By Mike Bennett

From award-winning writer, Mike Bennett, comes corridor of Mirrors: stories of Horror and the ugly. In those pages you’ll locate tales of Hell and damnation, ghosts, insanity, homicide, vampires, weird and wonderful hair recovery failures, and ... pigeons, between different things.

Hall of Mirrors is a suite of contemporary gothic stories with a nail of darkish humour hammered via its middle; terrible, ugly and hilarious. So roll up, girls and gents, and input the corridor of Mirrors - in case you dare.

This is the entire thirteen-story version containing all of the tales featured within the mini volumes.

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I’m a unsuitable boy bastard? ’ Dave shouted. ‘Just how the fuck did you're employed that one out? You – wanking your self right into a fucking frenzy and begging me to return and support! And someway, I’m gay? ’ Jack stated not anything. ‘Well? ’ Dave kicked one in all Jack’s clay-clogged boots. ‘You fucking lunatic! ’ Jack persisted to lie nonetheless, face all the way down to the ground of the grave. ‘Jack? ’ Dave stepped over the tangle of Jack’s trousers and underpants and hunkered down over his again. ‘Oi! ’ He prodded Jack in-between his shoulder blades. Jack didn’t stream. worry and panic unexpectedly crackled via Dave like a low voltage present. He reached out and pulled Jack round via the shoulder. The older guy was once subconscious, his eyes closed, his face slack. Dave touched again of his arms opposed to Jack’s open mouth: no breath stirred. Dave grabbed at Jack’s leaden arm, pulling it loose so he may think the wrist for a pulse: there has been none. ‘Oh my God. ’ Dave allow the arm fall again onto the physique. The foetid, clinging surroundings of the grave all at once thickened unbearably. Dave stumbled backwards, drowning within the airless gap. He fell opposed to the perimeters of the grave, his arms scrabbling up at its grassy edges, pulling handfuls of free earth and clay down into his face ahead of eventually discovering a superb handhold. He heaved, his ft raking the clay frantically for buy until eventually, finally, he controlled to drag himself up and out of the grave. rising sweating, gasping, gulping on the air, Dave fell onto his again, feeling like a fish dumped at the deck of a trawler. For a second or , he simply lay there, respiring difficult and staring up on the sky the place huge, black cumulus nimbus clouds have been starting to assemble and blot. What now? He concept. mobilephone the administration? inform them there’d been an coincidence? inform them the reality? That Jack had attempted to ... to molest him? Is that what had occurred? He used to be wanking, certain, yet had there been greater than that? Shit, killing a guy for having a wank was once infrequently justifiable murder, used to be it? yet Jack had had ... intentions. the way in which he’d grabbed him and began kissing his face. ‘Jesus Christ, he used to be attempting to get my fucking trousers off! He was once attempting to molest me! Fuck, that’s a euphemism if I ever heard one. ’ He sat up abruptly and crawled to the sting of the grave. ‘You fucking bastard! ’ he shouted down at Jack’s physique, his voice breaking into sobs because the first tears got here. ‘You in poor health, soiled previous bastard! ’ A shadow fell around the cemetery and an extended, low peal of thunder rolled around the sky. the 1st heavy drops of rain started to fall, an erratic pattering that delicately rose to a roar. Dave lay nonetheless, unmindful of the downpour, considering now in regards to the physique and what – with a funeral due in this very spot at 3 – he used to be going to do with it. Ten mins later, sitting below a close-by tree and observing the rain pour down round him, Dave sat, contemplating his innovations. one million loopy eventualities had performed themselves out around the level of his mind's eye, and by some means all of them looked as if it would result in handcuffs for him. He lit a cigarette.

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