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The Tangled Leaves of Anniseed

The Tangled Leaves of Anniseed

Tag Archives: Horror

Fellside by M.R. Carey

31 Wednesday Aug 2016

Posted by Anniseed in Book Review

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Ghosts, Horror, Prisons, Psychological Thriller, Supernatural

I’ve been waiting forever for this to come out in paperback and I devoured it in two evenings! A shame that it was over so soon, but wow, what an experience.

Carey’s word-of-mouth bestseller, The Girl With All The Gifts, is about to released as a film (please read the book first!) and definitely has ranked him as one of my favourite, must-read authors in the horror genre. Fellside initially feels so different to The Girl, but the same strengths are there – vivid, corporeal characters who you really care for, a strong plot that won’t let you go, and a perceptive, subtle subversion of the genre. Fellside

Jess Moulson is a nice person with a bad, bad habit. It leaves her amnesiac, with half her face burnt off, and one of Britain’s most notorious female criminals, sentenced to Fellside, a grim women’s prison in Yorkshire. Devastated by what she’s done, she goes on hunger strike, wanting to end it all – but the ghost of a young boy won’t let her die. He needs her to find out the truth about his death- which means delving into the minds of her fellow inmates. Cue surreal sequences in the other world, which could be dreams, the afterlife, insanity, or even hell. But unknown to Jess, the staff and inmates of Fellside have their own vested interests in whether she lives or dies, and she’s caught in a violent web of corruption and manipulation; trapped between two worlds, Jess must fight for survival in both.

Like Miss Justineau in The Girl, Jess is a very sympathetic character, and her journey really hooked me in to the narrative. The thing about Jess is that she just wants to keep her head down, not to get involved; but both before and during her incarceration, she is no bystander. The conflict between selfishness and doing the right thing is very finely observed and this is the recognisable flaw that makes her such an empathic and real character. Carey’s are all strong female characters (the cast in Fellside is largely female!) and a delight to meet, even those who are truly evil like Harriet Grace, the lifer who controls Goodall block and directs the violence. And the male characters are similarly believable – like the Sergeant in The Girl, whose story evolves from villain to hero, deliciously vile prison officer Devlin (the Devil) and poor lost Dr Salazar (Sally) have their own tragic and poignant trajectories which grip you. tgwatg

The supernatural elements in some ways form the subplot of Fellside, and can almost be a matter of interpretation; is the other place to be taken at face value, or is this the effect of drug addiction, or mass delusion? The psychology of incarceration is at the forefront, and this is where it differs from The Girl With All The Gifts, which is very firmly in established horror territory; Fellside is much more internal, a state of mind.

I loved it – compelling drama, characters that punch their way off the page, a touch of genuine spookiness and twists and turns that will floor you as effectively as Big Carol herself.

Rating: ****

Orbit Books, 2016, ISBN 9780356503608

The Girl With All The Gifts – Official Trailer

The Stopped Heart by Julie Myerson

19 Sunday Jun 2016

Posted by Anniseed in Book Review, Uncategorized

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Ghosts, Horror, Psychological Thriller, Supernatural, Thriller

This is a novel I’d been eagerly anticipating reading and it didn’t disappoint! In fact, I would say that this is Myerson’s best novel so far. It’s a harrowing, but beautifully told, tale of loss, grief and evil.

Mary and her husband Graham buy an old farmhouse in rural Suffolk – it’s a new start, an attempt to save their marriage, after the tragic deaths of their daughters. But making space in their lives for new friends is not easy – even when they are so easy-going and understanding as Eddie and Deborah. And for Mary, there’s a strange undercurrent in their new home, an awareness of something other. Could it be a ghost?

A hundred years ago, the farmhouse was home to Eliza and her large family. One night, during a terrible storm, a stranger arrives seeking help and the family take him in. It’s not long before James has his feet well under the table and his relationship with teenage Eliza evolves into something sinister. Just who is he really, and what does he want?

Sometimes in novels that are split between two different times or narrators, you end up favoring one over the other. But not so in this case – the two stories are woven together so assuredly they are like the two sides of the heart in question, and that it will be stopped is painfully evident as the narrative progresses. What Myerson does is surprise you – this is not just a story about evil acts and the grief they beget, but also about the hope that comes in the wake of the storm. She tells you that it is possible to heal, and that healing might come about in a totally unexpected way. The story is harrowing; she does not flinch from tackling very painful and disturbing subjects, but her prose is so beautiful, so insightful, she carries you along the darkest path always with a glimmer of light.

StoppedHeart

This  is a stunning read. My Mum has just returned my copy and said she couldn’t put it down; we had both been affected by the same particular moments in the narrative, and the story will stay with us both for a very long time.

Jonathan Cape, 2016, ISBN 9780224102490

Rating: *****

The Bookshop: Part 3

19 Friday Feb 2016

Posted by Anniseed in Creative writing, Uncategorized

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Creative writing, Horror, Short stories

Sergeant Thomas arrived within half an hour, and Fay was so relieved to see him. He dealt firmly with Auntie Jean’s panicking and set them to work searching the house, in case Ivan was playing a joke on them. They’d already looked, but the Sergeant insisted they check every cupboard, every possible hiding place both inside and outside. Meanwhile he talked to other police officers on his radio. Then he asked Uncle Gwynne to check the camera footage for the day.

The footage showed Fay and Ivan leaving the house at ten o’clock. Customers came and went, and then at two o’clock, after coming back for one of Auntie Jean’s sandwiches, Ivan snook back into the shop. Fay watched the footage with the sense of dread intensifying. She knew where he was going.

And it happened again.

