Posts

Showing posts from October, 2018

Legend Tripping

Image
  1. Most of the children of Carlin High School were engaged in the usual playground activities, girl gossiped rapidly sounding like a thousand busy typewriters; youthful first years laughed and chas ed each other around the yard, burning off energy; older kids from the rough end of town hid behi nd the toilets, smoking weed. Steven was sitting alone, perched on the fence like a hawk, watching all the normal mayhem when he spotted Simon Anderson take a nosedive onto the concrete. The boy just went white and dropped, and even though the other kids were making a godawful din, Steven definitely heard Simon’s skull crack like a heavy egg as it smashed onto the ground. The noise was a sickening, hollow sound that made his heart jump in his chest. He immediately jumped off the fence and rushed to see if the older boy was alright. In the seconds it took him to move to where Simon was, there was a large crowd around Simon, some girls were screaming, an older boy was shouting, “Get a tea
Post a Comment
Read more

The Vessel of Iniquity

Author's note. I gave up on investigating the paranormal back in 2006, between all the diehards retreading the same old crap over and over again, the camp television shows that made a mockery of those who frankly deserved to be mocked, the credulous fools who would believe “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?” was a documentary if you added some arrows and an authoritative voice-over and slapped it up on Y ou-tube. Mostly though, I gave up investigating the paranormal because despite twenty years of uncovering all sorts of things, I never once, not once, experienced anything that could have been remotely considered paranormal. I heard plenty of tales, perhaps discovered that dangerous witch-cults still existed in my country and was not limited to goths, hippies and the 1973 movie “The Wicker Man.” Still given the market was over-saturated with all types of cranks, I abandoned it. Those who've followed my career since will know me more as a writer of Scottish History, which has bee
Post a Comment
Read more

Gross Domestic Product: 14

Image
Buer. It wasted no time in its new vessel. It had lifted the cases with the money and moved into the car which it drove, at speed from the bookmakers. It found that Bryce, once accepting its domination and habitation of his body, was quite amenable and access to Bryce’s talents and local understanding were paired with its own colossal wisdom and knowledge without as much as a whimper. Bryce became part of it, no longer was it parasitical, but symbiotic. Bryce only wished to experience what it experienced, to share what little of its burning prodigious power it could grant him without being engulfed by its terrible brilliance. It granted Bryce his wish and so It and Bryce became the living manifestation of Buer. Buer knew that he, both of them, had chosen well. Chapter Fourteen. I n the car, he sped through the slippery, cold, wet streets of the g rey city. He was aiming for the old brick railway arches near the King George the Fifth Bridge that separated the south f
Post a Comment
Read more

Gross Domestic Product:13

Image
Chapter Thirteen. Pete, who was sitting at a cheap plastic table was shocked when he saw Skinner walk in the room and Skinner, whose eyes were already bulbous, was also aghast. Both recognised each other instantly though both were children the last time they had met. Neither man said anything for a few moments, both were just staggered by the coincidence, which left Allerdyce feeling nervous. “I’ll uhh… jist leave you two to it,” he said before rapidly leaving and closing the door to the back shop behind him. Skinner shook his head and sighed. “Daft Pete, is it?” Pete shrugged. “Gordon fuckin’ Skinner. You got oot anaw, then?” “ I thought I was the only one, Peter. How did you manage?” “ Wisnae easy. The night efter they started torching the toon an’ killin’ aw the adults, they started draggin’ aw the weans like me tae see that thing they called Mammy. Ma brother knocked fuck oot me when I refused, so I ran the moment I could.
Post a Comment
Read more

Popular posts from this blog

Ring Bang Skoosh

So what you do is get a 60a bus over to Duke Street from the City Centre. Keep going right along Duke Street until you get past the remaining houses and the industrial park. The bus will eventually take a second right at a large roundabout. You'll not be able to miss it. It's beside another industrial park. You'll want to get off the bus at the next stop and then wait for the 257A. They're not common, one every half an hour (if you're lucky) and only between 8 A.M. and 5.30 P.M. If you've missed it and have to wait you could do worse than Babs Café across the road. Go get something delicious to eat. Don't get me wrong her cuisine is part of the cultural dietary pandemic that's reduced life expectancy in the areas of the east end to that of cavemen, but her deep fried pizza slice on a roll with chips is well worth the fucking risk. Anyway, once you're on the 257A you'll head south east along an empty area for about three quarters of a mil
Read more

Gross Domestic Product: 8

Image
Chapter Eight. It took the taxi almost half an hour to get through the West-End and up through the north of the city out into Milngavie. Some roadworks at the switchback had left the entire end of the town in one long traffic jam, according to the driver anyway. Pete was not impressed, not one bit. By the time he stepped out he’d stumped up twelve quid and his skin felt like it needed massaged by a crazed acupuncturist. The cold hurt was becoming too real for him to bear but he knew he’d just have to tough it out. He’d con Baird, or failing that, rob the place, get that stupid lamp and then he could relax, shoot up and have a nice long gouch. After that he’d go to Allerdyce and before long have another five grand in his pocket. That would give him nearly ten grand, enough to solve his problems. Enough to propel him out of Glasgow’s moribund gravitational pull once and for all. He just needed to keep it together for another hour or two. The house he stood outside looked
Read more

The Scheme

Nineteen eighty nine, a number, another summer; sound of the funky drummer ubiquitous on the radio. Gordon Harper drummed his fingers against the wheel in time to the tune. It was a nervous staccato, no doubt about that. As he sat parked on Casgairt Road he wondered if he should just bolt. He'd a couple of grand left in his savings, and could be on the next flight to Chilé or Singapore, could be anywhere but here. He threw his cigarette butt out the window and immediately lit another. This was going to be a bad job, that became apparent as soon as Skinny's name was mentioned. When Dunkie mentioned that nutter he should have said “I'm out.” He didn't. No, he didn't want to look like a shitebag in front of the big boys. If he had any real stones he would have told Dunkie to take a fuck to himself. Instead he was sitting with a fucking shotgun under his seat waiting for that nutjob Willie Barr. Total... Fucking... Nightmare! Once more he sucked on th
Read more