Crossroads, Part 3

An awkward silence followed the departure of her former owner. Or at least it was awkward for Penny as she sat on the chair, her bare thighs sticking to the leather and making it creak with every minor shift as the woman behind the desk stared at her. Fuck, it felt like talking to someone that was being too obvious about having searched out her sex tape.

“Would you like to put some pants on?”

“What?”

“Pants,” the woman repeated as if she was talking to a particularly dim or stoned child. “You should put some on.” She nodded towards the chair that the crossroads demon had just been sitting in. In her place there was a neatly folded pair of leather trousers. “Please. You have very beautiful legs, but the chair you’re sitting on is older than the country you live in and I don’t want your sweat corroding the leather.”

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Crossroads, Part 2

Nine years and ten months later.

Penny woke with her face in a pillow and a pounding in her head. With a groan, she tried to wriggle deeper into the bed, but found someone in the way. She frowned into the pillow before turning her head just enough to peer one eyed at the body beside her.

Fully clothed. That was good. That meant they had probably just drunkenly passed out together. She squinted, unimpressed with the meagre light that filtered through the curtains. A man. They definitely just passed out together. She tried to move her feet and found that they were pinned. Another shift and wiggle that was more effort that she truly felt she had to spend on such things and she saw why. One of the roadies (Molly was it?) was sprawled across her legs in a position that could not be comfortable. Now she remembered. The last night of her tour. Traditional beer and pizza night with the people that made sure she had a good show. The session band. The roadies. However many of them were up for it and would fit into her frankly obscene hotel room. Not all of them stayed the night, but enough of them did that it was always fun trying to pick her way through the passed out bodies when she was inevitably the first one to wake.

She would have liked to stay on the bed in the heart of the tangle, but her hangover was loud and demanding. Carefully, not wanting to wake anyone, she extracted herself and grabbed her handbag before stumbling her way to the bathroom as quietly as possible, stepping over two more people on her way and clicking the bathroom door shut behind her.

Crossroads, Part 1

It had been hard to find the right sort of crossroads close enough for Penny to get to. Apparently they were rarer than TV had led her to believe, or maybe they were an American thing. Whatever the reason, she had had to get a train and then a bus and then walk down a creepy country road until she found where it was bisected at a perfect ninety degree angle by another. Arms wrapped around herself she stood by the high hedge, shivering. She should have worn something a bit warmer, but the autumn had been mild so far and she hadn’t considered that it would turn icy at night.

She wouldn’t let something like poor weather stop her though. The cold could nip at her all it wanted, she wouldn’t be leaving here. Not without what she came for. She had worked too hard for this. So instead of turning on her heel and running back home she took those tentative few steps out into the centre of the crossroads. The sky was clear overhead, the stars bright without any light pollution, and the moon a thin sliver.

How long would this take? She had been there an hour already. Was she supposed to do something? Bring something with her? She didn’t know. She hoped that whatever offering she was supposed to lay down was purely symbolic rather than needed. Please don’t let this be something else she messed up. Please. She needed this. It had to work. Had to.

“Despite my current standing, I do still love a show of faith.” Penny froze. The voice came from behind her and carried something dark and soft with it. The voice of a woman that knew everyone looking at her wanted what she had to offer. Slowly, she turned to face the new comer.

The woman was in her late middle age but carried it off in a Helen Mirrian ageing with grace kind of way. Red hair peppered with grey, lines at her blue eyes and hands with long bony fingers. She was better dressed for the weather than Penny, with a stylish winter coat and expensive looking boots. She could be one of her Mum’s friends. Or the sort of person that thought they were too good to be one of Mum’s friends.

“A-are you-”

“The Crossroads demon you were looking for?” the woman finished for her with a girlish grin that looked out of place on her face. “Yes sweet thing, I am. Now tell me, why am I here and not sitting down below warming my feet by the flames?” Penny’s mouth opened and closed, her eyes wide and her insides a churning mass of worms. She needed to speak. Needed to tell the woman what she wanted. But nothing but a faint choking sound came out. The woman’s look turned considering and she slipped her hands into her pockets to circle Penny.

“It’s not for looks, I can see that much,” she began. “Brains perhaps. The dumb blond is something of an archetype.”

“I’m not stupid,” she insisted, finally managing to get some words out. The other woman’s smile turned sharp, a trick of the light making her teeth look like needles for a moment.

“That’s debatable. But tell me, why resort to this?”

“I want to be a rock star,” Penny said, her voice proud but her face flushing. Finally saying it out loud like this felt a bit silly. As though she was still a little girl saying she wanted to be a princess when she grew up.

“And you need the talent?”

“I’ve got the talent,” she replied, the embarrassment fading. “I’ve even got a band. What I need is the opportunity.”

The demon came to a stop in front of her.

“This bargain is just for you. I can make a star out of you, assuming it’s not just pride talking about your talent. But you know the stakes, yes?”