She saw it this time, they all did. Ivan crept up to the attic, and went over to the dolls. He picked up the Ugly Doll from the chair first, then slung it down, carelessly, on the floor. Fay gasped – she wouldn’t have dared go near it. Then he rooted through the dolls in the pram, picking up Fay’s policeman and smiling. Fay hated him in that second. Then he picked up a book from a pile on the floor.

The screen fuzzed over. When it cleared, he was gone.

Fay felt sick. Physically sick. There was no way Ivan could just disappear –he wasn’t in the other attic room, and he wasn’t on the first floor. He’d have had no time to get to the ground floor. Uncle Gwynne and Sergeant Thomas were confused. “That’s what happened before,” said Uncle Gwynne slowly, “with the other lad.”

Fay staggered backwards, away from them and the screen. She could hear it in her head – that whisper. As I was climbing up the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there.

“Have they found….” Auntie Jean hesitantly asked.

“We’re still looking for George Dunn,” said Thomas in a neutral tone. He was looking uncomfortable. There was something odd occurring in this bookshop. Fay felt like at any moment, he might arrest Uncle Gwynne.

“I’d like to search this property, please Mr Tasker,” Thomas said eventually. “Starting with the cellar.”

Fay was confused. Why the cellar? It’s the attic where they’ve disappeared. They, she thought – both the other boy and now her brother Ivan. They’ve disappeared, from here.

But not taken. Not taken.

*

Thomas locked the front door and methodically went through every room in the bookshop. He made Fay stay with Auntie Jean, and they both watched his progress live on the monitor.

The cellar held lots of her Uncle’s junk. She watched Thomas rifling through boxes of paperwork, and sniffing some dusty old clothes. She wondered how long the police had searched for her cousin Artie. She could feel Auntie Jean trembling beside her. Uncle Gwynne had a face like stone, and wouldn’t look at either of them. Did they still hope that Artie would one day just walk back into the shop? Or was his body mouldering by some rock somewhere, waiting for some unfortunate hiker to discover it?

Fay felt cold, and desperately wished that her Mam would come. This wasn’t her home after all.

Thomas checked behind bookshelves in the other rooms, searching, presumably, for hidden doors. Fay was glad this was not her dream where doors could appear willy nilly. He checked the yard, nothing there but the bins. He moved up to the first floor. Nothing in history or archaeology, geography or travel. He stuck his head in the old cupboards and stamped loudly on the floorboards. Nothing.

Then he went up to the attic rooms. He had to stoop to enter through the four-and-a-half-foot door. Fay peered more closely at the screen.

She watched as he bent over the dolls. He picked one up to examine it more closely, and then turned his attention to the books, just as Ivan had done. There was one book lying on top of the others and he picked it up.

The screen fuzzed, and he was gone.

Fay bolted back from the monitor in horror. “No, no, no,” she moaned. She felt a scream try to force its way up from her stomach through her spine, and thumped her belly to stop it escaping. “That can’t happen!”

She had to know. Had to. This was worse than her dreams but it was real and it was here. Ivan was her brother, and her responsibility. She darted away from Auntie Jean, and evaded Uncle Gwynne as he went to catch her. She thought she heard him shouting after her, “My book! Don’t look at my book!” but she wasn’t sure and she wasn’t going to stop for anything.

She ran up the narrow, winding stairs to the attic, counting as she went. Sergeant Thomas was nowhere to be seen.

She entered the room slowly, warily. She no longer trusted her dolls – she wasn’t even sure about her policeman doll. He was lying on the floor, where Ivan had dropped him.

There were two dolls in the pram that she didn’t remember. A boy doll, in a blue jacket. His cheeks were ruddy, and he had yellow wool for hair, and crooked wire glasses stuck to his front, and orange shoes. And another boy doll, soft-bodied like the sailor doll with a painted smile – but he was wearing a white t-shirt, and with brown wool for hair, brown like Ivan’s hair. It can’t be Ivan, she thought wildly. He’s not a doll, he’s a human boy! But she gripped him tightly and tears started to roll down her face. She sank to her knees, gripping the policeman doll too. Whose face, she could see through her tears, was no longer smiling, but grimacing, mouth wide, like a scream.

Fay found that she couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to fuzz around her, becoming indistinct, and then inverted black and white like a photographic negative. It was if she were about to faint, but Fay knew she was still conscious. When her vision cleared, the room was smaller. Her head touched the ceiling.

The dolls were huge. Lifesize, grotesque parodies of humans – their faces grinned obscenely as their flaccid limbs splayed on the cot. Dolls they still were, but they were more than that. George Dunn, Ivan and Sergeant Thomas were trapped inside, things of wire and clay and stuffing.

Fay gasped for breath that wouldn’t come. This was her nightmare, come true. She must be sleeping, she must be! But as she gripped the clothes of both dolls, her eyes blurred with tears that would not stop, she heard that whisper again.

As I was walking up the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there.

It was louder than before. More distinct. Most definitely real.

She wiped furiously at her eyes, forcing breath down her throat. Looking across the room, to the Ugly Doll that Ivan had thrown so casually to the floor.

It was standing up. On legs with no feet, all soft and stuffed, no bones to hold it. It was standing up.

He wasn’t there again today. The whisper, louder. And Fay was sure it came from the Ugly Doll.

Oh how I wish he’d go away!

And Fay finally found her breath, and screamed, and jumped to her feet, desperate to get out, to find those winding stairs, round and round merry go round, to find those stairs and freedom.

But the door, that tiny four-and-a-half-foot door to the attic room, was gone.

 

THE END

The Bookshop: Part 2

18 Thursday Feb 2016

Posted by Anniseed in Creative writing, Uncategorized

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Creative writing, Horror, Short stories

A few days later she was hanging about outside the shop again when a policeman came down the street from the Clock Tower. He smiled at her, and went inside. He didn’t shut the door properly so Fay, with her big ears, slunk into the porch and listened as the policeman talked to Uncle Gwynne. He was Sergeant Thomas of the Dyfed-Powys Police (Fay was thrilled to hear this) and was looking for a boy who had gone missing in Hay (that was less thrilling), and was questioning all the shop owners who may have encountered him.

