Mixing With The Unknown (eBook)

Russell C. Brennan (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2018 | 1. Auflage
256 Seiten
December Books Uk (Verlag)
9780000062307 (ISBN)

Infos

Original horror books are hard to come by but 'Mixing With The Unknown' might just break the mould. In a nutshell, it's traditional horror meets 'Pulp Fiction' with some new twists on horror staples plus lashings of erotica.

John Spencer is a seasoned film scriptwriter of horror. He is jaded and looking for a new challenge and is offered a book publishing deal if he can come up with a different slant on the horror genre.

He sets about writing 'Mixing With The Unknown' but stretching his mind to it's limit tips him over the edge leading to dire consequences for characters he encounters as well as himself.

The extra twist is anyone buying the book gets to experience first hand the chapter of the book they like best and a nightmare scenario begins for many readers who are all loosely entwined with each other like the film 'Pulp Fiction'.

As well as new Urban Horror the book features new twists on Vampires, Possession, Ouija Boards, Ghosts, Witchcraft & Voodoo.

This novel also brings another extra to the table in the way of Ultra Erotica, which is one of author Russell C. Brennan's trademarks (if you have read other novels by him you will know what to expect).

The erotic element that was in traditional horror seems to have been lost over the years if horror films are anything to go by. The emphasis seems to be on violence and gore more and directors and writers often shy away from nudity never mind sex.

When Dracula first appeared there was an erotic element to it in both books and films and many a teenage boy would queue up for some naked flesh and brief sex scene (Which of course look tame today) via Hammer Horror films from the last century.

The bottom line for any worthwhile book is the story and this book is very much story driven and sex is just as much a part of life as violence, in fact more so. Also somewhere in this book, there may be the odd message lurking to prick your consciousness.

This is likely to be the first in a series of books so if you have the nerve to read this book it's time to mix with the unknown!

Textauszug

John Spencer shook his head and smiled “Not bad but a bit clichéd at the end though.”

John was referring to an idea that was running through his head about his first horror novel ‘Mixing with the Unknown’, an Urban horror about three schoolboys. Although he was mulling over his first novel he was an old hand at writing horror film scripts stretching right back to the last days of Hammer films that put out British horror classics like Dracula and he’d been highly successful at it.

John was currently heading towards one testament to his success, a big house in the affluent neighbourhood known as Orchard Lane.

The journey was taking longer than usual because of the torrential rain. His windscreen wipers had been working overtime but were now starting to make a sound like the screech of a Banshee. At least he thought it was coming from the windscreen wipers. The sound was driving him crazy so he had turned the cars music ststem up full blast to drown out the noise. He managed a small grin as ‘The Ace of Spades’ by Motorhead blasted out from the car speakers. He shook his head, ‘No sound can compete with Lemmy and the crew’. But how wrong he was because suddenly all the lights of his dashboard kept flashing on and off and another new sound drowned out the previous two as the car spluttered to a halt and all the electrics went off leaving him isolated in a dark road and in total silence. “What the fuck?” was his immediate response.

Another car narrowly missed his and violently sounded their horn, so he quickly jumped out of the car. Worried that other cars wouldn’t see him and rear end his car into oblivion he opened the boot and took out a torch and a fluorescent triangle. Then with great effort pushed the car to the side of the road and placed the triangle behind it.

Next up he opened the hood of the car and shone the torch around the engine. He then started hearing a disturbing murmuring sound emanating from the engine but couldn’t tell quite where it was coming from. He didn’t know why he was looking around, as he knew nothing about cars. Not seeing anything obvious he got his now saturated body back into the car and began rummaging through his pockets.  He got more anxious as he did so “Shit, where is it?”

The ‘IT’ he was referring to was his mobile phone. He was not a lover of mobiles but saw they had some good uses, one being in the situation he now found himself in where he needed to call roadside assistance.

He looked in his briefcase, not there; he looked in the glove compartment, not there. He got back out into the rain and gave every pocket of his suit another thorough search, not there. As the raindrops constantly did ski jumps off his nose he cast his mind back over the day’s events.

He remembered using his mobile at lunch to call some pretty journalist that had been chasing him up for an interview. After that, the afternoon was mostly spent with his agent and publisher ironing out his book deal. He couldn’t remember using it there or receiving any calls. Suddenly it hit him like a slap in the face. He had used the mobile in the publisher’s toilet to research the internet about other author’s royalty rates to make sure he wasn’t being ripped off.

