A local journalist is sent to write an article on a supposedly haunted hotel, but is everything as it first seems?

A young boy discovers something mysterious at an abandoned quarry.

In medieval Lancashire, just out from a small fishing village, two fishermen are caught in a peculiar storm.

A young girl struggles with the loss of her brother, as grief deals her a dark hand.

A courier must deliver a priceless package, but others too have designs on the contents.

All these and many more stories await... 

"Genuinely creepy... will have you sleeping with the lights on!"

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Excerpt from 'A Dark Song'

Lethum, Lancastershire

September 1349

  “Trust me, young Elmund, I have experienced much in my time and the siren song brings with it an ill wind.”

  The younger man could see that Yoren was serious. His brow was low, the lines there as rugged as the rocks that littered the beach. The playfulness had passed.

  “Well, I don’t know about ill winds, but the water’s chopped up and I’d rather we were back on shore before that storm hits.”

  He looked over his shoulder at the dark clouds clawing at the sky.

  “You’ll not get back the regular way, lad,” said Yoren. “By the time we make it half way to shore, the waves will be fierce. We need to head beyond the bay if we want to avoid the worst of it.”

  Elmund looked down at the coarse rope netting at the foot of the rowing boat and the flanks of a handful of large cod gleamed back at him. He looked at Yoren, sat opposite and then back towards the bay.

  Yoren might have some strange beliefs and be full of tall tales, but the old man knew the sea. He knew the cross currents, the tides and seemingly each nook and crag of the shoreline. It would be foolish not to heed his words.

  He got back to rowing, turning the small wooden boat parallel to the shore.

  Yoren listened to the siren song, as the rain fell more urgently. The storm had been on them with alarming speed. That wasn’t entirely unusual, storms could blow through quite quickly on this stretch of coast, but this one had come about on the back of a reasonably mild afternoon and he hadn’t expected anything so severe.

  The siren song was rare enough too, though he had heard it several times before, the first being when he was not much older than his young friend.

  That occasion had preceded the death of a young fisherman, William, the baker’s lad. Drowned at sea.

  Yoren had been waiting on shore, unable to go to sea that month, due to his hand being broken – an accident whilst trying to split slate. It had been blowing a gale, but there hadn’t been much in the way of rain that day. He had wondered what the song was at first, softly sung, haunting as it carried on the wind, he had thought it to be coming from one of the cottages behind him, though it had seemed to be from an entirely different direction.

  He could never make out the words, even now, a different language entirely, otherworldly, ancient… but he knew that it was a dark portent. His own father had warned him about sirens.

  They were said to lure fishermen and sailors to their deaths, and that had certainly been the case for young William, Yoren was sure of it. If he had heard the song, then William must have heard it too. The water had been difficult, toilsome with the wind, but not so difficult that a strong lad like William couldn’t have made his way back to shore.

  At least that was how he remembered it. He found that memories changed with time, especially the older he got. The oldest in the village now, since Richard had died this last winter. It wasn’t something he allowed his mind to dwell on, preferring to keep on fishing and proving his usefulness. Sure, his joints ached and he wasn’t as sharp or as fast as he used to be, but he was still standing and still bringing back the food.

  He recalled looking at the boat all those years ago, out to sea, there one moment and gone the next... pulled beneath the waves.

A Dark Song and many other dark tales make up the new release 'A Mass Of Shadows', available on Amazon and from numerous retail stockists.