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Showing posts with label Sweet Dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sweet Dreams. Show all posts

Tuesday, 5 June 2012

Sweet Dreams snippets - Day 3

Carry on reading for Day 3 of our sneak peek snippets from the Sweet Dreams anthology.





Snippet # 1 : Jason Mckinney

Jason is a really sweet, funny guy, who managed to write one of the most hair-raising (pun intended) werewolf stories I've ever read, Dog Soldiers. There's nothing good or fluffy about those lycans, I promise you that. Then he switched on the humour in Memoirs of the Walking Dead, in between some serious gore and few truly in-your-face gross-out scenes. He's also the author of the Sheriff Teddy series, which is a delight for younger readers and the young-at-heart.He turns on the humour and the charm again The Easter Werewolf.


The Easter Werewolf

Jason McKinney


The werewolf crept through the Black Forest, intent on killing the boar rooting for tubers beside the pine tree. He considered himself lucky to have one come so close to his home. Usually they stayed away out of fear.
The animal’s scent was different from any he’d hunted before in the Black Forest, but he was sure it was a wild boar. It would make a good Easter meal for him and his son.
The werewolf’s name was Johannes Schrader and he’d been such for three years. It had been his wife that had turned him, and if not for their silver mantle clock, she would have killed him.
Johannes moved closer to the animal. Even with the distance closed he couldn’t make it out clearly. Maybe it was the gloom or the surrounding vegetation that interfered with his sight. Having his vision and senses clouded during a hunt had never happened before. Maybe age was creeping up on him.
The animal stopped its movement and looked up. It turned in time to see him springing forward.
The prey didn’t put up much of a fight, which struck Johannes as strange. Usually boars were ferocious beasts when cornered, but this one yelped loudly and squealed before dying.
Slowly the blurring disappeared from around the creature. He yelped himself, and slowly sat next to it. He changed into his human form as he sat stunned, looking at the body.
The animal had been a rabbit. It was a shade of white Johannes had never seen and was adorned in a dark maroon vest. A pair of spectacles lay next to the rabbit’s head and a rolled piece of paper protruded from its vest.
“Oh dear Lord. What have I done?” He slowly pulled the paper from the rabbits vest. A pocket watch fell out of the vest as he pulled the paper from the pocket. Its gold chain dangled brilliantly in the dark.
He unrolled the scroll and read the list of names written on it in elegant writing. Fifth from the top of the list was his son’s name, Hartwin, and beside his name was the word “NEW FOLLOWER”. The names above and below were all known to him in one way or another. Only the four before Hartwin’s were checked off.
Johannes had killed the Easter Bunny.




 Snippet # 2 : B. Throwsnaill

The author of Hemlock and the Wizard Tower series, and an absolute sweetheart on both twitter and Goodreads, B. submitted what might be the best sci-fi story I've read in years. I loved his fantasy world; now I'm just hooked on everything he puts out.


The Gene Priest
B Throwsnaill


   He was just about to return to his desk when the sudden appearance of a green dot at the edges of his vision startled him.  It was an incoming video call, and his computer identified a colleague named Father Masterson as the caller. Father Herman accepted the communication, and soon the porcine features of the younger priest were visible.
    "Father Herman.  I need to ask you a favor.  There's a couple coming in now for a consultation about their embryo.  It's going to be an E97.  I'm way behind on my gene therapy pass for the latest wave.  I need you to take this consultation for me," said Masterson.
    Father Herman hated consultations and Father Masterson knew it.  But the latter always seemed to find reasons to pass off his consultations—and Father Herman was usually his first target as a replacement.
    "I'm also behind on my reviews.  I afraid I can't do it this time.  Can you get someone else?"
    "I've tried.  You're the only one who's available."
    "But I've just told you that I'm not available."
    "I simply can't do this one, Father Herman.  If you don't agree to do it I'll be forced to give a letter to the reception desk and have the bad news delivered like that.  Is that what you want to happen?"
    Father Herman knew that these consultations were often traumatic events for future parents—especially in cases with negative genetic outcomes like this one.  And he knew that Masterson was just cold enough to make that couple receive hard news via an impersonal letter received in a public area.
    It would be shameful!
    "You always do this to me Masterson!  I'll do it for the couple’s sake—but I'm just as busy as you are," said Father Herman angrily.
    "Bless you, Father Herman.  You're much better at these things than I am anyway," said Masterson, cutting the video feed abruptly.
    Not even a thank you!
    Father Herman turned back toward the window, and he began to feel anxious about the impending consultation.  He was normally self-conscious in social situations.  And he knew that this feeling would be magnified by the stress of the consultation.  He felt himself beginning to perspire.
    He soon received a message that the couple had arrived on time.  He instructed reception to keep them waiting in the lobby for ten minutes and then send them up.  He hoped that the couple would pass the time by perusing the information kiosk on the history of Father Matthias IV, founder of the Gene Priests, and Father Herman’s personal hero.  He liked his appointments to be properly grounded in Gene Priest history before they reached him.
    In order to pass a few moments, he played an audio clip of the great man's speech, which had been delivered just prior to the passage of the laws that had sanctioned the supremacy of the Gene Priests.
    "Mankind needs a framework for the extension of life through bio-engineering.  This legislation provides that framework.  Our very survival as a species hangs in the balance.  Every man and woman on this great Earth must have the courage to stand up today and demand that this amendment be passed.  And when you stand and raise your voices, you will do so as free-thinking, self-aware, sentient beings that are alive in the truth of the moment, and keenly aware of the pivotal context of that moment."
    Father Herman felt a feeling of calm take the edge off of his anxiety, although a small audio glitch in the recording threatened to disrupt his newfound clarity.
    I'll have to edit that out of the source recording and update the kiosk in the lobby.
    Soon he saw the couple that he was waiting for approaching through the window of an aerial corridor that bridged his building with an adjacent one.  They both wore well-tailored gray suits adorned with fashionably ornate red piping.  These were the kind of clothes that people wore to business meetings, weddings and other formal occasions.  He could tell from this distance that the woman’s eyes were red and puffy.  The man looked composed.
    He met them at the door, and showed them to two luxurious leather chairs that rested in front of his desk.
    As he walked around to his desk chair, he heard the woman sniffle softly.
    I hate this.