He replayed the scene in his mind and saw himself put the mobile on a table by the sink as he washed his hands rather than put it straight into his pocket. He distinctly remembered looking into the mirror at himself and discovering his first grey hairs and feeling alarmed. They really showed up against his slicked back black hair. He had thought he was someone who had escaped grey hair since all his friends had started getting them in their mid-thirties and he was now well into his forties. So far he’d also managed to stave off the inevitable potbelly that many other industry people seemed desperate to hide. He was in good nick for his age and still had an alluring appeal to many women but he was quite happy with his wife and hadn’t played away in a long time.

“Yep, I bet that’s where I left It,” said John to himself. He was prone to drifting off and forgetting things but put that down to the active imagination of being a writer. He was always being told off back in his schooldays for daydreaming but that was oh so long ago and he had proved, if nothing else daydreaming could actually pay off.

Establishing he didn’t have his mobile John grabbed his torch and tried to look along the road for any sort of phone box through the torrential rain. As he walked past a large clump of trees at the side of the road he spied a pack of over-sized Foxes taking shelter but more unerringly they were also staring directly at him. He stared back and stamped his foot to disperse them but they stood firm and one even made a defiant noise in his direction. A small cold shiver suddenly ran down John’s spine.

Maybe it was Johns imaginative nature as a writer but he had recently thought about the prospect of writing a story about killer Foxes but had been told it would be too far-fetched. Johns argument was that Foxes had been so ingrained into humans life's that finding them sitting in your garden and walking along a normal street was common and whereas they would once run away at the mere sight of a human in the distance they would now more often than not nonchalantly just give you a casual glance and eventually disappear into a hedgerow when you got very close. Some occasionally would also just stand there and stare back at you as some sort of Mexican standoff. They were getting ever more brazen. However, it was the stories in the press of them coming into peoples homes with little fear and attacking children and babies that had fired his imagination for a potential film or book.

As he returned his torch to the blackness of the road ahead he could see some lights far off in the distance so made a beeline for them in double quick time but slipped on the wet surface sending his torch flying off somewhere.

He gradually got up but just as he did so some headlights blinded him as a car suddenly appeared from nowhere clipping him and sending him spinning back onto the wet and muddy grass knocking him unconscious for a short while.

The feel of licking and the sound of loud sniffing quickly awakened him. He opened his eyes to confront his worst fears. He was surrounded by half a dozen Foxes who were taking a big interest in him. He lashed out at the ones nearest to him and they backed off. He attempted to get up and could just make out a broken branch of a tree nearby. He quickly picked it up and brandished it in the direction of the pack and they dispersed and most were quickly on their way. All except one. The biggest one, who looked more the size of a Wolf than a Fox who just stood there staring at him. For some reason John got it into his head to make the sound of a Wolf towards the aggressive looking all you can eat Fox. It did the trick and his adversary scuttled off into the night.

John started to feel his body for signs of broken bones but it seemed he wasn’t badly injured. He looked around and remembered that in the distance he had seen a small building lit up, so he made his way towards it.

John was not a great lover of pubs but this one was a great sight for his sore waterlogged eyes. It was packed as he made his way to the small bar that was dominated by a large stout fellow by the name of Jack.

Jack introduced himself with a quip “Forgot your umbrella sir. What can I get you?” John tried to return the levity “No I swam here. I think a double brandy is the order of the day. Oh, and if you happen to have the number of a minicab I would be grateful. My car’s just broken down. I’ve left my mobile at my last meeting and I don’t have a breakdown service number as it was on my phone.”

“No problem sir, I’ll phone a cab for you. Where is it you are looking to go? John looked relieved “That’s very kind of you. I need to get to Orchard Lane. It’s not that far, I could walk but you’ve seen the weather out there. It’s bucketing down and I’ve only got this flimsy jacket on and I’m already soaked, so better to be sensible than live with a cold or flu for the next few weeks.”

The barman disappeared to phone the cab and returned a few minutes later with John’s double brandy and placed it on the bar. “That’s £6.66 please sir and your cab will be 10 or 15 minutes.” John handed him £10. “Thanks, keep the change and have a drink yourself” The barman’s face lit up as he took the money and wandered off to pour himself a drink. John leaned on the bar and started to survey the pub for somewhere to sit.

The barman returned and tapped John on the shoulder and raised his glass of bonus alcohol to him. “Your good health sir.” He takes a swig and decides to strike up further conversation with John “Are you new around here. I haven’t seen you in here before?” “I’m afraid I don’t get much time to go to pubs. I spend most of my time in London or at home with my wife and to be honest, I’m a bit of a workaholic,” answers John. “What is it that you do?” John replies, “I’m a writer.” “I thought you must have some sort of flash job since you live in Orchard Lane. That is known locally as millionaires row or Celebrity Street.” says the barman. John looked slightly embarrassed “I...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 2.4.2018
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 9780000062307 / 9780000062307