“Eleven-years-old,” Thomas said, pulling out a photograph to show Uncle, “blond hair and glasses, and last seen wearing a blue hoodie and orange trainers.”

Fay thought that sounded like one of the boys that had chased her and Ivan from the Butter Market. She hoped that Ivan hadn’t done anything stupid. He had a hot head full of lava, her Mam always said.

“Local?” she heard Uncle ask.

Thomas cleared his throat. “No, on holiday from the South with his father. Been staying over in Builth Wells.”

Uncle shook his head. “Not seen him.” The two men talked for a minute or so more and then the Sergeant squeezed out of the door past Fay.

“The Murder of Roger Ackroyd,” Fay said quietly. “We hadn’t got it and he wasn’t too happy about it.”

“Excuse me?” Sergeant Thomas turned back to look at her.

“He came in with his Dad,” Fay said. “He was looking for Agatha Christie but Uncle was a little bit rude. He probably didn’t notice that he had a boy with him.” She gave him a wry look. “Uncle doesn’t really notice children.”

“When was this, Miss….” asked Thomas, getting out his notebook.

“I’m Fay. Fay Tasker. Uncle is my Uncle Gwynne and there’s Auntie Jean too. We’re staying here for the summer holidays because my Mam’s in hospital. Me and Ivan that is. It was last week, on Thursday. About three-ish, I think,” Fay replied. “I remember cause that was when Baz finished painting the sign.” She looked upwards and Sergeant Thomas followed her gaze.

“Baz the Brush, is it?” he said. “That’s helpful, Miss. Did you see where they went when they left the shop?”

Fay shook her head. “I went upstairs,” she whispered. And remembering what had happened there, she shot past the policeman and round the corner. No more talking to strange men Fey Fay, she told herself, even if he is in uniform.

That night Auntie Jean made sausages and chips. Ivan smothered his in tomato sauce till it looked like it needed an ambulance. Fay liked that all sat together to eat; her Uncle was friendlier when there was food in front of him, and it felt almost like family.

“Funny thing,” he was saying, and Fay’s big ears pricked up. “I checked the cameras to see if that missing boy had come in the shop.”

Fay’s mouthful of sausage was going nowhere.

“He was in last week, with his Dad,” Uncle Gwynne continued. “But he came in again later, by himself. He looked at transport, mythology and the children’s stuff in the attic.”

Fay tried to chew but found she couldn’t. “In fact, not long after Little Miss Fifi had been up there, playing with the dolls,” he continued. Fay’s eyes went wide.

“And after being banned and all,” he said. “Naughty child!”

Ivan snorted and tomato sauce sprayed out across the table. That earned him a disapproving “Boy!” from Auntie Jean.

“Guess I’d better tell Sergeant Thomas,” continued Uncle, ignoring the tomato splatter. “He can give her a telling off.”

Fay was horrified and felt her eyes brimming with tears. But Uncle Gwynne was only feigning being cross. He winked at her as he stuffed three chips in his mouth at once. Fay could have sworn he swallowed them whole, without chewing.

“Seriously,” he continued, “he was there all right, then the picture went all fuzzy, like static, and when it cleared he were gone.”

Fay felt cold. She remembered the whisper.

As I was walking up the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there.

Just like the boy. Not there.

*

Fay’s big ears went on operation overdrive over the next few days. From Baz the Brush she learnt that the boy was still missing, and the last sighting of him had been in Hay. She noticed that there were several police cars out and about, and she heard from the lady in the fossil shop that they were going to search the riverbanks, for any sign that he’d fallen  in the water. “Father’s beside himself, poor thing,” she confided, “but you would be, wouldn’t you?”

Fay was only nine but she knew about that. Mam had been beside herself when Dad vanished. But he’d turned up living in Abergavenny with a woman with dyed black hair, so Mam had rolled her sleeves up after finding out and got on with things. It was Auntie Jean that Fay was watching, carefully, a worry ball building in her stomach. Auntie Jean whose boy had gone missing, ten years ago.

Uncle Gwynne seemed not to see any comparison. “Ran off, more like,” he’s said in the kitchen the night before, while Fay’s big ears listened from the hallway. “City lad, thinks he’s hard, row with his father and just takes off. Gets hisself lost on the mountains. He’ll turn up.”

“He’s eleven,” Auntie Jean protested. “Just a child.”

“Aye, but there’s no suggestion that he was taken. Not taken.”

Taken. That word chilled Fay. She’d heard it before – when she was smaller, and Mam and Auntie Jean had been talking. Auntie Jean had been crying over Artie. She never knew Artie – this happened way before she was born – but taken didn’t sound nice. Who would take Artie, and why? And if someone could take Artie, would they take her too? Or Ivan? She looked up to her big brother – surely he could stop anyone from taking him or her?

That night, it took Fay ages to get to sleep. When she finally dropped off she dreamt about the house. At first it was little doors, appearing in odd places – beside the stove, behind the sofa. She crawled through one that appeared in the bathroom, and found herself, as if by magic, in the attic room.

The dolls were there. The posh dolls with their smug expressions, the soft dolls and their raggy smiles. The soldier boy, and her beloved policeman. Thomas, she called him, remembering in her dream the name of the Sergeant who had visited the shop. And another. A boy doll, with yellow wool for hair and a blue jumper. A pair of tiny wire glasses had fallen from his face and become attached to his clothing.

His face was sad.

Fay was confused. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,” she said sternly. “They’re looking for you. Sergeant Thomas – the real Sergeant Thomas that is – he’s looking for you.”

