The Shadow of the Horned One (It's Probably Just a Bloke In A Hat)

OK, everyone, I have a confession. I may come across as a glamorous, urbane sophisticate, but in reality I have a terrible secret. I grew up going to British folk festivals. Worse, now that I am a legal adult in control of my own destiny, I still do. By choice.

Broadly speaking, I have spent my entire life surrounded by the folk traditions of the United Kingdom. The dancing, the songs, the stories, the rituals…. which are fun, and ludicrous, and beautiful, and occasionally a little unhinged.

As you may know by now, I also love horror stories. So it’s rather surprising how long it took me to cotton on to Folk Horror

There is a tweet, from me, at the end of 2020. It had been a difficult year - not as bad for me as it was for many others, but still a difficult year. In the no man’s land between Christmas and New Year (when all of the UK’s festival plans had been abruptly upended and cancelled), I was in the mood to be delighted by something. Anything.

On the 28th of December, I tweeted (approximately):

“Thanks to @Pseudopod_org, and their excellent audio version of The Slow King, I have just discovered that Folk Horror is a thing and I am very much here for it. I'm downloading The Fiends in the Furrows while stirring gravy on the hob...”

I was, too. I remember standing there with a wooden spoon in one hand and my phone in the other. The author of the The Slow King replied to assure me that absolutely, the genre was a thing. And I’m sure the gravy tasted better for having a good dollop of arcane stirred in. I’ve since been to several workshops on Folk Horror by the excellent Alex Davis (he runs courses and everything), and would like to reiterate that I’m still very much here for it.

The landscape of Folk Horror is much broader than I’d imagined it (and as far as I can tell, looms pretty large in film and television, which is an area I rarely stray into). I suspect I like my Folk Horror kind of traditional: rural, pagan, quiet. Woven with folklore and old tales, with the horror waiting for you by a dilapidated stile.

Which obviously explains why I set my first Folk Horror story in various locations, including both KFC and B&Q. The story also contains inflexible opinions about interior decor, some mild church vandalism, and a non-existent Labrador dog.

The lovely people at Frost Zone Stories have included my story - called Bone, Salt, Iron - in their first collection of “dark fiction and quiet horror”. If you’d like to read it, you can snag a copy from Frost Zone’s site.

In the meantime, watch out for those fields. They probably are out to get you.

Liminal Tales

This is a choose-your-own adventure blog post! You have two options!

Option 1: You can watch a mildly disturbing YouTube video, become delighted by it, and then give someone some money in exchange for a product or service. If you are made of stern stuff, I highly recommend this approach.

Option 2: You can read me describing a thing, which I really enjoyed, and then afterwards give someone some money in exchange for a very similar product or service. This may be a better approach for those of a nervous disposition, or who dislike surprises.

I suppose there is also a sort of option 3, whereby you read the text, watch the video, and then don’t give anyone any money at all. But really, I don’t think that is nearly as good a choice.

Are you ready? The video is right here for you to watch… or you can scroll on past it and read the text. Make your choice!

In January, on a Sunday evening, I scurried across London to the Water Rats. Which is a pub, with a tiny venue behind it, somewhere in the vicinity of Kings Cross. Whenever I’ve been there before, it’s been to see a band and the vibe has been packed, boiling hot, and very noisy.

But no! The place was fairly quiet. There were little tables and chairs laid out, and people sitting at them decorously ordering food and drinks. I had a glass of wine. I got chatting to people sitting nearby. It was all quite dreadfully civilised, and then a small parade of people came on stage, one at a time, and read us stories.

Some stories were funny. Some were downright weird. One was pure horror (my favourite, naturally). But six complete and very different stories were read (either by their authors or by an actor), and everyone sat quietly and listened. And clapped. Honestly, it was an absolute delight, and not the sort of entertainment that is commonly available.

Anyway, it turns out that many people enjoyed it, and so another one of it is happening. If you are in or near London, then mark March 23rd in your calendars, and get your ticket before it sells out. (If you are merely near London, then the previous event finished - unless you wanted to hang around and chat - around half past nine, giving you plenty of time to catch your train home. See, I told you it was civilised.)

I’m certainly going again, although this time I will be one of the people standing on the stage.

New Stories: "The Organist and the Old Man" and "Memories"

I have two new stories out and at large in the world!

The latest issue of Cosmic Horror Monthly contains my short horror story, “The Organist and the Old Man”. Issue 25 is now available for purchase (in either e-book or p-book format) from CHM’s website. This is the first story I’ve had published in a magazine that pays “professional” rates for stories, and I’m very proud of it.

Cosmic Horror Monthly is well worth reading, and this issue is packed full of good stuff. And it has tentacles on the cover. Everyone likes tentacles, no?

Also recently published is Edition 6 of The Quiet Reader, the magazine which describes itself as “born in a town called Solitaire, in the state of Quarantine in the country of 2020”. In it, you can read “Memories”, which is a rare example of me writing a story set entirely in the real world, with no supernatural trickery.

“Memories“ was the first story I ever had accepted for publication - but for a whole series of reasons I am unsure when and whether it was actually published. The Quiet Reader very kindly agreed to consider the story, despite its murky past, and I was delighted when they included it in their most recent issue.