Welcome to Part Two of my workshop on how to write your own scary stories! In Part One I talked about ways of finding ideas for a story by looking at your own worst fears – if you write about something that you are afraid of then it will seem genuinely terrifying to a reader! If you haven’t read Part One then check it out here, and as always if you’d like to download the full worksheet that goes with this workshop then you can find it here!

Part 2: What If…?

Okay, so if you’ve been following this workshop from the beginning then you’ll hopefully have a list of things that scare you. These can be anything you like – spiders and snakes, ghosts (or goats), vampires, werewolves and zombies, teachers and homework, vegetables, disease and death and, of course, CLOWNS – the important thing is that you are genuinely scared of them, or they at least creep you out a little!

At the moment, though, these things are just that: things! They aren’t stories yet. What we’re going to do now is look at ways of turning those things into ideas. And luckily we don’t need some kind of sophisticated inspiration machine for this, all we need are two simple words:

What if…?

Most books started life as a what if: what if a boy discovers he’s a wizard and gets sent to wizard school? What if a girl moves to a new school and meets a hunky vampire? What if a boy is convicted of a crime he didn’t commit and sent to an underground prison full of monsters? (Er… that last one is mine in case you didn’t recognise it!) What if‘s are at the heart of all stories.

What if‘s are a writer’s greatest tool for discovering ideas, and if you get into the habit of asking that question everywhere you go then you’ll soon have so many ideas for stories that you won’t know what to do with them all. If it sounds a little weird just give it a go. Look out the nearest window, what do you see? Right now I can see a very old building opposite my office: what if it was once the headquarters for a group of monster slayers and beneath the streets is a vault containing dozens of creatures in cages, just waiting to escape? What if I saw somebody running up the street being chased by thugs, and I let them hide in my office only to discover they have stolen a mysterious object that people will kill to possess? What if I went to leave the office (my office is in a very old hotel full of weird corridors and hidden tunnels) and the layout had magically changed, and there was no way out, and ghosts started appearing from the rooms, and… Okay, I’m going to stop there before I freak myself out. But do you get the idea? Just think about all the strangest and scariest things that could happen wherever you are, all of the possible what if‘s.

So, what I’d like you to do now is try and add some what if‘s to your own worst fears. They can be as weird as you like, but try and pick things that would absolutely terrify you if they actually happened. Go crazy! The things that really terrify me are marionettes (those spooky puppets) and porcelain dolls (the single most nightmarish objects on the face of the planet. So some of my what if‘s could be:

What if somebody gave me a puppet as a Christmas present and it came alive and tried to kill me?

What if my sister’s porcelain doll was actually a young girl who had been placed under a curse centuries ago and needed to be set free?

What if a puppet contained the soul of its maker who was trying to find a new body to inhabit?

What if somebody found a way to control another human being the same way a puppet master controls a puppet?

And so on! I’ve just come up with these now, so they could be better, but I just wanted to demonstrate how easy it was! It will take a little while to get into the habit of asking what if, but I promise you if you ask that question everywhere you go, whatever you’re doing, then you will be swamped with new ideas. Of course not all of them will be suitable for a story or a book, and some may have been used before, but sooner or later you’ll have a eureka moment and hit on an idea that could become the new Harry Potter or Twilight (or, um Furnace)!

Take some time and think about what if‘s for each of your worst fears. And next time you’re out somewhere try it then too. One of the best places for what if‘s is at school: what if you’re looking for a book in the library and you discover a pamphlet about how to put a curse on somebody? What if you go to the toilet and your reflection does something that you don’t? What if your teachers started experimenting on pupils? What if your school holiday abroad turned out to be in a zombie plague area?! The pool of ideas is endless!

Check back soon for Part Three, where we’ll be taking a break from ideas and looking at how to create characters that really feel as if they’re alive! And if you have any questions about what if‘s then just ask!

THE UNSPEAKABLE HORROR!

A Trapped by Monsters story

With art usually by David Melling

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Me lurched over to one, er… one, two…  one, two…  Flug!  What come after two…?  OK, start again…

Me lurched over to lots of tables on which more than two aufors were strapped.  Me looked down at them.  Them looked up at me.  We looked and looked and looked, and them me fought it must be my turn to talk.

“Me will eat you!” me said, in a scary way.  Them looked scared.

