poor girl is covered with bite marks, she has been…molested…in a way that will leave us a trace of his DNA, and we now know his favourite part of a woman is her inner thigh!”
The Constable was just about to ask about that when the C.I leaned forward and whispered.
“Yes my lovely laddie, he has eaten them on this one too!”
They watched him leave and snarl his way through the paparazzi before pressing the button for the elevator. Neither man said anything; locked as they were in their own private visions of the creature that they were now chasing.
There were lots of shocked-looking Police and CSI’s crowding the small hallway that led to the flat in question. Brewer spotted the Coroner smoking a cigarette near an open window, and crossed over to find out as much as he could before entering the room.
“You keep using those and you’ll be on your own slab before long!”
The Coroner raised a weary brow and gave a snort.
“After what I've seen in there a long slow death from cancer would be a blessing! (He rubbed a hand over his face) All of the wounds inflicted on her were anti-mortem; she KNEW she was being eaten!”
Eddy Palmer had drifted over to catch the conversation, and suddenly tapped Brewer on the shoulder.
“I have some leave owing Sarge, so if you don’t mind I’ll take it right about now!”
The older man growled under his breath.
“You and me both son; however get that skinny arse of yours in there and we’ll see what we've got eh?”
With a muttered “fucking slave-driver” Eddy Palmer pushed through the crowd and entered the apartment. Even with all the comments from the others he still wasn't prepared for the scene in front of him. The girl was spread-eagled on the bed, her wrists and ankles showing signs of intense struggles against being tied (he made a mental note; takes his tools with him!) The amount of blood was a lot less than he expected; however the raw gaping wounds on the inside of her thighs more than made up for the lack of spectacle. The flesh had been removed…bitten away…down to the bone, and he felt the bile rise as the femur glinted white under the CSI’s cameras. She was covered in bites and puncture wounds (some kind of slim knife?), and judging by the mess he had made of her genitalia he had tortured her for a while. The fact she had been still alive when all this happened to her made him feel decidedly sick. He looked at her face (mid 20’s perhaps) and wondered what her last thoughts could have been like. Whoever they were looking for would be lucky if they managed to get him before the public did; this will start a real ripple of anger across the city.
He stood to one side as the Coroners’ men covered her with a rubber sheet and lifted her ravaged body onto the gurney; even those hardened officers shaking their heads at the damage done to her. Eddy turned from the bed and started to look around the room for a clue to who she was. He didn't have to look far; her purse was on top of a small chest of drawers against the far wall. Clearing a space amongst the make-up and perfume bottles, he carefully tipped the contents out onto the wooden surface. Picking up her driving licence told him all he needed to know. She was only 22.
Sgt. Brewer came into the doorway and called him across.
“It seems we may have a lead! One of the other tenants thinks she may have seen the man she was with last night; the description is hazy, so go and use your famous charm on her!”
Eddy ignored the obvious sarcasm and followed the Sergeant out of the apartment. He saw a nervous face peeking around a doorway further along the corridor, so putting on his best smile he went to talk to the girl. She was trembling as he led her back into her rooms and sat her on the couch.
He left her there and went through to the small kitchen (he could use a fucking cup of tea himself!) and under the guise of a Good Samaritan he returned with two large mugs. After getting her name (Caroline…Caroline Smith) he spoke quietly and clearly.
“My Sergeant tells me you knew Tracy quite well? What can you tell me about last night?”
The girls eyes filled up at the mention of her dead friend, and she pressed a tissue to her nose as though in comfort.
“She came in around 1 AM I think it was (she paused) yes, it was around then as I had just gone to bed. I heard her talking outside in the hall, and the man she was with had a strange accent.”
Eddy looked up from his notebook.
“Can you describe it?”
Caroline shook her head and waved a hand.
“They all sound alike to me those foreigners! I think he may have been an Arab or something; but the biggest fucking Arab I'VE ever seen!”
Eddy encouraged her to go on.
“I guess I was a bit curious as to who she had with her, so I opened my door and peeked out all quiet like. Now Tracy was only about 5 foot 4 inches tall, but this bloke towered over her! He must have been well over 6 foot tall…closer to seven!”