  He was just about to return to his desk when the sudden appearance of a green dot at the edges of his vision startled him.  It was an incoming video call, and his computer identified a colleague named Father Masterson as the caller. Father Herman accepted the communication, and soon the porcine features of the younger priest were visible.

    "Father Herman.  I need to ask you a favor.  There's a couple coming in now for a consultation about their embryo.  It's going to be an E97.  I'm way behind on my gene therapy pass for the latest wave.  I need you to take this consultation for me," said Masterson.
    Father Herman hated consultations and Father Masterson knew it.  But the latter always seemed to find reasons to pass off his consultations—and Father Herman was usually his first target as a replacement.
    "I'm also behind on my reviews.  I afraid I can't do it this time.  Can you get someone else?"
    "I've tried.  You're the only one who's available."
    "But I've just told you that I'm not available."
    "I simply can't do this one, Father Herman.  If you don't agree to do it I'll be forced to give a letter to the reception desk and have the bad news delivered like that.  Is that what you want to happen?"
    Father Herman knew that these consultations were often traumatic events for future parents—especially in cases with negative genetic outcomes like this one.  And he knew that Masterson was just cold enough to make that couple receive hard news via an impersonal letter received in a public area.
    It would be shameful!
    "You always do this to me Masterson!  I'll do it for the couple’s sake—but I'm just as busy as you are," said Father Herman angrily.
    "Bless you, Father Herman.  You're much better at these things than I am anyway," said Masterson, cutting the video feed abruptly.
    Not even a thank you!
    Father Herman turned back toward the window, and he began to feel anxious about the impending consultation.  He was normally self-conscious in social situations.  And he knew that this feeling would be magnified by the stress of the consultation.  He felt himself beginning to perspire.
    He soon received a message that the couple had arrived on time.  He instructed reception to keep them waiting in the lobby for ten minutes and then send them up.  He hoped that the couple would pass the time by perusing the information kiosk on the history of Father Matthias IV, founder of the Gene Priests, and Father Herman’s personal hero.  He liked his appointments to be properly grounded in Gene Priest history before they reached him.
    In order to pass a few moments, he played an audio clip of the great man's speech, which had been delivered just prior to the passage of the laws that had sanctioned the supremacy of the Gene Priests.
    "Mankind needs a framework for the extension of life through bio-engineering.  This legislation provides that framework.  Our very survival as a species hangs in the balance.  Every man and woman on this great Earth must have the courage to stand up today and demand that this amendment be passed.  And when you stand and raise your voices, you will do so as free-thinking, self-aware, sentient beings that are alive in the truth of the moment, and keenly aware of the pivotal context of that moment."
    Father Herman felt a feeling of calm take the edge off of his anxiety, although a small audio glitch in the recording threatened to disrupt his newfound clarity.
    I'll have to edit that out of the source recording and update the kiosk in the lobby.
    Soon he saw the couple that he was waiting for approaching through the window of an aerial corridor that bridged his building with an adjacent one.  They both wore well-tailored gray suits adorned with fashionably ornate red piping.  These were the kind of clothes that people wore to business meetings, weddings and other formal occasions.  He could tell from this distance that the woman’s eyes were red and puffy.  The man looked composed.
    He met them at the door, and showed them to two luxurious leather chairs that rested in front of his desk.
    As he walked around to his desk chair, he heard the woman sniffle softly.
    I hate this.


