Freebie Friday time!

Evening all,

A busy Friday today, so freebie Friday is a little later than usual today - our extract today comes from Jeff Gardiner's BRED IN THE BONE, which is a wonderful story of family relations gone awry - or at least, a family life that would be hard for most of us to recognise...

Copies of No Monsters Allowed are presently available on both Lulu and Amazon, and you can check out those links at http://www.lulu.com/shop/alex-davis/no-monsters-allowed/paperback/product-21240457.html and http://www.amazon.co.uk/No-Monsters-Allowed-Alex-Davis/dp/1907133828

Enjoy the extract, and more to follow next week!

Cheers

Alex

BRED IN THE BONE

By Jeff Gardiner

I can’t complain about my childhood. I had everything a kid could need: toys, my own room, food, a regular routine and I could watch the TV as much as I wanted. The only thing I felt some regret about my parents being too strict about me seeing friends, but they had their reasons and I understood them too.

To be honest I didn’t have many friends anyway, only Robbo at school and we got into some trouble together, although I was scared of doing anything too bad as it only upset my parents and you don’t want to know my Dad when he’s angry. Me and Robbo were never bullies or anything like that, just a bit naughty – you know; lazy, not bothering to do the work properly, losing books, giggling and chatting – the sort of things that really irritate teachers, but never get you into serious trouble. We bunked as well, but were clever about it and could expertly forge absence notes. Our form tutor never seemed unduly bothered. I never told my teachers anything, I just kept quiet at school and everyone left me to get on with my own thing.

After each day at school, I’d walk home, as it’s only a couple of miles, and go to the chip shop for our regular family order. I usually got home about five and I’d have to tidy up the place – usually the mess left by my Dad – feed the dog, a bull terrier called Trooper, and then when Mum came home at six she’d stick the dinner in the microwave and I’d go and wake up Dad.

Dad could be a bit unpredictable at times, but mum was expert at soothing him and they’ve always been affectionate, so I’ve got used to them kissing and cuddling in front of me. Mum always asked about school and I’d tell her lies about what I’d learnt which kept her happy. Dad would always show me his models: he called himself an artist, although he’d never displayed his work and refused to lower himself by joining the commercialised art-world, as it’s so full of ‘rich bastards who wouldn’t understand art if it was crammed up their arseholes’. Dad always made me laugh and we did a lot together. We liked movies and he’d let me stay up into the small hours, even on school nights, watching his favourite films. I’ve got lots of happy memories of times with Dad.

Dad made my favourite toy: a doll – a strange-looking creature that had no name, but that I had always loved and kept in my bed. It might seem a bit strange for a boy to have a doll, but it was just a toy creature – anyway I loved him the best. Dad was really generous in his art and he’d always be making me things and working out what I’d like next. He was thoughtful like that.

Sometimes I’d get a bit bored and wish I had a brother or sister, or that I could go out more with Robbo, but Mum and Dad were good company and I understood that I was needed to help them out with things around the house. Honestly I didn’t mind. It sounds weird, but I did all the cleaning, cooking and washing, not because they made me, but I knew that they were busy and I had the time to do these things. I was proud to be able to help my parents in this way. I never complained.

Extract and full story copyright © Jeff Gardiner 2009

Freebie Friday 3

Evening all,

It's that time of the week again - FREEBIE FRIDAY is here, and time for another sample from NO MONSTERS ALLOWED. This time we're taking a sneak peek into 'Old Bones' by Shannon Quinn, a fantastic example of human horror quirkily delivered from the perspective of a cat. Roger is a great protagonist for this, that perhaps sees more than the people around him do, which is part of what makes this story so fascinating. So, without, further ado...

OLD BONES
By Shannon Quinn

Roger promised to visit his girl as long as he didn’t have to wear the bonnet. He has to draw the line somewhere. He hears her small steps, her breath coming in excited gasps. He sees her tangled brown curls in the distance. She is tripping along behind her mother.

Roger waits on the front stoop, soaking the last of the summer heat from the cement steps.

The girl’s eyes find him, “Hello Kitty Cat!” She is slapping him repeatedly on the head. Roger assumes she believes she is petting him. Her mother is fumbling with a set of keys,

“I said be gentle with that thing. You probably shouldn’t even be touching it, it could have rabies or fleas.” She mashes a key into the lock and opens the door. The girl holds Roger up, gripping him under his front legs so that he dangles inelegantly.

“He’s coming to my party.” She bolts upstairs with Roger held out in front of her, swinging like a pendulum.

Mr. Eisman hears the mother’s clattering heels on the stairs above him… heels attached to feet attached to curved lean legs. He purses his mouth. He knows he mustn’t let those kinds of thoughts into his head. He must stop all of his thinking and be still.

Early this morning he’d run into the mother as she was leaving for work. Her pulpy red mouth chewed out words asking him to look in on the girl during the evening, “unless it would be too much trouble.” His tongue had retreated and plugged the back of his throat like a garden slug. He’d had to nod yes instead of speak. Speaking to women who weren’t girls was highly unpleasant. Women were loud and their words were far too slippery.