Eddy whistled.
“That’s one big bloke! Did you notice anything else about him?”
Caroline thought for a second, and then looked closely at him as though sharing a secret.
“Not really, but Tracy couldn't keep her hands off him! When they went through her door she already had her hand on the front of his pants…you know…rubbing his thing!”
The girl blushed and looked down at her cup. Eddy wrote quickly, drank his tea and stood to leave, passing her his card just in case.
“If you think of any other details then call me okay? Any time, day or night, it may just help us to catch that bastard!”
Caroline looked relieved that the questions were over, the small nod telling him that there would probably be nothing else. He let himself out of the apartment and went looking for his Sergeant.
Brewer was talking with another tenant from the other side of the corridor, but Eddy could see from the body language he wasn't getting anything of use. He waited until Brewer also handed over his card, and then tapped him on the elbow.
“She saw him alright, but not much to go on I'm afraid. The only thing we have is that this guy is massive, and talks with a funny accent!”
Brewer shook his head, muttered “Fucking great”, and pressed for the elevator to take them down. This was going to be a LONG day!
He stirred restlessly in his sleep, the unfamiliar place he now called home didn't feel right yet. It was big enough for him to stay a while provided he found breeders; they would give him fresh meat and limit his exposure. His dreams were filled with images spanning back over centuries…millennia…all of them about war and feeding. He had followed conquering armies all over the Middle East and beyond; their journeys providing him with plenty of opportunity to feed on the wounded left behind. He had ventured into North Africa; island hopped across the south Pacific, and watched the great empires of the Chinese rise and fall. Wherever man had gone to fight man he had followed. With armies came women (his preferred meat) and they were never missed; sometimes he had the run of a complete city left open after conquest, the men dead or enslaved, the women all alone just for him. His dreams took him to one such city in the deserts of the country now known as Iraq, and he had fed on tougher meat until one side was victorious…the gates to the city broken down. He had spent five years feasting on those left behind. After a while they just huddled and waited for him to use them for pleasure or food…all hope had gone from their eyes. It was there that he discovered the sweetest meal of all…the little ones they produced. He could give them seed, but what was born was hideous to behold; their saving grace the flavour. It had been over 100 of their years since he had a haven in which to produce meat like that; it was about time he settled for a while.
He had come upon this place quite by chance; his avoidance of a late-night Police patrol taking him over a high wall and through a grating in the ground. It had led to a passage, which in turn brought him to the large cavern he now claimed. He had no knowledge of the old Underground Railway system that ran under the streets of London; he had stumbled into a disused section of track right in the heart of the financial district…and it would serve his purpose perfectly. It appeared only on a few maps locked away in a dusty archive; the glass and steel that covered the ground above had erased all traces of the old station and entrance. He didn't need electricity or lighting as his eyes functioned better in the dark than any other creature (it was THAT which drove him underground in the daytime, and not the sun…his eyes were too light-sensitive!) If he protected them with a heavy dark lens he could just about manage to venture out during daylight. He had quickly learned that he also had to care for his appearance; the more advanced (and far softer) Western meat was fussier about how he looked, their women more so. The only other true fact that had survived the myths about him was that women could not resist him; once they smelt his odour they became dripping putty in his hands. Useful.
The copper tang of blood competed with the acrid smell of urine to be the dominant force in the room. Even though he had just fed, his sensitive nose was sending mixed signals to his brain; hunger and desire boiled and churned to make him shudder.
He licked at his hands, the thick deposits of her essence providing a sweet dessert to the main course, his belly full now. The curtains allowed a sliver of light from passing cars to strobe around the room, and he growled quietly in his throat when it illuminated his food on the bed.
Like most of his recent meals she had welcomed him at first; only when the true nature of what she had before her came to light did the fear begin. His red-rimmed lips twitched in a smile; he had a lot to thank the current batch of “Romantic Horror” writers for! It is what had brought him further west than he had ever been, the willingness of an American girl in deepest Afghanistan fuelling the idea of ready prey…and he had not been disappointed so far!