And the doll named Sergeant Thomas stood up in the pram, balanced on the china face of one of the posh dolls, and Fay dropped the boy doll and screamed.

*

Auntie Jean was quite kind in the morning, making Fay some hot chocolate for breakfast, although she’s been quite grumpy to be woken up at four in the morning by screaming from her niece’s bedroom. Ivan hadn’t stopped teasing her; she’d explained about the dream, but he was twelve, and thought she was childish.

“Dolls,” he sneered. “You’re such a baby, Fifi!”

“I am not!” she said, cross because she felt it was true. “It was such a horrible dream.”

Auntie Jean tutted at her. “I told you they’s not for kids,” she said, but not roughly. “They’re collectors items. You’ve got your own dolls, Fay.”

Fay had brought her best Barbie doll and several teddies to Hay, but didn’t play with them much. She knew that eventually toys were not for playing with, but for keeping only, but she just wasn’t quite sure when she should make the switch.

Ivan wouldn’t let go though, and dug at Fay by using the pet name she hated. “I’ll show you Fifi,” he taunted. “I’ll go and see the dolls. Prove to you they’re just plastic and tat.”

“Oi,” Auntie Jean admonished. She sent them out to amuse themselves – “You’re not to go upstairs again!” – and they wandered off to look at the market. There were some lovely multicoloured baskets on one stall and Fay wanted one, but didn’t have enough pocket money. Ivan was bored after five minutes, and when he saw some of the local boys, went off to taunt them. Fay let him go; she didn’t want any trouble.

She returned for lunch – Auntie Jean made her a cheese and tomato sandwich and gave a glass of cold milk – then sat by the castle with her writing book. Miss Jessop had set them some homework for the holidays, to write a fairy tale, but she was struggling. It should have a castle and a king, she thought, and a princess too; but she couldn’t think of how to start. She thought that Uncle might help her as he wrote stories, but when she remembered his mouldy book, A Child’s Book of Nightmares, she thought that perhaps it wouldn’t be the kind of fairy tale Miss Jessop would like. Besides, she’d not be brave enough to ask him.

But when she returned for tea at four o’clock, Auntie Jean was cross.

“Ivan’s not back,” she said, “and I told him to not bother the local lads. He’s bound to be in trouble somewhere.”

Fay thought this was probably true, but didn’t like to add that she was sure Mam hadn’t sent them to Hay for the summer to wander the streets. At home there were stricter rules, but more affection.

At six Ivan still hadn’t appeared, and the macaroni cheese was congealing on the table and in Fay’s stomach, turning into a giant worry ball. There was a boy gone missing, and they were searching the riverbank, and what if something had happened to Ivan too?

As the evening drew on, and Auntie and Uncle and Fay waited for Ivan to come home, the house started to morph around Fay. As her worry ball got bigger and bigger, she imagined she was climbing endless stairs that twisted round into ever smaller rooms, so that eventually, like Alice, she was too big to fit through the doors. She tried going downstairs, wanting to escape the house altogether, but she kept returning to the same place. The black beams started to feel oppressive – like the bones of a ribcage squeezing her heart and the feeling of dread got tighter and tighter. By eight o’clock, Auntie Jean’s anxiety had risen to a pitch, and Uncle Gwynne cracked.

He phoned Sergeant Thomas.

To be continued….

Short Story: The Bookshop

17 Wednesday Feb 2016

Posted by Anniseed in Creative writing, Uncategorized

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Creative writing, Horror, Short stories

Hurrah, the wet miserable weather has actually made me be productive today, and I’ve written a short story. Here’s the first bit of the first draft: comments (constructive please) welcome! It’s inspired by a short holiday in Hay-on-Wye.

The Bookshop

When she was very little, Fay had a recurring dream that her house would change when she wasn’t looking. She would turn away for a second, only to find that a door had appeared where there wasn’t one before, sometimes tiny in the skirting board like in Alice in Wonderland, or a staircase that wound up, round and round merry go round, to an otherwise unknown attic. She would clamber up the tight corkscrew steps, eager to explore, to find out if there were fairies or goblins playing, if magic was happening, if an adventure were to be had.

But sometimes in her dream, doors disappeared, leaving her trapped, flailing against solid cold walls. She would wake up sweating and gasping for breath, crying out for her Mam.

It occurred to her now, being all of nine-years-old and much more grown-up than her silly younger self, that her new home much resembled the higgledy piggledy, fairytale house of her dreams.

It was only her home for the summer though, she reminded herself, and gripped her fingers just that little bit tighter.

She was watching Baz the Brush put the finishing touches on the new sign; he wobbled a bit on the ladder as he finished the “S” on the end, but his lines, unlike hers, were straight and sure. She hoped when she was older she’d be able to write so neatly; Miss Jessop was always criticising her handwriting, “like a spider’s had a rave on the page”. Baz climbed down to cross the road and stand with her.

“That’ll do,” he said, “neat and tidy, like.”

Fay grinned. The sign now proudly proclaimed “Tasker’s Books and Antiques” in brilliant white, and not a flake of the old crumbling yellow could be seen. It did make the shop front look much better. When she and Ivan had first arrived, they’d stared in dismay at the rickety old building with its peeling paint and grimy windows. How could Mam send them here? It was dirty! But now, not a ghost of the previous letters could be seen. Rather like her cousin, but she wasn’t supposed to know about that. She knew she had big ears for a girl of nine.

“It looks nice,” Fay said, and was pleased when the man gave her a big smile. He patted her on the head (leaving, she worried for a second, blobs of white in her brown hair). Since she’d arrived a week ago, affection from grown-ups had been a rare thing. Ivan didn’t mind so much as he was twelve and shrugged off hugs and kisses; he just played in the yard with his football and picked fights with the local boys, but Fay was a born worrier, and she worried that her Auntie Jean and Uncle Gwynne didn’t really want them around.