“I know. You get my soul and I die early. But it’s worth it.” The needle smile flashed for another second.

“That sounds like a good deal to me. How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” she replied, feeling a little more unsure. The grin turned wicked for a flash.

“I can give you ten years of glory. I’ll even throw in icon status for free. So, what do you say?”

“Ten years?”

“Ten years and you’ll go down in rock history as this generation’s Freddie Mercury. Do we have a deal?” Penny felt her heart almost stop at those words. Not just a rock star, but a rock legend. Worshipped, loved, remembered.

“We have a deal,” she replied, breathless with want. “Do we shake on it or something?”

“Or something,” the other woman murmured, slipping her hand around Penny’s waist. A trill of disgust coiled in her at the touch and she found herself freezing. For the first time since the woman had appeared, Penny saw her as a demon, her hand slipping against her cheek as she pressed in close. She could taste smoke at the back of her throat but couldn’t pull away. Every inch of her screamed that this was wrong. That a monster was slithering across her skin. The press of lips and the harsh push of a forked tongue had her gagging but she still couldn’t fight back. Burning flooded her every cell. Reaching into her. Deeper. Deeper. And twisting.

Part 2 >

The Call of the Jersey Devil by Aurellio Voltaire

Oh. Oh dear. I’m not quite sure where to start with this one. Disclaimer time again I suppose.

I’m a fan of Voltaire. I stumbled across their music on YouTube and thought it was amazing. A real call back to goth rock in a way that you don’t really get any more. I fell in love with his lyrics and found his cultivated Goth Personality image to be as perplexing as it was entertaining. So obviously when I found out he had a book out I had to read it.

I sort of wish I hadn’t.

The Beast and the Botanist Part 1

The castle was a huge gothic monstrosity. It sprawled across the grounds, seemingly endless. Its spires numbered in the dozens and lanced up into the heavens, sharp and severe. The stone blackened as if charred, the gargoyles lurking like beasts upon the roof. It was a blatant show of power. A declaration of wealth and strength.

It should have been garish. Instead Dahlia found herself oddly charmed. It was a peculiar place, but something about it was rather homely.  Perhaps the way the place blended seamlessly into the night, the embrace of darkness a comforting thing rather than anything to be feared. So, suitcase in hand, Dahlia took the steps and strode to the front door. Another over the top and huge thing that could not possibly be practical. Though there was a smaller door cut into the enormous one. A door that was actually usable, though still a little oversized.

Time to make sure she made a good impression. She knew from experience that people this wealthy could be flighty and inconsistent. Her credentials might be impressive but that was no guarantee that some rich idiot wouldn’t take one look at her and decide that an out of place hair meant she was an ill suited tutor for their snot nosed brat.

Oops

I didn’t intend to forget about this blog but life has gotten hectic. Between my writing my job and the my wife getting pregnant and then giving birth I’ve really not had time to focus here. That’s going to change. Things have fallen into more of a rhythm and I should be able to actually start putting up some more content. I’ve read a few more books that would fit in on here, so there’s reviews to write on those. I might start posting some short stories as well, but that very much depends on my muse and my baby.

Horror Sale

As it’s the season for all things spooky and scary I’ve decided to put Vengeance of the Dead on sale for half price until the end of the month. Now is the time to get it if you have a soft spot for eroticism and ghosts,  killers and comeuppance, blood and desperation

So join Mol, a repentant serial killer, as she faces the consequences of past actions and realises that sorry means nothing to the dead. But will she be able to shield the far too caring Jenny or will the sweet little artist that’s so perfectly her type get dragged down with her? Click the cover and find out for yourself.

Touched by Joanna Briscoe

When I started doing this I swore to myself that I would be nice. That I would keep a level head about things and try not to be mean about anyone’s book. I mean, I’m a trash writer. I am, and I’m proud of it. How would I feel if I came across a review that was just mean spirited? It would be awful.

So with that in mind I’d like to say this, and I mean it from the bottom of black withered heart.

Fuck this book.

Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice

It was a fascinating experience reading this book for the first time while knowing the impact it had had on horror and culture at large. The book felt very comforting, I have to admit. Like slipping into a well worn t-shirt. Familiar and warm. A lot of this came from having seen the movie and I confess that was really the only reason fifteen year old me bought the book. Over a decade later I finally get around to reading it only to end up wishing I had done so sooner.

I liked this book, but fifteen year old me would have absolutely revelled in it. That’s not to say that this is a somewhat juvenile story, it’s not. It’s nicely creepy, elegant in places and absolutely heart breaking in others, but it is much better served as in introduction to the genre. If I could go back and read this with fresh eyes rather than the somewhat jaded view I have now I no doubt would have picked up everything that was even tangentially related to the series. Now however, I might pick up the rest of the trilogy at some later date if I can find it in a discount shop or if I’m feeling nostalgic for a more honest vampire story. One that remembers that these things are monsters wearing a human mask and should be treated as such.