Father Herman stood at his office window and watched the graceful ascent of an orbital lift craft through the early evening sky. Its powerful jets of fiery exhaust propelled it high into the heavens, until it was only visible as a point of light—a receding ember blending into a panoply of stars that were just emerging into view in the absence of the retreating daylight.
    He was just about to return to his desk when the sudden appearance of a green dot at the edges of his vision startled him.  It was an incoming video call, and his computer identified a colleague named Father Masterson as the caller. Father Herman accepted the communication, and soon the porcine features of the younger priest were visible.
    "Father Herman.  I need to ask you a favor.  There's a couple coming in now for a consultation about their embryo.  It's going to be an E97.  I'm way behind on my gene therapy pass for the latest wave.  I need you to take this consultation for me," said Masterson.
    Father Herman hated consultations and Father Masterson knew it.  But the latter always seemed to find reasons to pass off his consultations—and Father Herman was usually his first target as a replacement.
    "I'm also behind on my reviews.  I afraid I can't do it this time.  Can you get someone else?"
    "I've tried.  You're the only one who's available."
    "But I've just told you that I'm not available."
    "I simply can't do this one, Father Herman.  If you don't agree to do it I'll be forced to give a letter to the reception desk and have the bad news delivered like that.  Is that what you want to happen?"
    Father Herman knew that these consultations were often traumatic events for future parents—especially in cases with negative genetic outcomes like this one.  And he knew that Masterson was just cold enough to make that couple receive hard news via an impersonal letter received in a public area.
    It would be shameful!
    "You always do this to me Masterson!  I'll do it for the couple’s sake—but I'm just as busy as you are," said Father Herman angrily.
    "Bless you, Father Herman.  You're much better at these things than I am anyway," said Masterson, cutting the video feed abruptly.
    Not even a thank you!
    Father Herman turned back toward the window, and he began to feel anxious about the impending consultation.  He was normally self-conscious in social situations.  And he knew that this feeling would be magnified by the stress of the consultation.  He felt himself beginning to perspire.
    He soon received a message that the couple had arrived on time.  He instructed reception to keep them waiting in the lobby for ten minutes and then send them up.  He hoped that the couple would pass the time by perusing the information kiosk on the history of Father Matthias IV, founder of the Gene Priests, and Father Herman’s personal hero.  He liked his appointments to be properly grounded in Gene Priest history before they reached him.
    In order to pass a few moments, he played an audio clip of the great man's speech, which had been delivered just prior to the passage of the laws that had sanctioned the supremacy of the Gene Priests.
    "Mankind needs a framework for the extension of life through bio-engineering.  This legislation provides that framework.  Our very survival as a species hangs in the balance.  Every man and woman on this great Earth must have the courage to stand up today and demand that this amendment be passed.  And when you stand and raise your voices, you will do so as free-thinking, self-aware, sentient beings that are alive in the truth of the moment, and keenly aware of the pivotal context of that moment."
    Father Herman felt a feeling of calm take the edge off of his anxiety, although a small audio glitch in the recording threatened to disrupt his newfound clarity.
    I'll have to edit that out of the source recording and update the kiosk in the lobby.
    Soon he saw the couple that he was waiting for approaching through the window of an aerial corridor that bridged his building with an adjacent one.  They both wore well-tailored gray suits adorned with fashionably ornate red piping.  These were the kind of clothes that people wore to business meetings, weddings and other formal occasions.  He could tell from this distance that the woman’s eyes were red and puffy.  The man looked composed.
    He met them at the door, and showed them to two luxurious leather chairs that rested in front of his desk.
    As he walked around to his desk chair, he heard the woman sniffle softly.
    I hate this.



I hope you've enjoyed the sneak peeks. We should go live with the e-book in the next couple of days, watch this space for details!




Sunday, 3 June 2012

Sweet Dreams Story Snippets

We're ramping up to publishing the anthology over the next couple of days. As a bit of a treat, keep reading for the first couple of snippets, and some info on the authors.

Snippet # 1 - Joseph Garraty


I stumbled over Joe Garraty's book Voice back in the very first days of my kindle ownership, and his writing simply blew me away. If you like genuine gritty, swaggering rock 'n roll horror, click that link as fast as you can. Since then I've read everything he's brought out - The Q-Bomb is a fun little sci-fi story, The Price is one of the creepiest, darkest urban fantasies I've ever read, and To Rule this Broken Earth takes that gritty, sensual feel of otherness into an epic post-apocalyptic fantasy that never takes the easy route. In that time, we've become friends via email, and Joe is probably one of the main reasons my own writing has improved. In the short tale Everyone Goes To Hell, he also shows a diabolical sense of humour.