Upstairs, Roger, a plastic frog, a mangy stuffed rabbit and the girl are all sitting in a circle. Roger is wearing a yellow bonnet trimmed with lace. His girl is pouring tea and keeping up an animated one-sided conversation. In the light of day there is no hint of the night terrors.

Yesterday evening Roger climbed up the fire escape and slipped in through her window. He had felt her whimpers right through the ceiling and deep into his bones. The terrors whispered his name as sure as they trapped her in her sleep. She sees a dark roiling sky, flooded with the milky colour of cataracts… the girl wonders to herself, who stole all of the colour… just as thundering grey emaciated bodies hurtle themselves toward her, eyes rolled back into their heads. Roger pushed himself up against her chest, purred loudly and patted at her face with his paw.

She flailed awake, throwing Roger off of the bed. She sat upright and still for a moment before she carefully pulled back the sheets she had peed in, bundled them up and hid them in the back of her closet. Then she curled up on the floor with a blanket. From under the bed Roger watched to make sure she slid back through the folds of sleep, not getting snared in roiling skies.

Roger is twenty. Twenty is old for a cat. Twenty is old to be wearing a bonnet. His girl is so young. Special. She sees what the others cannot: the shadows in the night, the extraordinary brightness of day, the weight of air, the thought of a breeze. One blink of her tiny eyelids freezes time and the second blink frees it.

He hopes he’ll be gone when it happens, when she sloughs off her childhood as all of them must. Her soul, snuggling against the infinite, will be tugged ever so slightly away. Everything will be set in motion, too quickly and without warning. It might be at recess or while hiding in a closet or sitting beside a stranger on a bus. No one can ever predict the exact moment that childhood evaporates. Roger has seen it so often, this time he’d rather be gone when it happens.

He excuses himself from the tea party. It’s past his naptime. He gingerly navigates his way down the fire escape. Once inside the apartment he can see Mr. Eisman behind his curtained partition that he uses as a bedroom wall. The shop is a dark place. The lamplight coming from beside Mr. Eisman’s cot elongates a ghoulish skeletal frame against the wall. It’s his naptime also.

Extract copyright © Shannon Quinn 2012

The Top 25 Human Horror Films - Part 2

Evening all,

Today we'll be looking at Part 2 of our top 25 countdown of human horror films, this time covering numbers 16-20. One controversial entry for sure, and other than that a few gems that have remained pretty well undiscovered - many of these are heartily worth checking out if you haven't done so already.

More from our list next week, with our next post coming in two days for the next installment of FREEBIE FRIDAY!

Cheers

Alex

Number Twenty – THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE (FIRST SEQUENCE)

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1467304/?ref_=nv_sr_1

Another film that has been much vilified, much of that due to the hype and build-up before release. There's a lot about the film not to like – the acting could certainly have been better, and the storyline is relatively paper-thin. But there is a genuine feeling of empathy and sympathy for the three individuals linked as the human centipede of the title, and the conclusion of this one did really leave enough of an impression on me for it to make the top 25.

Number Nineteen - ANAMORPH

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0497323/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1

One of the strangest concepts I've seen behind a psychological horror film, with an artistic serial killer using the art of perspective to provide clues to future murders that will be taking place. Willem Dafoe does a fine job in the leading role in making this difficult concept work in this piece, which is perhaps a tad over-long but other than that a good piece of dark film-making. The core concept also gives the film an interesting visual angle that you won't forget.

Number Eighteen – PANIC BUTTON

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1727358/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1

A UK entry on the list, and an interesting take on the prevalence of social media in this day and age. Five 'lucky' individuals win a holiday through a social media site they frequent, and as they are boarded onto the plane they are invited to play a game whilst they travel. However this is a game with dangerous consequences, as unpleasant truhs are revealed about each character. It's a genuinely sense setting, as there's no escaping from the plane, and the only complaint I could offer is that the ending to the film is a bit weak.

Number Seventeen – THE COLLECTOR

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0844479/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1

From some of the team behind the Saw films, The Collector is a piece focussing on an ex-con trying to go straight but forced into one final burglary by his partner's desperate situation. However he gets there to find that a deranged criminal is there already, and what follows is a battle of wits and a game of survival. While not living up to the impact of Saw, this film does have its moments, and the lead character's journey throughout the film is fascinating to watch.

Number Sixteen – HORSEMEN
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0892767/?ref_=nv_sr_1

Another entry that I genuinely wasn't expecting much from, but Dennis Quaid puts in a strong lead role as a semi-retired cop brought back to explore some strange murders with a biblical connection. Not a perfect film, by any stretch, but one that has plenty of interesting visuals and motifs to carry through, as well as an interesting family dynamic at its very heart. It's also, interestingly, directed by Jonas Akerlund, who has delivered some extremely famous music videos for equally famous performers.

Freebie Friday 2 - the freebieing...

Morning all,

Just preparing myself to go away for the weekend, but before I went I thought I'd pop up our latest FREEBIE FRIDAY - last week we treated you to the full story Five an Hour, which serves as a great introduction to the collection.

