Wednesday, 15 February 2017

OUT TODAY! Plus Extract!

Out today on Kindle: 

Out now on kindle and in paperback... this is a collection of stories and serials I have had published in magazines and anthologies over the years. 20 stories of mystery, crime, the supernatural and  tales with a twist... to dip in and out of at your leisure. 99p and 99c respectively.
I should make clear that with the exception of one story, which formed the basis of the prologue to Father of Lies - these stories are not horror. Some are chilling, and some are spooky - but it was a case of putting the darker tales I had into one place.

An anthology of short thrillers, chillers, mysteries and tales with a twist by Occult Horror Author, Sarah England. Most of the stories in this collection have been previously published, and form the basis of S. E. England's earlier work writing short stories and serials for magazines. While few are in the same terrifying vein as her bestselling, occult horror trilogy, 'Father of Lies,' most have a supernatural or medical theme to them, something which usually creeps into Sarah's stories.
From the female detective with a murder case just a little too close to home, to the angry sales reps dabbling with online retribution, there are plenty of spooky stories here for you to dip in and out of.
Recommend reading by lamplight during the Witching Hour for best effect...

With huge thanks to Gina Dickerson of RoseWolf Design for the brilliant cover, not to mention the facility to whip back and forth between stories - I will just say I hope you enjoy the reading. I will now get back to the next novel, which I am little bit behind with... title reveal next month...oh, and this one is dark and sinister for sure! Cackles...
And thank you, as always, for all the encouragement, support and inspiring reviews for the trilogy - they really do spur me on!

Sample from The Witching Hour Collection:
'Buried Too Deep': Part 1

1992: High Bank Farmhouse

This Halloween party was getting out of hand. Sixteen year old Megan, who had gone with her school friends, Amy and Hannah, sunk low in her corner of the sofa as the walls of the farmhouse thumped with base music and the ceiling spun like a roulette wheel. Watching Toby flirt with Amy was sickening. She picked up another bottle of cider and poured it down her throat.
            Blonde, giggly Amy - in her tight jeans and off-the-shoulder sweater - had gravitated towards Toby, who was pulling her onto his knee. 
            Megan rose unsteadily and staggered over towards them.
            “What’s up with you?” he said, black eyes glinting dangerously.
            Amy giggled, tightening her arms around Toby’s neck.
            Megan stood swaying. Why had he changed towards her? Undecided on whether to shout at him or run from the room, she looked towards the window: outside, a bank of fog had rolled across the moors, smothering everything with its thick, wet blanket. All she could see was her own ghostly reflection, alongside a couple of withered, glowing pumpkins with their cut-out grins.
            “You can’t go anywhere, Meg,” Toby said. “Besides - I can do what I want - I don’t belong to you.”
            ‘That’s not,’ she wanted to say, ‘what you said to me yesterday, when you made love to me in the barn.’ Why was he doing this to her? Pushing her away like this? It didn’t make sense.
            Tears filled her eyes at the same time as all the cider she’d sunk lurched into her throat. She bolted for the door.
            At the exact moment a pair of gnarled hands suddenly slammed against the window pane, pounding frantically, and a wild-eyed, wizened face appeared from out of the gloom….
            “What the…?”
            The boys ran out into the farmyard - whirling round and round with torches, shouting, ‘Who’s there?” Balls of muggy light shone weakly in the dull, wet fog. 
            Meanwhile, down by the side of the house next to the kitchen, Megan was quietly and wretchedly sick. She stood gasping, wiping away her tears, swallowing acid. Waiting for all the shouting to stop. What a horrible party. A horrible night. She should never have come here.
            Then a door slammed shut.
            Night’s breath rustled the tree tops.
            Then came the dull plod, plod, plod of slow footsteps on the yard. She stiffened. Ears straining. The horses in the stables were shuffling around, kicking their stalls. Something was wrong - that face at the window!
            And then she was running. Tearing blindly down the driveway and out onto the lane, the dead sound of her own heels on concrete, her panting blacking out Toby’s cruel rejection.
            You can’t go anywhere, Meg…
            Oh no? Watch me, she thought… All she had to do was keep running.


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