And last night she had the dream again, the bad one, for the first time in ages.

There’s no point moping about it, Fey Fay, she told herself; Mam would say roll up your sleeves and get stuck in, best cure for a worry pain. It’s just that – oh! – there isn’t much to do in Hay if you’re nine-years-old.

She and Ivan had explored the castle but so much of it was cordoned off – unsafe. They’d heard there was a King in the Castle but they hadn’t seen him, despite peering in windows until they were shooed away by a big loud woman. They’d gone down to the river to look for fish but Auntie Jean had shouted at them about that – they might fall in, and then what would their dear Mam do? They’d explored the nooks and crannies of the streets and camped in the Butter Market, until chased off by bigger boys, starting Ivan’s feud. And the shops… well, they were all the same. And Auntie and Uncle’s shop was out of bounds since Ivan pretended to be a ghost and scared the customers. So it was their cramped room or the yard.

Fay was bored. So much so watching Baz re-paint the shop sign was exciting.

Inside the shop however, Baz’s magic had little effect. It was full of piles of clutter in every dingy corner. Ramshackle bookshelves crammed with mildewed old books, chipped crockery and some of the ugliest ornaments Fay had ever seen.  But it was busy; always full of tourists, who browsed in silence and ignored any children pulling gargoyle faces at them from around the shelves. The attic was the best room – up in the eaves it had sloping ceilings and tiny doors, and that’s where Aunt and Uncle had put the childrens’ books and toys. But Fay and Ivan had been banned from there.“These ain’t for playing with,” Aunt Jean had told them sternly. “They’s collectable – you know – for adults. Not for kids.”

Her Uncle had been a children’s author. That’s what her Mam had said. Back when he was younger, when cousin Artie was little. He’d written a children’s book which was nominated for some award but now it was out-of-print and no one read it, and he hadn’t written any others since Artie went. Fay had met children’s authors at school and so thought they were all jolly and fun, so was disappointed that Uncle Gwynne was not. Fay had looked for a copy of his book in the shop but there wasn’t one. She had, however, found a copy in Uncle’s room, when she and Ivan had been messing about. The spine was faded away as if it had sat on a shelf, untouched, for a hundred years. She opened it to the title page.

“A Child’s Book of Nightmares” it read, by A.G. Tasker.

Not the kind of book she wanted to read. She shut it quick.

The building itself bothered Fay too. While Ivan thought its maze of small rooms amusing, she found it confusing. The low beams, small doors and lots of steps leading up and down felt more like the houses in her book of fairy tales than her modern two-bed semi back in Hereford. It was as if the house was built for smaller people, and would adjust itself to their needs. Not modern people. Not people like her.

Baz was clearing up his pots and brushes. She snook inside the front door to see if Samantha was on the till; the young assistant worked some days, and was more tolerant of Fay and Ivan, and might just offer a biscuit.

No luck – it was Uncle Gwynne manning the shop, so she darted past Baz and into the murky interior. Uncle was having a discussion with a customer.

“I can’t believe you don’t have it,” a tall man in a red woolly hat and a Barbour jacket was saying. “It’s a classic, you must have it.”

“Ain’t much call for Christie these days,” her Uncle retorted. “All Mankell and Larsson, see, with a bit of Hayder and Rankin. Gore is what people want now, see.”

“But still…”

“You wanna try Murder and Mayhem, see, up the road. Specialises in crime fiction. We’re general. Try them.”

Uncle sat down and picked up his book, signalling that the conversation was done. The man grunted unhappily, and made a show of rifling through the local authors books showcased on Uncle’s desk – Erskines and Rickmans mainly. Uncle ignored him, and after a few moments the man shouted “George!”, and a young lad appeared from the shelves. They both left, letting the door swing shut behind them, rattling the bookcases.

Fay shrank back into the shelves. Her Uncle was sometimes bad-tempered, and while not nasty to her and Ivan, he had a manner that frightened her. She wondered, somewhat cruelly, if that was why cousin Artie had run away.

Then she remembered that seven-year-olds didn’t run away for real. At least, not very far.

Fay felt rebellious, born of boredom. She crept up the stairs, round and round merry go round, till she reached the forbidden attic room. She wanted to look at the dolls again.

There was an old pram stuffed full of them. All old, not Barbies or Bratz or even Tiny Tears (a baby doll her Mam had had when she was a little girl). There were several that looked like miniature children, all prettified in frilly dresses, with hard faces and red lips. There were soft raggy dolls with the stuffing coming out, grubby and worn. There was a tiny sailor doll, and a policeman doll, but not dressed like a modern policeman. He was her favourite – he had a nice face.

The doll she really didn’t like sat in its own little chair in the corner of the room. Ugly Doll. Naked and bald, it wore a painted smile and had rouged cheeks, but had no hands or feet; it was grotesque, and Fay ignored it.

She didn’t much like the posh dolls either – they reminded her of the Louises at school, the trio of girls that laughed at her wild hair and hand-me-down clothes, and wouldn’t let her play in the playground, but made her stand on one edge and watch all the other children have fun. The soft raggy dolls had funny faces, almost as if they were drawn on; they were loved, she thought, and that’s why they’re scruffy. But it was the policeman she liked best – he made her feel safe. She imagined that he stopped the posh dolls bullying the raggy dolls, when it was quiet and dark after closing time. He kept order, and did the right thing.

Perhaps he’d belonged to Artie.

It was quiet in the attic room; Fay could hear people shuffling about downstairs, and the slight murmur of voices, but because the stairs were steep and tight and the door only four-and-a-half-feet high (Auntie had told them that), not many people ventured into the attic room to explore the toys and childrens’ books. She walked her policeman along the edge of the pram, and whispered in his voice, “Allo allo allo, what’s all this then? I hope you’re all behaving yourselves.” She giggled. “I’ll be having no trouble off you lot, or I’ll be off carting you to the station, and you can spend a night in the cells.” She gave the last word a growl to make it sound menacing. “The cells, don’t you know!” She patrolled him back around the edge.

