You Cannot Escape What Is In Your Head

Inasmuch as I’m known at all, it’s probably for the STAC Mysteries, that series of eleven cosy whodunits which has proved so popular over the last two years.

But that’s not how it was supposed to be.

I originally started out with much darker works, like The Deep Secret and its forerunner, The Handshaker, recently described by one reviewer as ‘savage in parts’.

Slightly less violent, but in my view, more compelling is Voices.

It’s the tale of Chris Deacon, survivor of a terrorist attack who finds himself haunted by strange phantoms and voices in his head. Although the first draft was written in just over a month, the finished product took almost two years to bring to fruition. At about 110,000 words, it’s the longest book I have out, and it is, again in my humble opinion, one of the best, if not the best.

And yet, it sells poorly. Perhaps because I’m so busy with STAC, that I rarely get around to publicising it. It’s also difficult to categorise. It’s currently banded under metaphysical sci-fi, but I think it may be slightly more psychological horror. It has only five reviews, and yet all are 5-star, and, of course, I never solicit reviews, so you can be sure they are genuine.

Here are some of the things the reviewers said.

This is real horror at its best, not because it’s full of blood and gore (there’s plenty) but because you really believe it could be happening.

The apparitions were brilliantly written too – they were scary enough that I was looking under my bed before I got into it

Strong in imagery and filled with believable characters you can really root for. It moves along at a good pace to deliver a powerful ending that will not only leave you feeling incredibly satisfied, it will also leave you wanting more

‘Voices’ keeps you guessing and has a terrific pay-off. David Robinson isn’t afraid to use slipstream techniques or flashbacks to uncover exposition bit by bit

This unusual tale has a gripping plot and believable characters. Highly recommended.

As I write, Voices sits at #25 in its genre chart, and it appears in no less than three such charts.

Here’s an excerpt which I hope will allow you to judge for yourselves.

It’s early in the tale. Chris is in the refectory, queuing for lunch, when he notices one of his students behaving suspiciously. Then the terrifying truth dawns on him.

***

I opened my mouth to shout a warning. The sweep hand on the clock above the service counter reached the top of the hour. The minute hand moved one last time to register 12:45. There was a flash of light and an almighty explosion.

A ball of flame expanded in all directions. With it came the noise of screams, of glass shattering as the windows disappeared, followed by an awful rending of metal. The triple extractors fell from their mountings and crashed to the tables below where they exploded into a thousand pieces. One of the blades embedded itself in the back of Grey Pinstripe’s head. He fell, one hand clawing at the back of his neck. I watched the light go out in his eyes.

At the same time, a wall of superheated air hit my lungs. The blast threw me back, slamming me into the vending machines. Something bloody came my way. I had time to register it as the head of one of the chatterers before I ducked. It struck me a glancing blow on the forehead and my knees buckled.

Dizziness swimming around me, I took in the scene of carnage. Azi and the window where he was perched were gone. The emergency exit had been blown open and at least two students were hurled through it. Pauline was unconscious, one arm laying several feet from the rest of her. In his pram, the baby had a large piece of metal projecting from his chest. Steve Jessop had been thrown towards the service counter, where he lay unconscious, blood streaming from numerous cuts on his face. Emma stared down at a large piece of extractor fan filling the valley between her breasts. As I watched, she keeled over and lay still. Purse Woman lay strewn across Steve’s midriff, her legs slashed to ribbons. Her face was turned my way, but her eyes focussed on the bloody mess that had been Grey Pinstripe’s head.

There was nothing left of the students or the table where Richmond had left his bag. The cleaner’s lower legs were still on the floor. They were several feet apart and the rest of her had been torn from them. All around the central blast area lay the charred remains of what had been people a few moments ago.

Glancing to my left, I could see a counter hand spread-eagled across the hobs, her clothing and hair on fire. I prayed she was already dead. At the staff tables, several were already beyond help; one of the survivors was trying to revive the woman next to him.

Smoke and fumes filled my lungs, I tasted the coppery essence of blood on my lips, my head hurt front and back. I ran a hand across my face. It came away covered in blood. I don’t know whether it was mine or someone else’s.

It seemed as if time had come to standstill. I felt as if I was staring at this horror for minutes, but it was probably less than two seconds.

As the dazed survivors came to their senses, they ran, some making for the emergency exit, the rest, from this side of the room, rushing for the double doors to my right, and the safety of reception beyond them.

The explosion had melted the ceiling tiles and caused a brief flare; enough to kick in what was left of the sprinkler system. Rain poured on the bloodied and charred floor tiles, turning them into a gooey, slippery mess of blood, flesh and water. At the head of the panicked crowd, Marcia Reardon, a tutor from the Languages Department, slipped and went down. The mob trampled her. I saw her tongue loll out before she disappeared under the thundering feet.

I flattened myself to the vending machine as the crowd massed towards the door. A young girl was forced into the corner. She screamed as the herd crushed in on her and pressed her flat against the wall. Then her screams stopped and her eyes faded.

They crushed me too, forcing me back against the unyielding machinery. They were moving to the right. I fought my way to the left, my legs turning to jelly, strength wilting. The tiniest of gaps opened around me and I began to go down.

***Voices is available for download as an e-book in all formats from:

Amazon

Smashwords

Crooked Cat Books

And many other e-book retailers.

It is also available in paperback by searching for the ISBN: 978-1908910424