Crossing into the UK had been a lot easier than he imagined, and now he had found a lair from which to roam the Capital he would stay a while.
He stood and stretched, his eyes glancing at the windows to check on the progress of dawn (the only thing in current folklore that was nearly correct) and decided it was time to move. He walked around the bed and recovered the leather bindings used to keep his food still (they were precious to him); the lifeless stare from his victim made him pause in slight regret. She had been young and attractive, perfect for breeding, but his hunger and lust had been too strong after the journey across the Channel. Reaching out, he stroked her cheek almost lovingly before slipping a long nail under one glazed eye and deep into the socket. The eye popped out with a wet slap onto her face; a quick twist and pull to release it and he had his prize.
As he walked out through the quiet apartment block the orb swung from his fingers; something to chew on before he slept.
Chapter One
Arnie Pierce was tired, and even the second cup of coffee this morning had not shaken the bone-deep lethargy that filled him. He hated his life, every aspect of it, and it was eating him slowly into an early grave. The sound of HER moving around upstairs made him mutter and rise to prepare to leave. He hated Dorothy most of all. Which was in fact a lie; he still loved her very deeply but HE was a disappointment to her. She never failed to mention that far younger men had been promoted past him; not directly, but it came out in casual conversation whenever he mentioned work. She blamed him for their lack of children, the “waste” of her youth, and the fact she couldn't go shopping in the stores the OTHER wives of executives could! She had retreated across their marital bed to stay firmly behind a wall of cold sheets; and god help him if he touched her without permission!
He nearly made it to the front door before her voice once again cut him to the core.
“No need to rush home tonight. I have invited Jane round to watch a movie, and you will just clutter the place up.”
He turned to look up at her as she stood halfway down the staircase. She still had a figure to die for (hours spent mimicking various celebrity trainers in front of the TV) and her looks had if anything improved. It made him ache for her, and he despised her for that. He shrugged and left the house.
He climbed into his “Lower-Middle-Management” car (her words) and pulled out onto the leafy pleasant street. The house was the one thing she didn’t complain about. He had inherited the property from his late father, and given his current salary he would never have been able to afford a place this size. At 45 he felt his life was over.
The usual crawl into work was eased with the tomes of the morning radio DJ; a well-known personality who had an edge of irreverence that never failed to make him smile. The news at 8.30 wasn't much to cheer about; the recession was cutting deeper, the war against terror was claiming more soldiers, and another gruesome murder to stain the beautiful City of London. He needed a fucking holiday away from everything.
Charlie the Concierge nodded as always as he passed through reception heading for the elevators. On those nights where he “didn’t have to rush home” he and old Charlie had chatted and become quite close. They were both Ex-Military; however Charlie had never really left the service…he had simply grown older and swapped uniforms. They exchanged stories from their past, and sipped at illicit Whisky from a secret stash behind the reception desk. They would talk again tonight.
Escaping from the confines of the elevator was a relief; the overpowering morning aftershave and perfume had nearly made him gag; however he WAS following a delightful smell down the corridor towards his department! Elaine from “Overseas Sales” wiggled and swayed not 2 yards in front of him as she too made her way to her desk, and his stare at her ass must have caused a physical burn. She looked over her shoulder with a sly grin, but on seeing who it was her eyebrows went up.
“Why Mr Pierce! I could almost feel your eyes all over my bum! I never took you for THAT kind of man!”
Arnie shrugged (a habit that was becoming more pronounced with the years) and smiled back at her.
“You should know it’s the quiet ones you have to watch Elaine!”
She wrinkled her face as she digested that image, and he could see she was struggling to come back with a riposte. Failing to find something either cutting or polite she just shook her head and increased her pace. She didn't fancy him either.
Arnie sighed and eased himself through the heavy doors into his domain; Customer Service & Marketing (UK). He glanced at his watch (0855 so time to grab another coffee) and weaved between the closely packed desks towards the coffee machine in the far corner. It had a crowd of worshippers already in attendance, and all greeted the fellow addict with nods or smiles. All except one.
Russell Bates was his direct superior, and never missed an opportunity to let him know.
“Be quick with that please Pierce, I have dropped some files on your desk that need immediate attention.”