“I don’t actually taste very good,” said one of the aufors.  Me don’t know her name, but she was wearing a shirt that said, ‘Buy The Clumsies by Sorrel Anderson – it’s really good‘, and a badge that said, ‘Hi – I’m Sorrel Anderson, author of The Clumsies‘ and a hat that said, ‘Stop me and ask if I’m Sorrel Anderson‘.  So, I fink it might have been Gillian Philip.

“No, I’m Gillian Philip!” said the aufor on the next table.  Me wondered how she had been reading my foughts, but then me realised me must have been finking with the outside voice again.

“Don’t forget me,” said the last aufor.  “My name’s Barnaby Richards, and I’m an illustrator – so I shouldn’t really be here at all!”

“Silence!” me roared.  These aufors were giving me a tummy ache in my head.  “Me and Rodney will eat you all!”  The first aufor pulled a ‘Sorrel Anderson souvenir handkerchief (3 for £4.99)’ from her pocket and blew her nose.

“Rodney?” asked Gillian Philip.  “Who’s Rodney?”

Then the door swung open and me looked to see Rodney slide in.  Rodney is my best friend.  He’s a blob monster with four eyes and no legs.  “Rodney is my best friend,” me said.  “He’s a blob monster with four eyes and no legs.”

Then somefink weird happened.  Rodney pulled off his head and it wasn’t really Rodney at all.

“I’m not really Rodney at all!” announced the person inside the Rodney costume.  Then he fumped me on the head wiv a big stick.  As me slumped to the floor, me watched in terror as another aufor stepped out of the hollow Rodney.

“Thanks!” grinned Barnaby Richards.  “But who are you, brave rescuer?”

“I’m Alex Milway,” replied the not-Rodney, “and I managed to escape from my own cell just in time, by the looks of things.  Now, follow me – I know where the others are…”

Then, as this looked-like-Rodney-but-wasn’t-Rodney stared down at me, everyfink went black.  Me like black.  It goes wiv anyfink.

Whenever I do events, I often get asked the same questions. The most popular of these is “Are you rich enough to buy a helicopter?” The answer to this, sadly, is not yet, although I often look at them on eBay and will hopefully one day get myself one. The second most popular question, usually from a teacher this time, is “Can you buy me a helicopter?” Again, the answer is no. Sorry about that!

Anyway, once the questions about helicopters / tanks / ferraris are out of the way, the next most popular question is “Where do you get your ideas from?” I’m sure most writers are asked this wherever they go, and although all writers probably give different answers, most will probably mention that ideas for stories are much easier to find than you might think. When I run workshops in schools I talk about some cool ways to find ideas, but since I can’t do a workshop for every school in the world (the monsters refuse to let me out for more than seventy-two hours) I thought I’d run a workshop here! Over the next few weeks I’ll suggest a few ways of finding ideas and turning them into stories, and it would be great if as many of you as possible joined in!

To start with, I want to talk about ideas! So without further ado I present you with part one of my horror writing workshop! Feel free to use the comments box below to share some of your ideas and stories!

Oh, and if you’d like to download the full worksheet that goes with this workshop then you can find it here!

Part 1: Facing Your Nightmares!

One of the most important things about writing a horror story is finding something scary! There are loads of places to get ideas, but it’s always best to start by looking at what YOU are afraid of. If you’re afraid of something, then when you write about it, it will seem genuinely terrifying!

What I want you to do first is write down some of your worst fears. These can be anything – spiders and snakes, ghosts (or goats), vampires, werewolves and zombies, teachers and homework, vegetables, disease and death and, of course, CLOWNS! Write down as many as you can think of, the more fears you have, the more you’ll have to work with!

Three great places to look for ideas are:

-     Experience: Things that have happened to you – did anything really scary happen when you were younger, like getting lost in the woods, or being woken by a noise that might have been a monster?

-     Memory: Things from your favourite books and shows – what’s the scariest thing you’ve ever read or seen? Is there a way to use that idea but make it your own?

-     What if?!: Crazy ideas – this is the most fun way of looking for ideas. What if… your reflection suddenly started doing things differently, and began trying to take over your life? Or your parents, and everybody else’s, suddenly disappear? Or a neighbour turns out to be a vampire? Learn to question absolutely everything – why is the school basement locked? (What if that’s where the teachers experiment on naughty kids!) What happens when you are hypnotised? (Maybe you are possessed by an angry ghost!) Think up ludicrous and scary explanations for everything!