It was then she thought she heard a whisper. She glanced quickly at the door (noting, with some relief, that it was still there and open) but there were no footsteps on the stairs. She held policeman closer to her head and repeated, in the tiniest voice, “What’s all this then?”

The whisper came again.

She stared at the policeman in her hands. His eyes were smiling. She drew him closer to her face, and held her breath.

“As I was going…”

The faintest, most tremulous voice, like an exhalation. “… up the stair,” she heard, she most definitely heard it, “I met a man who…”

Fay froze, disbelieving but wanting to believe so much that the policeman could really talk to her. “…wasn’t there,” came the whisper, so, so faint, but she could hear it, clear and real.

A clatter on the stairs – heavy boots ascending. A browser.

Fay dropped the policeman doll back into the pram, and as a woman in a purple headscarf bent her head through the door, she pushed past and ran down the staircase, round and round merry go round, all the way out through the shop and out into the street, crashing into Baz’s neatly stacked paint pots on the pavement.

To be continued…

Demon Road by Derek Landy

14 Saturday Nov 2015

Posted by Anniseed in Young Adult Fiction Review

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Demons, Horror, Humour, Supernatural

I’ve missed the phenomenon that is Skulduggery Pleasant, so this was a good opportunity to try a Landy novel. This new series is definitely aimed at an older audience, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Amber is a teen with a bad relationship with her parents. She works part-time at a diner, but one night on her way home she is attacked by two men. Yet she not only fights them off – she does them serious damage. Confused, she heads home where her parents reveal to her the shocking truth – she’s a demon, like them. And what’s worse, in order for them to consolidate their powers, they are going to kill her and eat her.

So Amber does the only thing she can – she goes on the run and does a deal with the devil.demonroad

Accompanied on the Demon Road by enigmatic Milo, driver of a charger with a mind of its own, and by Glen, a garrulous Irish boy who is marked for death, fulfilling her side of the bargain is not going to be easy. Tracking serial killers and monsters across America, the trio encounter some truly scary and gory situations – the doll’s house with its miniaturised dead bodies, the tree witches and their zest for human skin… Deliciously gruesome and very, very violent. And always the threat of her parents right behind her, and the Devil calling in his debt.

This is a relentless road trip novel, packed with dark humour and copious amounts of viscera. It’s pacy and full of action, and very, very readable. I loved Glen’s character and was intrigued by Milo’s dark past, and Amber was an engaging heroine, trying to hold onto her humanity while her demon side lusts for blood. Great fun, and I shall definitely be reading others in the series!

Harper Collins Children’s Books, 2015, ISBN 978-0008140816

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll

17 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by Anniseed in Book Review

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Fairy Tales, Graphic Novel, Horror

“Oh, but you must travel through those woods again & again…” said a shadow at the window. “…and you must be lucky to avoid the wolf every time… But the wolf… the wolf only needs enough luck to find you ONCE.”

Wow, it’s not often I’m so excited by a work of fiction I immediately want to tell everyone I know about it! But this graphic novel has simply blown me away.ThroughTheWoods

I like graphic novels but don’t read them too often; Emily Carroll’s Through the Woods has made me think I’m missing a trick here. It’s just sublime – five short tales on the theme of what lurks in the dark dark woods, a twist on familiar fairy tales which leaves a delicious shiver down your spine. Little Red Riding Hood is the archetypal fairy tale, so deep with psychological resonances it transcends its medium. Carroll closes her novel with a wonderfully short but utterly perfect take on this story. Her other tales are gothic, disturbing, compelling, and not a word is wasted or out of place. The first two – Our Neighbor’s House and The Lady With Cold Hands – read aloud amazingly well, so rare for graphic novels, and so they are destined to become a staple feature of my book promotions to teenagers. And all the stories are illustrated in just the right mood and tone, adding layer upon layer to the words. Gruesome and unsettling by turns, illustration and writing work in perfect partnership to chill the blood.

Utterly exceptional, I highly recommend this spooky collection!

Rating: *****

Faber and Faber, 2014, ISBN 9780571288656

Books of delight

12 Sunday Jul 2015

Posted by Anniseed in Childrens Book Review, Uncategorized

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Adolescence, Adventure, Crime, Cults, Fantasy, Folklore, Horror, Humour, Serial Killers, Suicide, Thriller, Young Adult Fiction

Well, it’s been a crazy six months, but I’m finally back where I belong, working as a children’s specialist. Over the past month I’ve been knee-deep in books for children and young adults, which has been a pure delight. So much to read, and so few hours in the day! But the world of children’s publishing just gets stronger and stronger. So here are a few of the books I’ve particularly enjoyed over the past month…

I confess to always being a little sceptical when a celebrity turns to writing books for young people, but Simon Mayo has got it right in Itch, the first in a new series of action adventure novels. We start with Itchingham Lofte (Itch) having lost his eyebrows; he burnt them off by accident when he blew up his bedroom, experimenting with phosphorus. But that’s the least of his worries when his obsession with the chemical elements leads him to acquire a rock which is radioactive. His sleazy teacher in particular is very keen to get hold of it. With governments and gangsters on his tail, will he manage to get the rock somewhere safe, save his sister’s life and not die of radiation poisoning? It’s not looking good for our hero… This is genuinely tense stuff, with our protagonist in very real danger. Mayo isn’t afraid to portray serious threat and doesn’t talk down to his audience, making this a compulsive read. (Corgi, 2012, ISBN 978-0552565509).

