You know how it is, when you have to live on damp loo and troll scratchings..? Even though the nutritional content of all the mushy stuff we’re getting is apparently quite good (the itchy bumps on my ankles have cleared up nicely at any rate) I have found myself getting feverish about drive-thru junk food. Day and night, burgers and fried chicken and stringy little chips float around me…. aaaaaaahhh.

I have had to write another poem. Sorry.

KFC FEVER

I must go down KFC again, to the lonely bloke at the fry

And all I ask is a Bargain Bucket and a dangerously hot apple pie

And an MSG kick and that grease pong and the pale thighs frizzling

And a few spots on a hot face and a thick shake drizzling

I must go down KFC again, for the call of a Crispy Strip

Is a wild call and hot call, that I’ll not deny my lip

And all I ask is a table top and a plastic seat unsticky

And the flung spray of tomato sauce, upon my fingers, licky

I must go down KFC again, to the fragrant, chipsy scene

To the joyous sob of a full gob, and a chin with an oily sheen

And all I bid is a ketchup skid from a laughing fellow diner

And the loud munch of a cheap lunch from a chubby two-year-old whiner

I must go down KFC again, to the hiss and the sigh of the fat

And all I ask is a nice taste and no obvious evidence of rat

And that faint disdain when you snag a vein, but you’re well past caring,

And a plastic lid being flipped by a kid, and a scary hoodie staring…

I’ve been trying to get inside the minds of our captors. But it looks like they’ve been getting inside ours as well! Every word we’ve written has been entered in a monstrous database, and they’ve built up a complete psychological profile of the group of authors in here.

But I’ve stolen it! Here it is:

I decided I wanted to know more about the monsters holding us captive, to get into their heads and find out what makes them tick.  So I scoured the bookshelves built into the walls of the cave until I found a copy of The Black Tattoo by Sam Enthoven – a book I’d first read and enjoyed a year or so ago but which, on second reading, really blew me away.

Strangely, there were certain things I’d forgotten about since reading it last.  I’d forgotten just how intricate the plot becomes at times, with the breath-taking action leaping from one scene to the next, carrying you along with it.  I lost count of how many times I’d reach the end of a chapter and take a quick peek at the first paragraph of the next, promising myself a break but swiftly finding the need to keep reading.

I’d forgotten the book contains some of the most jaw-dropping, amazing fight scenes ever immortalised on paper.  This isn’t just Kung-Fu people – this is martial arts sponsored by Red Bull!  In fact, I may have to go and watch Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon on fast forward, just to take a break.

But, most of all, I’d forgotten how every single character – from the main protagonists (tortured Charlie, dedicated Esme and typical Jack) to the smallest of bit parts (the delightful Chinj, and the monster to end ‘em all, Jagmat!) – is so perfectly crafted.  First page to last, there isn’t a single two-dimensional, ‘only in it for a scene and a half so that’ll do’ character in the entire book (just experience the Akachash to see for yourself).  They could all take the lead in their own novels without the slightest bit of work.

Has reading The Black Tattoo again given me any insight into the minds of the creatures now guarding the entrance to the cave?  Perhaps.  Has it prepared me for dealing with the next monster to slither in my direction?  Maybe.  Has it reminded me just how UTTERLY BRILLIANT finely-crafted, imaginative books can be?  Too flippin’ right!

Read The Black Tattoo without delay.  You will not regret it.

…is that you under there?

Just spotted this fairly chilling trailer for the upcoming film version of Neil Gaiman’s stunning children’s book, Coraline.

And I thought the monsters in here were bad!

I love writing about monsters. It’s what I do. And I’m sorry, I can’t change that no matter how long you keep me here or what you do to me. But the intriguing-looking upcoming Wii game Deadly Creatures has got me thinking, and I believe I may just have an alternative suggestion for you.

Will you let us out of here if we promise only to write books about monsters who allow themselves to appear in nature documentaries? Work with me on this, I’ve got some examples…

The original ‘nature bites back’ classic JAWS, by Peter Benchley is still a cracking read. But for my money his BEAST is even better: the chapters told from the giant squid’s point of view are just AWESOME. James Herbert’s THE RATS books are also dead good, particularly the post-apocalyptic third in the series, DOMAIN. Sliding further along the scale from scary to silly, there’s SLUGS by Shaun Hutson. Even THE FUNGUS, by Harry Adam Knight is a great way to spend a rainy afternoon.