Arnie pretended he didn't see the sympathetic glances among the others.
Just less than two miles away from Arnie’s office was the start of the West End and its associated bars, restaurants and theatres. Behind the Prince Edward Theatre on Brewer Street there is a narrow service alley, and this runs for around 50 yards before terminating at a set of dumpsters. All of the buildings that fronted the street had their own; but it was the Prince Edward dumpster that was home to Emily Crown. It was very rarely used, and when it was it tended to be old costumes or scenery that was thrown over the high sides; both very useful to a woman living on her wits! Over her current 3-month residence, she had acquired a very useful wardrobe of warm winter clothing AND a couple of posh frocks! The bruise from the fake Doric column had faded somewhat now; its arrival in the early hours of one morning catching her out in the open…and squarely on the forehead! She touched the bruise and winced…stupid fucking time to throw stuff away! She prepared her “Day Bag” before climbing lithely over the side to drop into the alley. Today was going to be a “reconnaissance” day; her activist group had a tip that the Minister for Home Affairs was having a night out at the Palladium tonight, and her job was to check out the security around the old building.
With her usual confident stride she joined the pedestrians flowing through the area, aware some gave her sidewards glances, but fuck them…she liked the way she looked! At 28 she looked ten years older, her hair a mass of purple dreadlocks, no make-up and clad from head to toe in surplus Army gear she looked exactly what she was…a woman on a mission! Emily Crown NEEDED a cause, ANY cause, that would fuel her dislike of society. Her current group were somewhat confused Anarchists with undertones of Earth Mother and Eco-warriors…all women who wanted to make a “difference”. Emily didn't know if she had EVER made a “difference”, but if SHE didn't do something then who the fuck would? All she knew was the world was going to be fucked in around 50 years if society kept shitting on it they way they do now; but not if she could do something about that! The guy they were targeting tonight was an arrogant prick who at their last meeting called her a “Filthy Dyke” (she liked women but not in THAT way) so it would be brilliant to spoil his little junket tonight! The fact that he knew her meant she wouldn't be part of the “Assault Group” (and she was pissed about that) but she had an important part to play; find a gap for them to sneak through! The Ministers agreement to allow drilling for oil in the Snowdonia National Park had outraged many, but it was HER group that were going to make him sorry. That thought added a spring to her step on this fine morning.
Detective Constable Eddy Palmer swore loudly at his superior.
“Don’t drive like a twat Sarge, I've just spilled my fucking tea all over my leg!”
Detective Sergeant Paul Brewer laughed and tugged at the steering wheel again to just miss a cycle courier. He wound down the window to shout a curse at the offending rider before looking down at the mess in the passenger seat.
“I told you not to take the plastic lid off! Why do you think they give them to you with a fucking top on you daft bastard?”
Eddy Palmer looked at the older man with disdain.
“When Mr Styrofoam Cup invented the fucking thing, he didn't envisage it having to deal with a demented old fart like you driving a fucking car!!”
His Sergeant frowned and looked hurt.
“I may be a few years older than you sonny, but I'm not demented!”
He swerved again to miss a bus AND a mother with a baby, before mounting the side-walk to stop near a newspaper vendor. He held out his hand for his daily copy, the vendor shaking his head as the car screeched back onto the road and continued it’s mad dash across the city. Eddy covered his eyes and hoped to god no one would get killed.
“What’s the rush Sarge? I know you always drive at warp speed, but today you seem to be trying to break some kind of fucking record!”
Paul Brewer threw the newspaper at him.
“Read the fucking headline.”
It screamed out from the tabloid.
“Another corpse found in the city! Reports are coming in about another victim found raped and partially eaten in Soho! The Police are still clueless as to who may be committing these terrible crimes…”
Chapter Two
Sgt. Brewer slid the car to a halt at the edge of the cordon. The striped tape flapped lazily in the warm morning breeze, and seemed wholly inadequate to keep the ogling crowd at bay. The few Uniforms present did their best to convince people there was “Nothing to see here” as the two Detectives followed the Coroners gurney into the building. The first face they encountered was Chief Inspector Hardash (no prizes for guessing what HIS nickname was) who was looking extremely flustered. He mopped at his face with a handkerchief and looked relieved to see them.
