The Forgotten Island

by David Sodergren

It was too hot to make the effort, so she pulled a battered Richard Laymon novel from her backpack and laid it on the counter, the dog-eared pages stained with sweat and suntan lotion.

Going on holiday to a warm climate was the cruellest fate a good book could possibly face.

‘There it is,’ she said. ‘The face where smiles go to die.’

‘Herbert West called. He want’s his reagent back,’ she said.

‘Man is not alone in the universe. There’s more out there than we can possibly know. More than we would ever want to know.