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Wednesday, 14 October 2015

Horror on a sunny day?

I am just beyond the halfway point in The Letter now. The sun is shining through my window and directly at me, so I am typing this with one eye closed. Perhaps it's just as well for I am at a rather creepy bit...

Although this is not a horror story, there is a dream sequence which is rather significant. Here it is:-


Sleep came suddenly and without warning, transporting her to a meadow which was lush and green. There was a picnic spread out on a yellow checkered blanket. It was a horrible shade of yellow, jaundiced and sickly and she wondered who could possibly have wanted to buy it.
Sandwiches over spilled plates and other dishes held relishes and chutneys. There were quiches and sweet pastries and a plump strawberry flan. She turned in all directions but there was no-one around. The sun was beating down on her and it seemed a terrible shame to let all of the food spoil.

She sat down on the blanket and without cutting the flan or reaching out towards it, there was suddenly a large slice in her hand, jam sliding off the side of the pastry and dribbling down her arm, thick, red and viscous.

She opened her mouth, ready to receive the treat but before a morsel passed her lips she caused to look downwards. The pastry was crawling with big, fat bugs. They jostled one another for space in the jam and wriggled out of holes in the strawberry.

Repulsed, Fran threw the slice as far away as she could. The whole picnic was alive! Squirming and writhing and thrashing in the chutney and falling of the mounds of sandwiches in glutinous, struggling masses, black insectile carapaces intertwined with white gelatinous sheathes, adults and offspring contesting for something she didn’t want to imagine.  She shrank back from the food and the blanket it lay upon.

As if they were aware of her presence, the insects appeared to chase her, running towards where she stood, their short, hard bodies click-clacking as they moved, antennae clawing at the air. At the edge of the blanket they stopped. As one they shuddered as if something terrible prevented their onward charge. Whatever it was that had halted their progress could surely only be worse than them…

Fran looked over her shoulder.

There was a hill behind her. She hadn’t noticed it before. Or perhaps it hadn’t been there.

Over the hill a figure staggered towards her. Too far away and with the sun shining directly in her eyes she had at first to squint to see who it was. But before her eyes could attest to what they were seeing, her head - or perhaps it was her heart - spoke directly to her. You know who he is, don’t you? You already know who he is and what he wants.
Tattered, dirty clothing flapped around his emaciated form and where skin should have provided a covering of flesh over his abdomen, there was none. Instead, putrid, flaccid, decaying organs spewed forth from his gut and were dragged along the ground in his wake.

Will you be brave enough to read my other books? I wonder...

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