Imprint Phoenix Publishing

http://imppublishing.net

The ‘Watch’ anthology is a chilling collection of the macabre from the best of today’s new and established writers in the horror genre, a grisly exploration of the darker aspects of voyeurism.

Fifteen deliciously dark tales served up by an assembly of contemporary scribes including William Meikle, Bob Freeman, David Jeffery, Ian Faulkner, Daniel I Russell, Rhys Hughes, Ian R Faulkner, Peter Mark May, Meghan Smith, Patt Mihailoff, Tom Mason, Stephanie Villalpando, Lou Gharr and Michael Rose.

Limited quantities.

For buyers in the US, please order here:

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‘The insistent whisper continued. Walk out. Walk farther.

And Jonah did. He walked, and he felt the water wrapping around him, holding him gently. If he had known what a lover was, it might have reminded him of that. But he didn’t, and he thought instead of warm blankets encasing him, if the blankets were made of clouds, or of water. It lapped against his shoulders, his neck, with a warm, repetitive slup – slup. And then—SLUP! And a watery tendril wrapped around his ankles and tugged him all the way under. Suddenly the water encasing him did not feel so nice—it was like sinewed tendrils encircling his waist, his arms, his legs. One seemed to cradle his head. “Jonah”, it said. He opened his eyes. Everything was blue and green and tentacled. His eyes stung.’

– ‘Under-Toes’ by Meghan Smith

‘At first, all that the narrow beam of the torchlight revealed in the dark space were a mass of dust motes, piping and twisted intestinal loops of electrical cabling. He turned himself to his left to try to see more. As he did so, an icy cold something teasingly brushed at the back of his neck, causing the hairs there to stand up in tingling shock. He didn’t want to look at whatever it was, but knew that he had to. Gathering himself, he craned his head round to see what had touched him. Bile rose into his throat at the sight.’

– ‘Rewind’ by Ian Faulkner

‘The Watcher stands on the doorstep, listening, waiting for the noise that always comes. Autumn leaves flutter madly around in a sudden breeze; but still the Watcher cannot move. The front door suddenly rattles, as if someone is desperately trying to get out. The Watcher’s eyes are drawn to the gap underneath it – remembering how the wind whistles through, bringing its particular chill to the whole house. The door rattles again, but that still isn’t it.

And then it comes, the soft thud, as of a chopper on bone.’

– ‘Living The Dream’ by William Meikle

‘Cold silence. It was if the outside world no longer existed. The universe had contracted around her and now seemed to solely consist of the bag she was in. As her mind cleared, her panic increased exponentially. She fought her feelings of terror, and momentarily gained temporary victory over them. Think, Carol, think. How did you get in here? But no answers came. Then the real horror began.’

– ‘Cold Birth’ by Ian Faulkner

‘He was a child again and his mother came to kiss him goodnight, or so he had thought. She bent down and opened her mouth. Her tongue, impossibly long, fell out, dropped past her chin, and came to rest, dangling on her bare breasts; hairy breasts. The tongue had a life of its own, coming up to caress his face. Warm, wet, revolting. Comforting. The drool from her mouth running across his forehead, a thin glistening rope running down his nose, sliding towards his mouth. A hand came up, not misshapen like the old arthritic German’s had been, but strange, padded, thickly furred, sharp of claw. A paw that bore a lump of meat in its talons.

He hungered.’

– ‘Keep It In The Family’ by Lou Gharr

‘After he was dead, Joe was very still. While the others danced and feasted and ravaged his poor, empty body, I went to him. I crawled against his face and perched lovingly on the end of his nose. His hair, once a wild tangle of hair spray made spongy by rain, fragrant with sweat and salt, now lay wet and slick against his skull. His face, newly shaved, lacked the coarse bristles to climb by – he looked bald and expressionless, as if his face were carved of soap. And his eyes; now dead and dry, cheeks moistened only by the frozen jewels of water that dripped from the faucet above him, his sad and puckered lips rosy with blood from his shattered jaw.’

– ‘Nancy’ by Stephanie Villalpando

This entry was posted on July 18, 2011 at 3:57 PM and is filed under Available Now with tags 'WATCH' Anthology 2011, Buy 'Watch' 2011 Dark Fiction Collection here, Imprint Phoenix Publishing WATCH Anthology 2011, WATCH Anthology 2011 with William Meikle Bob Freeman David Jeffery Ian Faulkner Daniel I Russell Rhys Hughes Ian R Faulkner Peter Mark May Meghan Smith Patt Mihailoff Tom Mason Stephanie Villalpando L. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.