Everyone Goes To Hell

Joseph Garraty

Everyone ends up in Hell, you know. Virtually everyone, anyway. Certainly everyone I ever met. I never heard of anyone who went the other way, but I suppose it’s possible, at least in some hypothetical sense.
I tried explaining this to Bill Sanderson right from the beginning, but it didn’t take.
I appeared in his goofy little summoning circle on a whim. Somebody had to do it. We were all getting annoyed by his constant entreaties, and I guess I didn’t have anything better to do that evening than to go try to shut him up. It was a stupid chore. Like going to the dentist, it wasn’t valuable work that needed doing, it was an irritating waste of time one had to endure in order to stave off a bigger irritation.
When I arrived, Bill was prostrate on the floor, chanting madly, nonsense syllables interspersed with phrases like “O Mighty Seraph” and “Hear your humble supplicant” and all that foolishness.
He was so absorbed in it that he didn’t even see me appear. I watched him for a few moments, but he still didn’t so much as glance up. Maybe he was expecting a bang and a flash, a puff of violet smoke, a thundering voice?
I stepped down off the dais, casually stepping over the circle and the inscriptions, and sat on the floor next to him.
“Bill,” I said, patting him affectionately on the back, “you can knock it off. I’m here.”
He scrambled to his feet, tottering as his creaky old knees tried to give out. I reached up a hand to steady him. He stared at me, eyes so wide that the irises seemed lost in rheumy yellow whites. 
Then he threw himself back to the floor.
“Holy One!” he shouted. “I beg thee, O Mighty Seraph—”
I cut him off. “Enough already! I heard you the first time.”
He sat up, blinking in the smoke from the candles. “You…you did?”
“Yeah, sure.” I could see the naked hope in his eyes.
No fool like an old fool, I guess.
“Come on, Bill, get up. Let’s go sit somewhere comfortable, and I’ll explain a few things.”
He nodded, and I helped him to his feet, more slowly this time. He shuffled to the door, casting nervous glances back at me every few feet. I followed him upstairs to the study without a word.
“Nice place,” I remarked as he showed me a chair. It was, too. Deep carpets, high ceilings, teak and mahogany and weirder, more expensive woods all over the place. Ugly light fixtures that cost a fortune. The proles would probably have called this a library, but to Bill it was just the study.
Bill sat in the chair opposite me, wincing as he lowered himself.
“You were supposed to stay in the circle,” he began, his chin thrust out defiantly.
“Oh, good. You got your composure back.”




Snippet # 2 - Naomi Clark

Naomi Clark is one of the writers I'd like to be when I grow up. Now a twitter buddy, I stumbled over her on Amazon, got hooked, then starting reading everything of hers I could get my grubby little paws onto. From the dark humour of the Ethan Banning series, to her dark urban werewolf tales like the Vargulf Trilogy and Silver Kiss, she proves from the first page that female writers can kick ass and take names with the best of them. Her latest release, Night and Chaos went live this week on Amazon, and it's one of the best urban fantasy books I've read, with an interesting take on the Deva mythology, and one of the strongest opening scenes ever. Just to prove she can pull off a slice of dark Gothic elegance as well, her contribution to Sweet Dreams is Here Be Monsters.


Here Be Monsters
Naomi Clark
I hate the sea. I hate the pound and rush of waves on sand, the stench of rotting seaweed and eye-watering brine. I hate the endless shrieks of the gulls. The dark waters chill me, fill my head with nebulous images of great serpents and twisted, alien life forms untouched by sunlight and air. I hate people who romanticise it, talk about pirates and mermaids, adventure and mystery. No. The ocean is not for men. I’ve always believed that. Maybe we came from the sea once, but we left for a reason. And if I had my way, I’d never go back.
            But I rarely get my way. Science and nature reporters for small-time cable TV channels tend not to, so when I was woken up at three am by my producer and told to get my arse down to the Northumberland coast for the ‘story of a life time,’ I didn’t argue. I swallowed my exhaustion and my dread and hatred of the ocean, and did as I was told.
Caraway Beach was cold, wet, and grim. I stood at the water’s edge in green wellies and a battered blue raincoat, watching the camera crew scuttle around trying to set up their cameras and avoid the drizzle and the wind whipping in off the grey-blue ocean. The sky overhead was black with storm clouds. Every now and then, thunder rumbled in the distance, making me shiver and jump. I stared up at those clouds, waiting for lightning. It was much better than staring down at the stone-strewn sand and the thing we were here to film.
“It has to be a whale,” Andrew remarked, joining me. He was the boom operator, new to the team, nice enough guy, but always just...loitering around me. It made me slightly uncomfortable for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “Every time someone gets excited about krakens, Loch Ness Monsters, or dinosaurs, it turns out to be a mangled whale carcass.”


There you have it folks - the first two snippets from two of the most talented authors I know. Pop back tomorrow for some more from Sweet Dreams, and thanks for reading.