But I’m thinking that the ultimate, the ne-plus-ultra of ‘natural monster stories’ could well be something like THIS:

Now there’s a type of creature that’s yet to have justice done by it, I’d say. Yep: FROGS! As one of the other posters for this film said, ‘Today, the Pond. Tomorrow, the World!‘

Well, monsters? What do you think?

Hello?

Sigh. I’ll get back in my hole.

One last thing before I do. If anyone reading this is at school or you’re a school librarian, here’s something that may interest you: the fabulous Liz over at My Favourite Books is currently organising a Giant Children’s Book Giveaway! It’s sponsored by five major UK publishers, including mine: hit the link for all the details.

For further fine reading, as ever, check my LibraryThing profile. OK, now I’ll climb back into my hole. ;p

THE MIDNIGHT VISIT

It was the high-pitched giggle that woke me up.

‘Who’s there?’ I mumbled, sitting upright and scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. Down on the bed, something small and sharp glinted in the moonlight.

‘Er . . . no-one,’ squeaked a voice.

I peered into the gloom and soon spotted the smallest person I’d ever seen. He stood on the duvet, staring back up.

For a moment I thought someone had shrunk my Uncle Fred, because the figure on my bed looked exactly like him. He had the same bulging belly; the same balding head. He was Fred’s exact double.

Except Fred isn’t five centimetres tall. And he doesn’t have wings. At least, I don’t think he does. I’m sure Aunt Jean would have mentioned it if he had.

‘What are you doing with those scissors?’ I demanded, noticing the shiny silver shears the tiny man held. They were as big as he was, and the twin blades were resting either side of my left thumb.

‘Scissors?’ the fairy gulped. ‘What scissors?’

‘Those scissors!’

‘Oh,’ he whimpered. ‘Them ones.’ He shrunk a little more as I frowned at him. ‘Look, I can explain.’ His little chest swelled as he took a deep breath. ‘I’m the Thumb Fairy.’

‘The Thumb Fairy?’ I scoffed. ‘There’s no such thing!’

‘Course there is,’ the little ‘un insisted. ‘You know how the Tooth Fairy collects teeth? Well I do the same, but with thumbs. When they fall off.’

‘Thumbs don’t fall off!’

‘You’re telling me.’ He nodded at the scissors. ‘So, you know, desperate times . . .’

‘You’re not cutting my thumb off!’ I protested.

‘I’d leave you a penny.’

‘No.’

‘Okay, two pennies, and I’m making a loss on that.’

‘No!’

His wings drooped. Reluctantly, he lowered the scissors. ‘Fine,’ he sniffed, and I almost felt sorry for him.

‘Sorry, but I’m very attached to my fingers,’ I explained.

‘A big toe?’ he asked, hopefully.

‘Sorry, no.’

He gave a tiny sigh. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any brothers or sisters?’

I grinned, wickedly. ‘Second door on the left,’ I said, slipping back down under the covers. ‘Try not too make too much noise on the way out.’

After reading this news report I’ve just decided – I don’t want to escape.  I’d rather stay in.

I’m fairly sure that story’s in the Bible as one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

I have a slight confession to make to my fellow captive authors…

I have a bit of monster in me.

It’s true.  I’m sorry.  It was even captured on video when I was making a trailer for my Scream Street series last year.  Here, for the first time, is that video…

You know what, I’m feeling pretty stupid right now.  I should have pieced all this together ages ago, but it’s like my mind has been put to sleep, or something.  The monsters have clearly been planning to get me for a long time!  I should have realised I was on their hit list when I was confronted by snakes in Dakar!  (Snakes are monsters in my book, and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise.)

Then there was the incident in the bar in Brisbane.  If that wasn’t an attempt by the monsters then … well, perhaps we’d better gloss over Brisbane for now.

But then I remembered the photographic evidence.  Last year a killer monster snow goon nearly caught my daughter in our back garden.  When it chased her I thought it was just out to munch on the first child it came across, but now I know differently.  It wasn’t after her at all!  It was after me.  I just had time to snap this picture before legging it indoors and returning to blast it with my wife’s super powerful, ultra hot hairdryer through the kitchen window … Oh, darn!  There I go sticking my foot in my mouth again!  I guess it’s mushed beetles, pink snot and loo roll for tea again.

Attack of the Monster Killer Snow Goon!