I’ve spent a lot of time drawing monsters of late. Monsters are potentially very scary indeed, although the one you’ll see here has an element of cuteness, I think – hooves always temper a creature’s nastiness.

So this is the Jersey Devil, a meanie reported to have been sighted in the depths of the New Jersey pine forests. It’s quite terrifying, but the best part about this monster is that there’s a very faint chance that it’s real.

Cryptozoology is the study of mythological creatures (many of them monsters) and the search for the truth as to whether they once existed or actually still exist.

Creatures like the yeti, bigfoot, jersey devil and so on, all fall under the title of ‘cryptids’, and its these that I write about in the Mythical 9th Division books. Some cryptids are nasty – check out the goat-sucker (chupacabra) – and some cryptids are harmless, like the Loch Ness Monster. But it’s the not knowing whether they’re real or not that makes them interesting.

I’d love for them all to exist, because it would be lovely to know that there are still secrets to be found in this world. And because we don’t know for sure it makes the scary ones even scarier. After all, what would you do if you were lost in the South American jungle and the bloodsucking chupacabra emerged out of the darkness?

Recently, I jetted off to the Orkney Islands for a three day tour, talking about being a writer and running workshops with some of the children in the island schools. It was a fun – if occasionally dramatic – few days, and for a full report take a look at this post on my website.

While on the first of the islands I visited – Sanday – I heard tell of a place I would have loved to have visited, had I not been so pushed for time. Lady Kirk is a ruined old church, dating back to at least 1773, but probably much, much further. The walls are in excellent condition, although the roof seems to have done a bunk.

See what I mean?

Despite having no religious leanings whatsoever, I’ve always been quite interested in old churches, probably because they appeal to the horror writer side of me. But there was a specific reason I’d have liked to have gone to Lady Kirk. It’s because, according to legend, the Devil himself has been there. And he’s left his signature behind.

At the top of the stone steps which would’ve once given access to the north gallery, a series of deep grooves have been carved into the rock. They suggest a hulking brute of a creature, with at least six claws and supernatural strength. Or they suggest someone playing silly beggars with a chisel.

Take a look and decide for yourself. What do you think made those marks?

These photos are courtesy of Undiscovered Scotland. Take a look at this page on their site for more information about the clawmarks.

Long-time readers of this blog may remember that way back in May last year I attempted to rescue the authors from their hideous monster captors. It was a complete and utter disaster (possibly because I tried to rescue them using rhyming couplets, never a good idea). Ever since then, the monsters have been out for revenge… and this month they finally managed to get it!

They lured me in by pretending to be representatives from the Boggart’s Gob Literary Festival, and asked me if I’d like to put on an event for teenagers in their quaint little village. They promised me ice cream, so how could I say no?! (They obviously knew my one weakness: that I’m weak!) I expected there to be a huge festival, in honour of me of course, but on arriving there was just one large, moist, smelly tent with a banner hanging over it on which ‘Book orfurs in heer’ had been written.

Despite being slightly suspicious I walked inside – only to discover that I wasn’t in a tent at all but an actual Boggart’s Gob! It took me a little while to pass through the foul beast’s digestive system, and when I finally plopped out of its rear end I realised that things were far, far worse than I ever could have imagined. I had been… Trapped By Monsters!

My first ever book!

Luckily I was prepared for such a scenario. In fact, I’ve been prepared for an encounter with monsters ever since I was a wee boy (a young boy, that is, not a boy made from wee). My first ever book, written when I was six or so, was actually called The Silly Monster Book! As you can see, it is a literary masterpiece, but I didn’t just write it to win the Nobel Prize for Literature, oh no. Somewhere in my young head I must have known that one day I would be captured by foul beasts, and I wrote this book to prepare me for the horrors that lay ahead.

The Silly Monster Book is my only defence against the creatures who dwell down here, and I’m hoping it will tell me enough about them to let me escape. For example, I can clearly see that the Pood has enormous feet, which might let me outrun it. The Swit is so tall it might not see me all the way down here. And the ferocious Need appears to have a strange frilly brassiere for eyes, which means I might be able to sneak past it. With this book, I might just survive.

Just so long as the unthinkable doesn’t happen…

Just so long as my worst nightmare doesn’t come true…

Just so long as I don’t come face to face with the most terrifying monster imaginable…

The Ploop!

This is not the pamper destination that was in the brochure.  I thought I going to be whisked into a fuzzy glow in the hands of real professionals.

I knew something was not quite right when I was dropped off at the dead of night near the mouth of a cave. There was a handwritten sign, ‘Thermal Therapy Rooms.’ So I reckoned, sure I’m here, I may as well have a look-see.