Today's extract is from the closing story of the collection, DOWNSIZE by Allen Ashley. I've long been a fan of Allen's work, and consider him one of the most original authors working within the genre today. And Downsize is typical of this, being a story that is highly topical - namely, just how far will an employee go to keep their job...

So enjoy, and we'll be back next week with another fab freebie friday...

Thanks

Alex

Downsize (extract)
By Allen Ashley

My first time in the loyalty chair was characterised by a sudden sharp pain gradually followed by dreaming bliss. This was essentially how I imagined the injection of a Class A drug might feel. I had no personal experience to draw on, however, and, indeed, suffer from a generalised aversion to needles.

The vision lasted for about fifteen minutes in real time though my somnolent mind perceived a much longer duration. I was transported back to a recollection of younger years: fairly accurate but mended, rose-tinted and golden rather than grey, dreary and urban. I was a little loath to leave this better version behind.

I felt hardly changed afterwards, although I undoubtedly was. Maybe the effect would be stronger in the cumulative rather than the singular. With the way the global economy was shrinking, I felt sure I’d have another turn in the loyalty chair again quite soon.

The gents’ toilet of Hirojima Financial was, as usual, a repository of rumours.

“I heard there’s restructuring going on. Serious downsizing.”

“Can’t be worse than Jones And Co. They sacked all the cleaners there last month so everybody left has to get in half an hour earlier every day to hoover the floors and shine the taps and stuff. And they have to take the hand towels home and launder them.”

“That’s nothing. The DG’s secretary at Platt Systems has had to start going down on him twice a week just to stay on the payroll!”

“You’re having me on!”

“No, I’m not. Good job she’s not a bloke, I s’pose.”

“Who told you this?”

“Just the old fashioned grapevine, mate. No smoke without fire, if you know what I mean. Anyway, gotta get back to my desk. Don’t want to be in the firing line.”

I washed my own hands quickly and held them under the foetid hot air drier till I could see no more coagulating drops. I walked rather than use the lift. Got to get some sort of exercise apart from RSI and eye strain. At the far wall of the department the dollar sign glowed large and red, the lower case e representing the Euro remained strong and white but the blue pound sign seemed fainter, smaller. The fluctuating market had changed even during my brief nature call. Sometimes matters moved with remarkable haste, other times the illuminations glowed with constant static precision for days and nights on end.

On the way back to my screen, I passed the lovely Christine, who continued to resist my polite but definite amorous overtures. She was wearing a short-sleeved white blouse and her downy arms moved over the keyboard with the grace of a pianist. She threw back her bobbed blonde hair but ignored me as I passed. Steve was at my desk, cribbing some export figures for the last quarter.

“Have you heard?” I began.

“Yeah. Big time downsizing. We’ll be all right, though, mate. You been in that loyalty chair yet?”

“Just the once. You?”

He unbuttoned his cuff and showed me his small blue implant. “Any day now, I hope,” he smiled. “I tell you what, Dave, I think me and you’ll be OK. I reckon we’ve got jobs here for life if we want them.”

That’s a big if, I thought but didn’t say.

Beyond the window, the staff of Salt Mine Securities buzzed as busily as ever and in the street below the shoppers and skiving commuters crawled like worker ants. Life as normal.

In the constant shadow of the sword of Damocles.

The Divisional Chairman, Mr St John, called a general staff meeting at six-thirty on Friday. I could see that several of my colleagues were itching to let off steam down the pub or catch commuter trains back to long-suffering families but aside from a few stifled yawns, nobody let on at the inconvenience of the forced, unpaid overtime.

“I just wanted to reassure all of you that we are maintaining a continued commitment to our current workforce,” he began. “Yes, you will undoubtedly experience some hardship during this period of shrinkage but, as I’m sure you’re aware, in the current climate we must look at and indeed grasp every opportunity to cut our costs. I believe we will be able to emerge from this with a slimmed-down but more efficient and indeed healthier workforce. Any questions?”

Caroline cleared her throat and nervously asked, “Are you saying in effect that everyone is going to be forced to undergo the ordeal of the loyalty chair?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly describe it as an ordeal, my dear.”

“I’ve heard it will interfere with my ability to bear children.”

“The old conundrum, I’m afraid: family or career. But to answer your question, it’s likely that we may make further use of the loyalty chair. With suitable modifications. It’s really nothing to be afraid of,” he smiled.

The pregnant silence was only punctuated by an embarrassed rustling of papers and slight shuffling of feet.

“Well, if there’s no further questions... Good. I trust you will all have an enjoyable and relaxing weekend.”

Allen Ashley is an author, an award-winning editor, a prize-winning poet and a writing tutor. He won the British Fantasy Society Award for Best Anthology in 2006 as editor of The Elastic Book Of Numbers (Elastic Press, 2005). He leads the advanced writing group Clockhouse London Writers. He is the judge for the BFS Short Story Competition 2013.

Copyright © Allen Ashley 2004