Meanwhile my passion for spooky horror was very well met by Alex Bell’s Frozen Charlotte. Sophie and Jay download a Ouija board app and suddenly everything gets spooky – and by the next day, Jay is dead. Sophie is convinced that the spirit of her dead cousin Rebecca is responsible, so visits her remaining cousins on the Isle of Skye to find out the truth. Cameron, Piper and Lilias are seriously weird, and claim that a collection of tiny dolls called the Charlottes are possessing frozen charlotteBthem…  What’s really going on in that spooky house and are the dolls really capable of driving people to murder? This is a truly creepy story with some shockingly violent moments. Not to be read before bedtime! If you find dolls scary like me, this will freak you out. Just my sort of thing! (Stripes Publishing, 2015, ISBN 978-1847154538).

Tension of a different, but equally disturbing kind, is the theme of Becca Fitzpatrick’s Black ice, one for older readers. Britt thinks that one way to get over her broken heart is to go backpacking over the mountains with her best friend Korbie. She didn’t count on her ex, Calvin (Korbie’s brother), tagging along too. But before the girls get to the cabin on the mountains, a snowstorm forces them to abandon their car and take refuge in another cabin, where they meet handsome Shaun and Mason. Something’s not right about these guys… and suddenly the girls are taken hostage. black iceBBritt convinces them she knows the mountains well and is their only hope of escaping whatever it is they’re running from. But forced outside, she has to fight to survive, and figures her only chance is to build a bond with Mason. But can he be trusted? Britt has to use every ounce of ingenuity as she tries to outwit her kidnappers, but when she’s falling for one of them, it’s harder to see the truth… Very tense story which I couldn’t put down, with a shocking twist in the tale – I did see it coming, but it was still utterly compelling and in no way spoilt the ending. (Simon & Schuster, 2015, ISBN 978-1471118166).

seedBSeed by Lisa Heathfield is one of those stories that makes your skin crawl. Pearl lives a simple life at Seed and is looking forward to the day she’ll become a companion to Papa S. But then newcomers come, and Pearl feels an attraction to one of them, a boy called Ellis. He tells her that Seed is wrong, is evil, and that she must escape – but surely Papa S wants the best for all of them, even though he sends her to the Punishment Room…. A disturbing tale of life in a cult, with a horrifying ending. Not for the faint-hearted! (Electric Monkey, 2015, ISBN 978-1405275385).

Tim Bowler is a stalwart of young adult literature and Game changer is another excellent, gripping story. Mikey lives in his wardrobe. It’s safer there. Especially since the last time he dared to venture out, and saw something terrible. But now they know where he is and he can’t escape the flood of text messages threatening to kill him. Even at school he’s not safe. But then they take his sister Meggie, and Mikey is forced to confront his worst fears to try and save her. Gripping thriller that gives you a tense feeling right in your gut, as you wonder if Mikey and Meggie will survive… Impossible to put down, and like Mayo, Bowler does not shrink from putting his characters in very scary situations. (OUP, 2015, ISBN 978-0192794154).

Taking a totally different tack from the books above, Jasmine Warga’s My heart and other black holes is a tear-jerker. Aysel (pronounced Uh-sell) wants to end it all, but doesn’t want to do it alone. She meets a boy online who is also looking for someone to help him, and before long she and Roman have made a pact to commit suicide on April 6th. But in spite of herself, she starts falling for him – and realises that she has far more to live for than she ever imagined. But will she convince Roman in time? Very moving story that makes you cry, yet also makes you realise how precious life is; Warga’s story tackles a difficult subject with sensitivity and insight. (Hodder, 2015, ISBN 978-1444791532).

Margo Lanaghan in The Brides of Rollrock Island delves into folklore, another staple ingredient in children’s literature. Misskaella doesn’t look like the other pretty girls on Rollrock Island and is teased and bullied by them. But Misskaella has a secret – she can charm the seals on the shores into shedding their skins and becoming human. bridesBTo get her revenge on the girls who look down on her, she gives each young man a beautiful seal wife – for a price. But the selkies pine for the sea, and the strange, enchanting seal women of Rollrock Island will find a way to return to the water… A beautifully told tale, quite a challenging read, but if you are enchanted by fairy and folk tales this unusual story will capture your imagination just as Misskaella captures the seal women. (David Fickling, 2013, ISBN 978-1849921121).

Melissa Marr is one of my favourite young adult authors and her latest is Made for you. Eva’s the queen bee at school, with a coterie of loyal friends and a handsome boyfriend. Then she’s nearly killed by a hit and run driver. Not only scarred, she discovers that when someone touches her, she has a vision of their death, and not just that – she’s having visions of her friends being murdered. When the visions start to come true, she realises that the hit and run driver was a serial killer – and now he’s obsessed with Eva, and killing her friends to get closer to her. But can Eva’s visions save everyone she loves? And is the killer closer than she thinks? A very disturbing tale about love gone wrong, with adult content. (HarperCollins, 2015, ISBN 978-0007584208).

Kim Slater’s Smart is for fans of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night time. Kieran is a little bit different, which means that his stepfather Tony and stepbrother Ryan hate him. He spends his time down at the Embankment where he befriends homeless Jean, but when another homeless person is found dead in the river, he resolves to play detective and find out what happened. His investigations will lead him to fall foul of Tony and Ryan even more…  But Kieran is different, not stupid, and his quirky view on life sees more than anyone realises. Moving and satisfying story, very heartwarming. (Macmillan, 2015, ISBN 978-1447236672).