“In 25 years on the Force I have NEVER seen anything like that! Make sure that the body is well covered when they bring it down; if any of those fucking parasites (he waved at the photographers clustered outside) get a picture then all hell will let loose!”
Brewer and Palmer exchanged glances before the Constable spoke up.
“Do we have ANYTHING to go on Sir? This is the second case in as many days; surely the bastard has left us some clues this time?”
The Chief Inspector took a deep breath, and some colour returned to his ashen face.
“Oh he’s left us with LOADS of clues Detective Constable! That poor girl is covered with bite marks, she has been…molested…in a way that will leave us a trace of his DNA, and we now know his favourite part of a woman is her inner thigh!”
The Constable was just about to ask about that when the C.I leaned forward and whispered.
“Yes my lovely laddie, he has eaten them on this one too!”
They watched him leave and snarl his way through the paparazzi before pressing the button for the elevator. Neither man said anything; locked as they were in their own private visions of the creature that they were now chasing.
There were lots of shocked-looking Police and CSI’s crowding the small hallway that led to the flat in question. Brewer spotted the Coroner smoking a cigarette near an open window, and crossed over to find out as much as he could before entering the room.
“You keep using those and you’ll be on your own slab before long!”
The Coroner raised a weary brow and gave a snort.
“After what I've seen in there a long slow death from cancer would be a blessing! (He rubbed a hand over his face) All of the wounds inflicted on her were anti-mortem; she KNEW she was being eaten!”
Eddy Palmer had drifted over to catch the conversation, and suddenly tapped Brewer on the shoulder.
“I have some leave owing Sarge, so if you don’t mind I’ll take it right about now!”
The older man growled under his breath.
“You and me both son; however get that skinny arse of yours in there and we’ll see what we've got eh?”
With a muttered “fucking slave-driver” Eddy Palmer pushed through the crowd and entered the apartment. Even with all the comments from the others he still wasn't prepared for the scene in front of him. The girl was spread-eagled on the bed, her wrists and ankles showing signs of intense struggles against being tied (he made a mental note; takes his tools with him!) The amount of blood was a lot less than he expected; however the raw gaping wounds on the inside of her thighs more than made up for the lack of spectacle. The flesh had been removed…bitten away…down to the bone, and he felt the bile rise as the femur glinted white under the CSI’s cameras. She was covered in bites and puncture wounds (some kind of slim knife?), and judging by the mess he had made of her genitalia he had tortured her for a while. The fact she had been still alive when all this happened to her made him feel decidedly sick. He looked at her face (mid 20’s perhaps) and wondered what her last thoughts could have been like. Whoever they were looking for would be lucky if they managed to get him before the public did; this will start a real ripple of anger across the city.
He stood to one side as the Coroners’ men covered her with a rubber sheet and lifted her ravaged body onto the gurney; even those hardened officers shaking their heads at the damage done to her. Eddy turned from the bed and started to look around the room for a clue to who she was. He didn't have to look far; her purse was on top of a small chest of drawers against the far wall. Clearing a space amongst the make-up and perfume bottles, he carefully tipped the contents out onto the wooden surface. Picking up her driving licence told him all he needed to know. She was only 22.
Sgt. Brewer came into the doorway and called him across.
“It seems we may have a lead! One of the other tenants thinks she may have seen the man she was with last night; the description is hazy, so go and use your famous charm on her!”
Eddy ignored the obvious sarcasm and followed the Sergeant out of the apartment. He saw a nervous face peeking around a doorway further along the corridor, so putting on his best smile he went to talk to the girl. She was trembling as he led her back into her rooms and sat her on the couch.
He left her there and went through to the small kitchen (he could use a fucking cup of tea himself!) and under the guise of a Good Samaritan he returned with two large mugs. After getting her name (Caroline…Caroline Smith) he spoke quietly and clearly.
“My Sergeant tells me you knew Tracy quite well? What can you tell me about last night?”
The girls eyes filled up at the mention of her dead friend, and she pressed a tissue to her nose as though in comfort.