The idea for Furnace came from all these places: I once visited an old prison beneath the ground and was terrified by it (Experience), I was watching lots of prison shows on television at the time (Memory), and I wondered What If you are accused of a crime you didn’t commit and sent to a terrifying prison? And all of the monsters in Furnace are born from some of my worst fears!

Try playing with some of these idea-making ideas and you’ll have a basis for a story in no time!

Next, we’ll be taking your worst fears and turning them into story outlines. Check back soon for Part Two! And if you add some of your worst fears in the comments section then I’ll try and work them into stories as an example!

Part Two is now available here!

THE UNSPEAKABLE HORROR!

A Trapped by Monsters story

With art by David Melling

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

“No way!” I breathed in amazement.

This was getting weird.  Ten minutes ago, I was teetering on the brink of certain death and now, here I was, face to face with three new authors.

“Russian Hopscotch?” demanded Chae Strathie.  “What’s that?”

I gasped.  This new bloke could read my mind!  How could he possibly know that my jailer – Spengler the Jaded – forced me to play what could only be described as one of the most dangerous games the monsters had ever invented at this time every week?  Perhaps he’d heard my screams as the dice rolled and I was given no choice but to hop from square to square?  Perhaps he’d peeked into my cell as I prayed not to land on the patch of quicksand hidden beneath one of the numbers?

Or perhaps he wasn’t really an author at all… Perhaps he was one of the monsters in disguise, luring us into a false sense of security as we dared to believe that we could finally escape from this madness.  Yes, that was it!  Chae Strathie was definitely a shape-shifting beastie, here to taunt us with thoughts of freedom while he sharpened his vile-

“Your t-shirt says ‘Russian Hopscotch’,” continued Chae.  “What is that?”

I glanced down at the ceremonial costume I was made to wear for each round of the deadly game and smoothed down the frills of my potato sack skirt.  “Oh,” I croaked.  “It’s, er… just something my jailer likes to play from time to time…”

Sam glanced furtively up and down the tunnel.  “That’s a point,” he said.  “Where is Spengler?  How did you get out?”

I shuddered as I thought back to the moment my captor had landed on what looked like an ordinary cracked paving slap with the number 5 chalked on – only to discover it was a patch of pungent, lethal quicksand.  The monster had screamed as he was dragged beneath the ground, the gloopy mud that was to become his tomb racing to plug every orifice of his pock-marked body.

He’d gurgled a cry for help as the wet, sucking earth flooded his lungs and – for a moment – I’d considered trying to help him.  But I was too scared of being sucked beneath the floor of the damp cell myself – and there was no point creasing up my Hopscotch costume now I’d ironed it.

Eventually, Spengler had fallen silent, his wide, staring eyes the only part of his body that remained visible.  I knew this was my chance to escape. I just had to get the keys I knew my jailer kept clipped to what I had originally thought was his belt, but eventually turned out to be an external lower intestine wrapped around his waist.

Lying flat on the ground, I’d plunged my fist into the quicksand that surrounded my now dead guard.  Trying not to look into his lifeless face, I’d fumbled around in the gloop for the keys, first pulling free a spare eyeball before finally finding what I was after.  I had unlocked the cell door with trembling fingers and then, checking the corridor was clear, I’d run as fast as my ceremonial Hopscotch flip flops would let me.

“We found Tommy racing for the exit to the caves,” Andy explained to the new authors.

“I was not!” I scoffed.  “I was, er… coming to free you guys!”

“But our cells are in the opposite direction,” said Ali.

“Are… are they really?” I squeaked, scuffing the toe of my right flip flop back and forth in the dirt.

“You know they are,” replied Mark.  “You made us all tattoo a map of the caves on the back of our hands not long after we were captured.  You were definitely heading for the-”

“That’s not important now!” I interrupted quickly.  “Never mind who was coming to rescue who!

“Who wasn’t coming to rescue who, more like,” muttered Barry.

“You can keep quiet, marmite breath!” I scolded.  “What is important is that we’ve made three new friends…”

“Six new friends!” announced an Irish accent from the shadows at the back of the cave.  We spun round in surprise.

“I’m Niamh Sharkey,” said the tear-streaked author, stepping out of the darkness.

“Jon Mayhew,” added one of the two figures behind her.

“David Gatward,” announced the third.  “And we want to know what’s going on, right now!”

