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Stories

Stories

Extract from Coffin Dodgers – the new book by Tom G.H. Adams

Coffin Dodgers is released on Thursday 2nd February 2017 Here’s a taster from one of the early chapters. It finds the main character, Eden attempting to swim across the Red Lake, one of the challenges in the Survivathon competition set up by Thrillzone. She’s teamed up with three other competitors: Heidi  a – Swedish multi-athlete, Wade – Eden’s fiance and Fisk – an old flame of Eden’s “We should move,” Wade said. Eden nodded, and they entered the water, knees lifting high…

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Stories

North of Lonesome Creek

“That’s it, just beyond that fallen oak,” the old woman said, pointing at the splintered trunk of a tree recently felled by storm, subsidence—or something else. John Absolom pulled the hood of his cagoule back, letting the rain patter on his scalp and form rivulets down his neck. He raised a pair of field glasses and focused on the white fleck of raw wood indicated by their octogenarian guide. “No blackening,” he said and flicked the matchstick in his teeth…

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Stories

99 Penny Dreadfuls

99 Penny Dreadfuls – as the phrase suggests, these stories are very short. Not quite as short as Hemingway’s 6 worder: For sale: baby shoes, never worn That sort of story requires an extra special skill. Apparently he wrote it after a friend challenged him about using less words. This offering features two stories that will appear in my next book – Beasts, Brutes and Abominations. Warning: the second is sexually explicit (C’mon, you know me by now) Manitou Long Pig. Ugly name…

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Stories

Mr Crimson

Art by Antonio José Manzanedo Mr Crimson   Every building has a secret entrance, one even the architects somehow overlooked. To say they were doors wouldn’t be entirely accurate. Certainly, they weren’t physical, although it wasn’t entirely impossible for a mortal to discover them. None would venture a guess as to how they came to be. One thing was for sure – they allowed Mr Crimson to enter any abode he desired. He stepped confidently across the overgrown lawn at…

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Stories

What Syd Barrett would do – the full story

I stare at the skin on the back of my hand. When I make it into a fist, the pressed layers of dermis and epidermis stretch tight and smooth. Venules, branching like a roadmap lie just beneath. I know that, at the size of a dust mite, the slick, pink oily surface will appear as valleys and peaks in some prehistoric landscape. Dermal flora lie in those depressions, performing their routine biochemical functions, obliviously outcompeting an invading Mycoplasma or Legionella…

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Stories

The beast of both worlds

A new story, using a title taken from Chuck Wendig’s recent blog challenge. I am grateful to Rick Sherman for coming up with such an inspiring title. ~ ~ ~ Since the time my first memory coalesced like a planetoid forming, the cartilage temple  had been my sanctuary. Passing through its gristled gates and hyaline arches, the Scenoids beckoned with their siren song. There, they would give me succour from their sarcous mammaries, the ambrosial milk suckled voraciously until satiation was…

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Stories

Possession at 3,000 perforations a minute

Her birth certificate showed Deirdre was born on 13th November 1985. But she was spawned much earlier than that. A girl who produced quality arm sleeves like the ones she tattooed onto the skins of the unwary, could just as likely rustle up a false birth certificate. I’d seen her work. It was good – in every respect. Dark mulberry skull formed from the tangled branches of a willow, vermillion dragons coiled themselves round thunder-cracked mountain-tops and Jimi Hendrix lifted…

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Stories

Prophecy and pork chops

Bones flicked his fedora up so he could see the contents of the frying pan. The hat was always slipping forward since the loss of his hair a while ago. He stabbed another chop with the cooking fork and lifted it carefully out of the marinade dish, careful not to drop it in the red sand that blew across the floor of Death Valley. The frying pan greeted the chop with a sizzle and a pop, instantly sealing the juices…

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Stories

They scream in the dark

Beyond the veil that shrouds the outer limits of our rational universe lies another, where conventional scientific laws break down. I operate along that boundary, watching places where the fabric wears thin or gets punched through. Stuff leaks out. Psychic effluvium polluting our jaded world. It’s my job to deal with it. Call me a paranormal plumber if you like. There was a leak in the seaside town of Gillsbrough. Reverend Newlands had referred the leader of the parish council…

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