Another delightful spooky tale: Frances Hardinge’s The Lie Tree. In Victorian times, girls weren’t supposed to be clever – and Faith’s a clever girl, who takes after her scientist father. No one listens to her though, especially not her father. But then he then dies in mysterious circumstances, and Faith is convinced he was murdered. lie treeBShe discovers that her father had acquired a rare plant, which feeds on lies, and rewards the liar with visions revealing the truth of things. She starts to tell lies, big, dangerous lies, in the hope that she’ll find out who killed her father; but telling lies changes you. As Faith falls further in darkness, will she find the truth she seeks, and will it be too late to save herself? An unusual thriller with an unearthly twist; I really got lost in this one. (Macmillan, 2015, ISBN 978-1447264101).

And one for younger readers which I thoroughly enjoyed: Stitch Head: The beast of Grubbers Nubbin by Guy Bass. Stitch Head is a small, gentle monster living in the spooky Castle Grotteskew with lots of other monsters created by mad scientist, Professor Erasmus. Looking after a horde of hungry orphans is no easy task for the monsters; their attempts at cookery aren’t too successful to say the least! So they hatch a plan to steal the villagers’ food, food that’s being saved for the feast of Guzzlin’ Day, but they didn’t reckon on a wild and scary beast getting in their way… Mad and hilarious adventures with Stitch Head ensue! There is a whole series of these and they are a delight. (Stripes Publishing, 2015, ISBN 978-1847156099).beastB

Doctor Sleep by Stephen King

27 Tuesday May 2014

Posted by Anniseed in Book Review

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Horror, Supernatural, Vampires

This one’s had some hype (and a very dull promo poster guest starring at railway stations – ever wonder what happened to Danny from The Shining? – If you haven’t read it, the answer’s probably no.) So I approached it with a little bit of trepidation, The Shining not being my favourite King novel, although I liked Danny as a character. King, in my view, often includes one element too many, which dilutes the scariness, and The Shining was a classic example of this –  a man turns violent on his own family, which is terrifying enough, and you don’t really need weird creatures formed from topiary added to the mix. But the fact I did like Danny drew me in to this sequel.

We catch up with this special little boy when he’s a grown man, and letting himself down badly, following in his father’s footsteps of alcohol addiction. One night he reaches the bottom of the bottle and decides he has to change. As a child he was saved by Dick Hallorann, who became his mentor throughout adolescence, and he determines to follow in Dick’s worthier footsteps when he starts receiving psychic messages from a young girl called Abra Stone, who shares Dan’s gift of the shining. But Abra is more powerful than Dan ever was, and she’s witnessed the torture and murder of a young boy (also with the gift) by a group of sinister people called the True Knot. Now they’re out to get her, and she needs Dan’s help. Big time.

The True Knot are an interesting bunch of villains, masquerading as middle aged, polyester-clad RV-types (that’s caravanners, for us Brits!), and Rose the Hat is a disturbing nemesis for Dan and Abra. Their mythology is an interesting twist on vampirism and I would have liked more exploration of their history. Their connection with the Overlook Hotel is good in terms of continuity, and a return to this infamous battleground is welcome. But the ending is a little unsatisfying for me – I felt the True Knot were built up and up only to be knocked down a little too easily.

Dan’s transformation from prescient little boy to irresponsible alcoholic and then to saviour of the day was well-realised and believable, with twinges of real poignancy (especially in his relationship with Billy, who echoed the kindly and wise Dick). I think the real low point of his life for me was him not knowing that Dick had passed way, which felt like a betrayal; and the revelation of the truth behind Abra’s “theory of relativity” felt a little too convenient. But again I was engaged by his character and wanted to know how his story would pan out. Abra, as the other central character, was equally as complex – revelling too much in victory, hinting that she would eventually face her own inner darkness, as Dan had done.

It’s not without flaws, but overall Doctor Sleep is an enjoyable read, well-paced with a strong sense of tension. I don’t think it will replicate the phenomenal success of The Shining, but it’s a sound supernatural tale, and stands separate enough from its predecessor to find new readers on its own merit. Rating: ***

Hodder, 2014, ISBN 9781444761184

Poppet by Mo Hayder

05 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by Anniseed in Book Review

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Crime, Detectives, Horror, Murder

Reading Mo Hayder is a singularly visceral experience. I can only describe it as like the bit on a rollercoaster when you’re inching up the track, knowing that any moment you’ll plunge downwards at terrifying speed, leaving your insides miles behind you – the anticipation is terrifying, and the outcome… well. You can work it out. I read Hanging Hill when it first came out and the ending to that story still makes me go ice cold when I think about it – it was a brilliant piece of thriller writing. And Poppet didn’t disappoint – I was hooked from the first graphically nasty opener to the shock ending.

It starts as a horror story – the residents of the secure psychiatric hospital are being tormented by a small, vicious ghost they call the Maude, which is driving them to self-harm in horrendous ways. But psychiatric nurse AJ LeGrande – Average Joe – isn’t convinced that the cause is supernatural. Could it be one of the patients themselves? Calling on Detective Inspector Jack Caffrey for help, AJ is determined to stop the culprit before anyone else gets hurt. But his mission is complicated by his new romance with the unit’s boss, Melanie, whom he fears may be the next target of the Maude….

Meanwhile Jack Caffrey has his own problems, both with murder and with love. You don’t need to have read the previous books in this series to get a sense of this complicated cop and the moral nightmare in which he’s caught; he’s an intriguing character and his story arc is tense and compulsive.

Hayder does not shirk away from nastiness but her descriptions are just short enough of graphic detail to leave you breathless for more, rather than stomach-churningly off-putting. They are tautly plotted with lots of twists and turns that keep you hooked throughout – there are no lulls, no bits to skip, she keeps you right there in the action all the time. I loved AJ’s character and was vicariously living the story through his eyes all the way. And the ending was brilliant – so right, so satisfying, and yet so sad. I loved this book and it’s creepy cover – and yes, that shiver is still firmly in my spine. Rating: ****

Bantam Books, 2013, ISBN 9780857500762

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