Click here for Episode Seven, by A Monster

One answer I’ve always liked to the question of where ideas come from, is that they’re often the result of chance combinations: two or more things that come together unexpectedly in your mind. Well, here are three that have been colliding lately in mine…

Long-term followers of this blog might conceivably remember this post, in which I linked to this article by Warren Ellis for Wired Magazine about Rescue Fiction. He talked about Gerry and Sylvia Anderson’s classic puppet-animated tv series Thunderbirds and the potential for awesomeness of stories involving colossal and ambitious engineering: crisis, ingenuity, resolution and rescue.

That’s the first colliding thing. Here’s the second…

The Deepwater Horizon disaster: the rig explosion, the resulting catastrophic environmental damage to the Gulf of Mexico – and the unfolding story of the increasingly desperate attempts to come up with a solution when massive depth and crushing water pressure mean only remotely controlled machines can be used. Right now as I’m typing this – not to excuse BP or the other associated corporations for their part in creating this problem in the first place – some of the finest problem-solving minds on the planet are working against the clock. As this real-life case shows, engineering has drama.

Third colliding thing: this. It’s a post that appeared recently on one of my favourite blogs, Pink Tentacle, imagining some of the most fabulously ambitious engineering projects that the human race might conceivably engage in in its future, including floating cities, a space hotel and (my favourite) a plan to supply the entire world’s energy needs by means of a ring of solar panels on the moon.

Now: I have other books to write. I have my next two full-length projects lined up in my head already, and I don’t have the time or inclination to write this story right now. But that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t want to read it if it was written by someone else. Quite the reverse, in fact!

So, You, reading this now: how about it? How about writing some thrilling Rescue Fiction? I’m not talking about Thunderbirds, except how much I loved it when I was small, the world is already too full of sequels and remakes. No: I’m talking about you taking charge of this idea and writing something completely new and amazing.

…I know: having the idea is the easy bit. Or rather, once you’ve got your initial idea like this, you’ve then got to have more ideas: believable characters who have personal stakes in the story’s events, a satisfying structure, a way of telling this tale without too much exposition, plus all of the other bits and pieces you’ll need to thrash out so you can make the concept work.

But: I would love to read a near-future story of daring, ambition, spaceships, explosions and engineering ingenuity in the white heat of crisis. I think it would be awesome.

Someone write this. Please?

Sam

THE UNSPEAKABLE HORROR!

A Trapped by Monsters story

With art by David Melling

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

As soon as I heard the scuffling outside the door, I knew this was my chance.  Monsters don’t scuffle.  They thump, stomp and squelch, but they never scuffle.  The siren hadn’t let up in several minutes.  The monsters appeared to be having trouble locating the escapee.

I eyed Blusterfart the Unsteady, my jailer.  He appeared uneasy, teetering around on one leg near the door.  It’s true that this isn’t unusual for Blusterfart, given that he only has one leg, but don’t be fooled into thinking he’s not dangerous.  You should see him hop when he’s angry!  I gathered my courage and made my move.

Launching into a run, I leapt into a flying front kick that caught Blusterfart full in the face.  With his balance less than perfect to begin with, the single kick toppled him and I landed in fixed stance, wondering why I’d never tried this before.  My jailer floundered on the floor of the cave like an upturned beetle and farted a wind crescendo that made the London Philharmonic brass section look like a bunch of amateurs.  The stench that he loosed was worse than anything he’d let rip with before.  I gagged, holding my arm across my mouth and nose to try to filter out the smell.

For a moment I felt sorry for him.  Blusterfart was so distressed that he had dropped his most prized possession, a stuffed goldfish called Sniffles, which skittered away into a corner.  The door creaked open and to my amazement I discovered not one, but four of my fellow captives crouched outside.

'Sniffles'

‘Quick!  This way!’ hissed Ali, pointing along the passageway to the right.  She was wearing a cracked pair of glasses that were glowing with an eerie light.

‘Are you sure?’ I asked, confused.  ‘That’s not the way the monsters take me when I’m allowed out to events.’

‘Ali found a map,’ Sam explained excitedly.  ‘We think we’ve found an obscure exit.  We might actually have a REAL chance of getting away this time.  I’m very, very, VERY excited.  Hee, hee, hee!’  He was hopping from one foot to the other and his grin looked almost maniacal in the strange glow.

‘And the other three?’