What was I THINKING!

Wandering down cave tunnels in the pitch dark.

There’s a gurgling; a strange slurping sound dead ahead.

A faint whiff of marmite lingers in the air.

Am I wading though grated cheese or crusty toenail clippings?

Large bloodshot eyes blink at me.

If this is a thermal therapy room, then these are the weirdest looking therapists I have ever seen.

This is not what I had in mind for my mid-week break.

Beeeee Jeeeeepers!

For the last few days I have been out of the cave, running events at the Turriff Book Festival in Aberdeenshire. I met lots of excited kids, talked nonsense for a total of 7 or 8 hours, and enjoyed the taste of air that wasn’t tinged with the acrid stench of monster dung. Or David’s after shave.

While there, I met up with Alexander Gordon Smith, author of the utterly, horrifyingly brilliant FURNACE series, which Sam reviewed on this very blog several months ago. Some of you may also remember a doomed attempt Gordon made to break us out of here. If not, you can read all about it here.

I was relieved to see Gordon, because we’d all assumed he’d perished in the break-out, but there he was, large as life. However, it quickly became obvious that Gordon – like me – was being closely watched by a mysterious (some might say monstrous) companion.

Gordon seemed relaxed and happy enough while we spoke, but his eyes told a very different story. He was scared. Possibly even more scared than I was. Could it be that there’s another cave somewhere, with other authors trapped inside? Could it be this pattern is being repeated across the globe? Has anyone seen JK Rowling lately? It’s a worrying thought.

Before we were led off to different events, Gordon and I had this snap taken, to mark our meeting. If you look closely, you might be able to spot our monster companions. They made an attempt to disguise themselves but, frankly, they’re not fooling anyone.

On Monday I’m being let out of the cave for five whole days, when I go off on tour with HarperCollins to promote my horror series, Invisible Fiends. I’ll be visiting eight cities over the five days, starting in London and finishing in Glasgow. Maybe I’ll find a way to escape when I’m out for so long. Maybe.

But I wouldn’t put money on it.

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

Happy Easter weekend everybody. Here’s a monster singing a song and eating bunnies, just like they do in the cave here:
The Muppets: Stand By Me

If you haven’t met already, allow me to introduce one of the most famous and fascinating Japanese monsters, the Kappa.

Handsome, dapper, charming…

…are all words that /don’t/ usually get applied to Kappa.

However, as I’ve just discovered from this video, it turns out that Kappas can be excellent dancers. Click the link to see for yourself.

-Sam

To my horror, I’ve just uncovered incontrovertible evidence that the monsters are currently engaged in a stealthy public relations drive. All over the world’s media the psychological warfare has begun. Seeds of doubt are already being planted in hapless human minds. The old certainties about monsters are being eroded and undermined, leaving humanity utterly vulnerable to their unguessable ultimate intentions.

Examples? Well, this T-shirt design, for one.

The message these T-shirts would have you believe is that giant monsters are not terrifying city-smashing behemoths [like (say) the ones found in Tim, Defender of the Earth] but are in fact harmless, tidy creatures who take care of their environment and clean up after themselves and others.

After a year in the company of monsters – scorched by their eructations, forced to wallow in their effluences – we TBM authors can state categorically that nothing could be further from the truth.

The two benighted souls in the picture above think they’re just wearing cute T-shirts. In fact they are colluding in the spread of monster propaganda.

Don’t buy this T-shirt and make the same mistake!

Sam

It’s been a busy couple of weeks for one of my absolute favourite monsters, THE KRAKEN.

Reprising the classic look from Ray Harryhausen’s original film, the Kraken appears for a whole gleeful climactic eighteen seconds in the current trailer(2) for the soon-to-be-released remake of Clash of the Titans.

To my enormous delight, the Kraken was also recently honoured as Badass of the Week by Ben Thompson, on his brilliant website of the same name: click here for a great piece that rounds up some classic Krakenology in fine style.

However: Mr Thompson’s excellent description of his subject as (I quote) “basically a giant-ass emotionless cephalopod who lives solely to eat boats, destroy all life in the ocean, and violently implode warships with his ultra-powerful crush-o-matic appendages of doom“, while wonderful, isn’t, I believe, quite the whole story. There’s a very different side to our titanic tentacular friend, as anyone familiar with the Kraken’s starring role in my own Tim, Defender of the Earth might already know.

Another mad year draws to a close. I am knackered, but with CRAWLERS poised to launch in April (and plenty more thrilling projects in the pipeline) I’m very, very happy.

Thanks, best wishes and Merry Christmas to anyone reading this. I hope you enjoy your food. ;D

SNEE HEE HEE!

Sam