The Forgotten Island

by David Sodergren

‘Well I’m not mad, thank you. The voices in my head would have told me if I was,’ she said curtly and he laughed and held out his hand.

‘You should visit Scotland sometime. We use “fuck” as punctuation.

‘Don’t kill my buzz, babe. Not yet,’ he replied. ‘Don’t talk about your sister while I’m still inside you.’

They were the best-looking pair of insufferable arseholes Ana had ever met.

the shattered windows crying bloody tears of rust as the wind spat icily through empty frames.

A tall man, gaunt, and deathly pale, chalky hair draped unflatteringly over his skeletal visage, loose pockets of flesh drooping from his wiry frame. The man’s skin was so white it was like looking into a milk bottle, and Darren could have sworn he could see the veins running through the man’s naked body like tapeworms.

A long strip of metal rested in the fire next to her. She could see Bret’s face aflame, his melted eyeballs dribbling down his cheeks, which were black and charred and bubbling, his mouth open in a rictus grin that ridiculed her from beyond the grave.

Queen Lisa of the Cannibals, knowing no such thing as fear, walked forwards into the web. It snapped and fell, draping over her, a bridal veil for the damned.