‘They’re being held together in one large cell,’ Andy explained.  ‘It was marked on the map.  It’s not far from here.’

‘Really?  Strange that Tommy didn’t mention being with the others when I saw him last week.’

A glance back into the cell revealed Blusterfart crawling towards Sniffles and blubbering something about making him a special pocket with a toy castle and bubbles.  It was a horrible sight.  I closed the door behind me and stumbled after the others. They were already moving on into the labyrinth in search of the remaining authors.  Two minutes later Ali stopped by a wooden door.

‘I think this is it,’ she whispered.

‘Any sign of guards?’ Baz asked.  He sounded nervous and stank of marmite.  I decided better of asking why.

‘No.’

‘The door doesn’t look that strong,’ Sam said.  ‘If we all charge it together, it might break.’

‘Why not try the handle first?’ I suggested.

‘Good idea,’ Ali agreed.  ‘Trust a pilot to think of that!’

She grabbed the handle and sure enough the door opened. A hair-raising squeal of metal on metal from the rusty hinges set my teeth on edge, as the glow of Ali’s strange glasses provided a spooky glimpse into the darkness beyond.

‘No internal handle,’ she confirmed, peering around the door.

Three pairs of eyes reflected the dim light and the bodies they belonged to began to shuffle forwards towards us.

‘Hang on a minute!’ I hissed, tensing as I realised what I was looking at.  ‘That’s not them!  I’d know Tommy’s shape anywhere.  Unless he’s been stretched, or mutilated, we’re in the wrong room.’  I stared in horror at the shambling figures approaching.  One of them moaned.  Were they zombies?  ‘Stop right there!’ I ordered.  ‘Who are you?’

‘We’re authors,’ one of them croaked.  ‘We’ve been kidnapped by monsters.  I’m Alexander Gordon Smith and these two are William Hussey and Chae Strathie.’

‘Oh, Lord, no!’ Ali breathed.  ‘It’s worse than we thought.’

Click here for Episode Six, by Tommy Donbavand

THE UNSPEAKABLE HORROR!

a Trapped By Monsters story

with art by David Melling

Episode 1 Episode 2 Episode 3

‘Um… are you sure this is strictly necessary?’

Gavin the Awful stopped half-way across the cave, and turned his misshapen body towards me. With a hiss, he stuck out his fat, yellow tongue. Attached to the end was a bulbous, bloodshot eyeball. It glared at me, before vanishing back inside his mouth.

‘It’s just that I don’t even like eating Marmite,’ I continued. I was flat on my back, strapped to a hard wooden board. ‘So, you know, I’m not sure I feel entirely comfortable bathing in it.’

‘Not bathing,’ hissed Gavin, hobbling closer. He popped the lid off another Marmite jar, and began smearing the thick, dark sludge over my face. ‘Basting.’ He pointed a clawed finger towards his bloated stomach. ‘Yum yum.’

‘Oh, so you’re going to eat me!’ I cried. I raised my head and looked down at the rest of me. I was wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy swimming trunks and a string vest, both of which Gavin had supplied. Every exposed part of my skin was coated with layer upon layer of Marmite. ‘D’you know,’ I said, ‘that almost comes as a relief?’

There was a crash as Gavin let yet another empty jar fall to the floor. ‘Need more,’ he growled. Once again the eye popped out of his mouth. It stared at me long and hard. ‘Watching you,’ he said, dragging his deformed frame towards the door. ‘Don’t go nowhere.’

The cell door gave a low, ominous creeeeeak as Gavin pulled it open. Grunting, he squeezed himself through the gap. I heard him set off towards the pantry, panting, wheezing and farting every step of the way.

A moment later, three familiar faces appeared around the edge of the open door. ‘Come on, we’re breaking out,’ Ali announced, hurriedly. ‘We’re . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she, Andy and Sam looked me up and down.

‘That’s not … that’s not poo, is it?’ asked Sam.

‘No. Marmite.’

Ali shuddered. ‘That’s even worse!’ she said. ‘Now come on, we’re getting out of here – right now!’

Click here for Episode Five, by Mark Robson

THE UNSPEAKABLE HORROR!

a Trapped By Monsters story

with art by David Melling

(for the closest you’ll get to an explanation of what follows, click here)

Episode 1, by Sam Enthoven

‘Nails!’ barked the Grutler, giving the rusty pliers he carried a meaningful snip.

