Three Hoodies Save the World

Constant moaning and whinging about everything

Archive for the month “January, 2017”

Cover Reveal: Ark

Amaranthine by Joleene Naylor

And here we have the second of the new Tales of the Executioner covers!

ark-special-coverGet the short story FREE!

Short Story. Not for children. The second in a collection called Tales of the Executioners about the vampires in the elite “police force”. Ark has been an Executioner for two hundred and fifty years, and has always done his duty, but when he’s handed an assignment with a familiar perpetrator, will he be able to follow orders?

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The kind of day I love – and hate

I’ve decided to take a few months off writing Kongomato 4. It’s not that I’ve fallen out out with it, but the words just aren’t flowing, and as it will be the final (this time) book in the series I want it to be suitably cataclysmic.
To that end I’ve begun, or rather will begin later this afternoon, my new novel. It’s been playing about what passes for my brain for months. And like the others that went before it, I have no idea what’s going to happen other than lots of spookiness, blood, and perhaps torn body parts.
But what if the words won’t flow? What if I’ve lost my touch? I’ve written seventeen, and published thirteen novels. What if my rancid imagination has finally rotted?
I’ll only know when I’ve begun, and hope that as I begin pounding the keyboard (and with me it really is pounding, which Is why I buy my keyboards wholesale) that I’ll know. I’m looking forward to it and also dreading the prospect.

Here’s the first paragraph – maybe.

The man’s face was ancient as time. Deep crevasses lined his forehead and shrunken cheeks, barely interrupting their flow at his battered, misshapen nose. Yet his eyes were bright blue and crystal clear like those of a child. 


This has nothing to do with the book It’s just that Ellie always makes me smile. She’s a ragged little temptress to the other three horses.

My year off has ended.

Finally my year off writing has ended and I’ve begun writing again. And as the carnage that was Christmas lunch is still fresh in my mind I started where I left off, the part where America learns of what is to come in Kongomato 4.

Lying over about half an acre were the remains of about twenty cows although it might have been more but was difficult to tell with the absolute state of carnage. Legs strewn haphazardly here, heads and frozen entrails there, while stacked in the centre of the field, almost like some macabre joke, three of the unfortunate animals lay side by side as if placed there for consumption later. Not even the frigid air was enough to mask the revolting stench of offal and faeces.
    Messenger retched until he collapsed to his knees exhausted. Finally he rose and tottered over to Hendry who had not copied him only with extreme self control. He’d seen this before both with animals and people but knew he’d never become hardened to such things.
    With reluctance he examined the carcasses as best he could. Everything he remembered was there. Bodies smashed and torn open, entrails torn out and missing with internal organs chewed and littering the ground. Yet something was not right, if anything about this grizzly scene was right. For several more minutes he scanned the carnage before finally realising what it was.
    ‘Look.’ He pointed a quivering finger at the nearest corpse. With reluctance Messenger came over but not too near.
    ‘Animals dead and torn apart, and the most repulsive sight I’ve ever seen. Did your cryptids do this?’ Hendry resisted the impulse to remind him forcibly that they were not his animals but the hideous sight surrounding them would not let him.
    ‘They do all this, but there’s something wrong.’ He pointed to the nearest animal. ‘They don’t usually, in fact I’ve never seen them leave such perfect holes in the bodies. They do this,’ he pointed to the dismembered remains, ‘but they don’t do this.’ Next he pointed to the long strip of skin peeled away from another body as if cut with a scalpel. ‘I just don’t know. And look at the eyes.’ Messenger cringed but did so.
    The eyes of every animal stared dully, or grimacing in a rictus of frozen agony.
    ‘These eyes. None of these eyes were burnt out. Do you know what I think?’ Messenger nodded.
    ‘Yes I really would, since that’s why we’re here.’
    ‘It’s possible that some passing cryptids did the tearing apart of the corpses, but I don’t think they killed them.’
    ‘So we’re no nearer finding out where they are, or are going?’ Messenger kicked the ground in fury before beckoning the second soldier over. ‘How long has it been since his animals were last checked?’ The soldier unearthed a blood smeared notebook.
    ‘About a week.’
    ‘About? What kind of farmer leaves animals out in this kind of weather?’
    ‘He likes to drink, a lot,’
    ‘Very well, pay him, bribe him with a thousand gallons of his favourite tipple, or put him in isolation but not a word of this gets out. Refer the local police to the number you were given earlier. Then burn the lot. Not a trace is to be left. Do you understand?’ The soldier nodded obediently then turned reluctantly to the awful task ahead. ‘So what do you think?’ Messenger blew onto his fingers while Hendry turned away.

Of course some or all of the above might not make it to the final cut, but in the meantime I’m going to have fun.

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