“She came in around 1 AM I think it was (she paused) yes, it was around then as I had just gone to bed. I heard her talking outside in the hall, and the man she was with had a strange accent.”
Eddy looked up from his notebook.
“Can you describe it?”
Caroline shook her head and waved a hand.
“They all sound alike to me those foreigners! I think he may have been an Arab or something; but the biggest fucking Arab I'VE ever seen!”
Eddy encouraged her to go on.
“I guess I was a bit curious as to who she had with her, so I opened my door and peeked out all quiet like. Now Tracy was only about 5 foot 4 inches tall, but this bloke towered over her! He must have been well over 6 foot tall…closer to seven!”
Eddy whistled.
“That’s one big bloke! Did you notice anything else about him?”
Caroline thought for a second, and then looked closely at him as though sharing a secret.
“Not really, but Tracy couldn't keep her hands off him! When they went through her door she already had her hand on the front of his pants…you know…rubbing his thing!”
The girl blushed and looked down at her cup. Eddy wrote quickly, drank his tea and stood to leave, passing her his card just in case.
“If you think of any other details then call me okay? Any time, day or night, it may just help us to catch that bastard!”
Caroline looked relieved that the questions were over, the small nod telling him that there would probably be nothing else. He let himself out of the apartment and went looking for his Sergeant.
Brewer was talking with another tenant from the other side of the corridor, but Eddy could see from the body language he wasn't getting anything of use. He waited until Brewer also handed over his card, and then tapped him on the elbow.
“She saw him alright, but not much to go on I'm afraid. The only thing we have is that this guy is massive, and talks with a funny accent!”
Brewer shook his head, muttered “Fucking great”, and pressed for the elevator to take them down. This was going to be a LONG day!
He stirred restlessly in his sleep, the unfamiliar place he now called home didn't feel right yet. It was big enough for him to stay a while provided he found breeders; they would give him fresh meat and limit his exposure. His dreams were filled with images spanning back over centuries…millennia…all of them about war and feeding. He had followed conquering armies all over the Middle East and beyond; their journeys providing him with plenty of opportunity to feed on the wounded left behind. He had ventured into North Africa; island hopped across the south Pacific, and watched the great empires of the Chinese rise and fall. Wherever man had gone to fight man he had followed. With armies came women (his preferred meat) and they were never missed; sometimes he had the run of a complete city left open after conquest, the men dead or enslaved, the women all alone just for him. His dreams took him to one such city in the deserts of the country now known as Iraq, and he had fed on tougher meat until one side was victorious…the gates to the city broken down. He had spent five years feasting on those left behind. After a while they just huddled and waited for him to use them for pleasure or food…all hope had gone from their eyes. It was there that he discovered the sweetest meal of all…the little ones they produced. He could give them seed, but what was born was hideous to behold; their saving grace the flavour. It had been over 100 of their years since he had a haven in which to produce meat like that; it was about time he settled for a while.
He had come upon this place quite by chance; his avoidance of a late-night Police patrol taking him over a high wall and through a grating in the ground. It had led to a passage, which in turn brought him to the large cavern he now claimed. He had no knowledge of the old Underground Railway system that ran under the streets of London; he had stumbled into a disused section of track right in the heart of the financial district…and it would serve his purpose perfectly. It appeared only on a few maps locked away in a dusty archive; the glass and steel that covered the ground above had erased all traces of the old station and entrance. He didn't need electricity or lighting as his eyes functioned better in the dark than any other creature (it was THAT which drove him underground in the daytime, and not the sun…his eyes were too light-sensitive!) If he protected them with a heavy dark lens he could just about manage to venture out during daylight. He had quickly learned that he also had to care for his appearance; the more advanced (and far softer) Western meat was fussier about how he looked, their women more so. The only other true fact that had survived the myths about him was that women could not resist him; once they smelt his odour they became dripping putty in his hands. Useful.
September 21, 2013
Soon Time To Tease!!
I'll be putting up a teaser chapter early next week of the new book Food Chain..the horror is flowing nicely! http://youtu.be/5ZUE5IXJnLo