‘I’m trying!’ I sobbed back.

‘Nails! Now! Or Grutler takes your toes!‘

The Grutler’s visits began right after we were captured. Every night, without mercy, he came to each of us in our cells, demanding his strange tribute. Now, after over a year of our captivity, his sock of authors’ toenail clippings was almost full.

What did he want them for? For what unspeakable purpose could the Grutler possibly be doing this? Whatever the reason, my nails just couldn’t grow fast enough to satisfy him: they were clipped back to the quick, the skin cracked and bleeding. Still, bravely sniffing back a tear from the pain, I dug the surgical steel scissors in harder and squeezed.

SNAP! A razor-sharp fragment of the nail of my right big toe flew through the air… and into the Grutler’s eye.

‘AAAAAAGH!’ roared the Grutler, dropping his pliers.

‘Sorry!’ I said.

‘AAAAAAAAAAAGH!’ The Grutler clapped both hands over his injured eyeball, but I couldn’t help noticing the gouts of pale slime that appeared to be squirting rhythmically from between his fingers. I was still staring in horrified fascination as the Grutler fell to the pit floor, shuddered once, then was still.

Oh dear. One of our monster jailers lay dead – by my hand (or, um, toe).

‘Guys?’ I tried to keep the panic out of my voice as I called for my author colleagues in their cells. ‘Guys? I’ve got a bit of a problem here!’

Would the other authors leave me alone to suffer whatever dreadful retribution was in store for me when the Grutler’s body was discovered? Or had the time at last come for us to stand together, team up and make a break for freedom?

Click here for Episode 2, by Andy Briggs

Stand by for a brand new collaborative story to be created spontaneously and episodically by all eight TBM authors. Over the coming weeks – or until the wheels fall off – we will be TAKING TURNS to write… THIS:

THE UNSPEAKABLE HORROR! may (or may not) contain:

A grater!
A pair of broken spectacles!
A jar of Marmite!
A test tube!
A sock full of toenail clippings!
A stuffed goldfish!
A glass eye! and:
The green chap in the awesome image above! (but only, as David tells us, ‘if we ask him nicely.’)

Prepare yourself, gentle reader, for a dazzling display of literary pyrotechnics! a boundary-bursting phenomenon of creative experimentation! or, quite possibly, an eight-car pile-up of total story carnage that makes no sense whatsoever!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Click here for Episode 1

CRAWLERS

by

Sam Enthoven

A preview extract, with exclusive art by Malcolm Harrison

words (c) Sam Enthoven / visuals (c) Malcolm Harrison 2010. All rights reserved.

Click here for previous parts: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4

Final Sneak Peek

‘You accept my offer then, Steadman?’ I asked him, through the young man’s mouth.

‘Not . . . quite.’ Even through the speakers on the pit walls I could hear the smile in Steadman’s voice.

‘To the left of your pit,’ he said, ‘there is a door. Through it you could go anywhere you want, but the door is shut and the only one who can open it is me. To the right of your pit is a second door: that door is open. It leads to the building above us, a building known as the Barbican. There I’ve set up . . . a little bet.’

I waited. I had waited a long time. I was patient.

‘You’ve never seen the Barbican, of course,’ said Steadman. ‘The Corporation completed it in nineteen sixty-nine – rather after your time. Then, it was the largest performing arts centre in Europe. Now . . .’ He paused. ‘Well, you’ll find out.

‘I’m giving you a chance to prove yourself, my Queen,’ he went on. ‘If you show me that you can do what you claim, I’ll accept your offer. The first door will open. We’ll go through. Together, you and I will take charge of this world and run it the way it should be run.’

‘And if I . . . displease you?’

‘This room, along with the whole of the Barbican, is rigged with explosives. At midnight precisely they will detonate. The entire building will be destroyed, erasing all evidence of tonight’s events – including, if I have not opened the first door, you. Do we understand each other?’

‘Yes.’ I understood him better than he knew.

‘Then go, my Queen,’ said Steadman. ‘You have less than six hours. If you’re as powerful as you say, you’ll know what to do. And I can hardly wait,’ he added, ‘to see you do it.’

Already my hands were moving. All of them. The pit resounded with soft, crawling sounds.

My wait was over. Now, at last, I could begin.

———————————–

CRAWLERS is available to pre-order from bookshops now. ;D

Find out more at my brand new website: www.theycrawl.com