First Edition - only 50 copies available.

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292 pages of sheer joy.

You have been warned!

A terrible horror story concerning a modern family and their fussy eating child. Not for the faint hearted.

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The Blunstone’s were the perfect family

That’s Mum and Dad and little Rob.

They ate together, played together,

And even worked in the same job.

So, when they died all in an instant

Struck by a wayward racing yacht,

It seemed most wise to bury them

In the same box, in the same plot.

Four bored children go hunting games

Paul, Kim, Claudette and Jack their names.

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“Let’s play this game called “Creeping Dread,”

For children aged from one to dead.”

Claudette has rolled a thirteen first

And so has had her eyesight cursed.

A rather nasty cautionary short tale concerning a young miscreant makes some poor choices concerning how to feed his vivacious appetite.

One morning, whilst out on the heath,

Jonathan lost one of his teeth.

It wouldn’t fit back in his gum,

And so, he took it home to mum.

As you can guess, this greedy boy

Had wanted more sweets to enjoy.

Gluttony through his mind did spread.

He pulled each tooth out of his head.

A satirical look at the grubbier side of modern politics. Lots of jokes played at the expense of political campaigning and what a sad state our democracy current finds itself.

Sir Lindsey De Biggott, the ultra-right honourable,

Was so incompetent that his manner seemed tolerable.

His views on the poor you could hardly call classist

As he hadn’t met any, the useless old fascist.

His funeral send-off was keenly amassed on,

As many were there just to check he had passed on.

The Chief Whip had Biggott’s pulse checked to be sure,

As sleeping backbenchers had been deemed dead before.

Three Panalphabetical Window stories all based on horror fiction. Part 3 is a story concerning rum goings on when a young chap runs amok.

The second part in the series takes on a Mary Shelley approach to alphabetical horror. These pictures are going to be made into a Victorian Lantern Show - which is rather appropriate for a story based in the 19th Century.

Part One is entitled “Why Didn’t They Just Move House?” as it deals with a part poltergeist, part exorcist story with a twist. A twisted twist

An advertisement placed in the ‘London Courier’

In the vacancy section in May of the year

1812 for those looking to start a career

As a full-time ornamental hermit….

Every monastery, cloister and friary was combed,

Some villages had their best idiots loaned,

And subsidised poets were completely disowned

To induce metaphysical collapse.

Lord Calbert’s elevenses never were bettered

As he gazed ‘cross his lawn to his hermit unfettered

The perfect adornment whose voice was yet unheard

By servants who all kept their distance.

His hobby as a teenager

Was trying out new chemicals,

(Resulting in a twisted spine,

A limp, and special spectacles)

Which swelled his brain cells and libido

And left him as a clever weirdo.

Bramley introduced himself

And gladly took a glass of wine.

His host seemed moody and upset

His name was Victor Frankenstein.

By twelve, the chemists’ conversation

Had moved to corpse reanimation.

In exchange for fifty guineas

Bramley sold his rubber patent,

And hired a boat to sail to Skye

To any spa with a room vacant.

Whilst his brother Charles Macintosh’s

Name was made from coats and galoshes.

An Exemplary ABC book for Enthusiasts of Paronomasia, Phonetics and Prosody

A dark Medieval Tale of a knife grinder’s greed for a precious stone.

“From village to village he pushed his wheelbarrow

And carried his whetstone on paths steep and narrow.

Through mud, snow and meadow his trade he would harrow;

For a bargain he would sharpen your blade.

But pathways through forests can sometimes be lost,

As the wandering grinder found to his cost.

As darkness descended and likewise the frost

He prepared for a cold night ahead.

A tale of obsession born out of spending far too much time sat in graveyards

Reverend Kearney pondered the second worst option

Whilst studying the writings in Revelations.

The news of the rapture might be a blessing

if it meant an increase in his congregations.

She’d only been warden for the last six decades

So was still ranked as junior in her profession

But her pride of the maintenance of the church grounds

Was judged by parishioners as nearing obsession

Boomquifa Simmons you too stand accused

Of ending your parents, all battered and bruised.

Through a hide and seek game you did slyly conspire

To lead them and leave them in a locked tumble drier.

Goliath Downs, you stand here convicted

Of twin homicide, both counts uncontradicted.

For your mother’s demise you did substitute

Your father’s cadaver for her parachute.

Khaleesi Thompson, your parents’ remains,

Their livers and kidneys, their lungs and their brains,

You minced up and then used in foodstuffs innumerable

Especially the hotdogs served at their funeral.

In my village there’s only three cemeteries;

One just for people and another for pets,

Where you can bury your dogs, cats, canaries,

In graves designed by the church and the vets.

Next to the gates is the bicycle cemetery

Where from the earth poke rusty handlebars.

Beside it, a mass grave for disfunctionary

Worn out and stringless electric guitars.

Over loved teddy bears, limb severed dolls,

Cuddly securities replaced by bravery.

Some banned by up-to-date health protocols.

Others whose fault is they now look unsavoury.

A Christmassy tale set in the bleakest seaside resort in the country at the bleakest time of the year with the bleakest theatrical double act in the country. Ho ho ho.

Only the thought of their nocturnal booze

Could keep out the cold and the dark winter blues,

And made their dinner and pudding seem edible

Which given the look of it was bloody incredible.

However, their sulking both changed when they saw

That the volume of Sherry had gone down some more.

Impossible either of them was the culprit,

So who was the foul perpetrator who’d gulped it?

A daring tale of criminal exploits and the Wizard who is always never too far away from the the scene of the next crime. But how does he know where the thief will strike next?

As the moon slowly rises and darkness falls

The cat burglar silently climbs up the walls

Intent on netting some jewelry hauls

From any place he can break-in.

Two combinations with one override

Was a challenge enough to invoke his pride

And proof enough that the item inside

Might be worth the time to unbox.

A grim tale concerning a rather mean spirited father who gambles everything but has no idea of the stakes.

Like a condemned prisoner walking to his mountain gallows,

The father pushed his newborn daughter through the local park;

Nathan watched the older children as they played beyond the gloom,

And all those other parents who had joined him in the cage.

A man. A weed. A hole. Etc

A weed had appeared on the gardener’s lawn

An unwanted pest which must be withdrawn.

And under the weed and under the pound

And under the pipe with its gurgling sound

He dug up a bomb all old and eroded

Which someone had dropped but hadn’t exploded.

A story set in a pet shop, told through the eyes of a creature with a very small brain but big ambitions.

Like Keith some lived behind the glass,

Some in water, or sand or grass.

Some were hairy, some had long tails

Two legs, four legs, no legs with scales.

Whilst some ate straw or food from bowls

Others perched or slept in holes.

The Uprights lived, from what Keith saw,

Behind the glass, beyond the door,

A world in which there was more freedom

More adventure, less tedium.

And with that logic resolute,

Keith pondered on his escape route.

A truly terrifying tale of twisted love for the vicar’s daughter shared by the gardener’s apprentice and the new pizza delivery boy.

The lightening cracked across the sky

And lit the severed torso.

The rain drained through each razor cut

And the blood did even more so.

The gardener’s apprentice loved

The vicar’s daughter from afar.

He sent her secret scented blooms

And named new roses after her.