Rachel Sutherland was thirty-eight years old, and had already brought three children into the world. She pondered this as she looked at her naked body, reflected in the mirror on the wardrobe in her bedroom. Not bad, she thought, not bad at all. She piled up the extravagant mane of thick dark blonde hair that she always wore long, and turned her body from side to side, examining every contour with practised eye.
She was not what anyone would have called skinny; she was rather short, and her body was full and curvaceous, but still firm and shapely. She smiled. She knew plenty of other mothers of her age who had lost their figures completely. She purred like a cat and looked into the deep brown eyes reflected in the mirror. She leaned closer to the glass. Perhaps a few more lines there, perhaps the freckles that dusted her nose were more prominent, but still…
A Little Shop of Horrors: Scottish Macabre is a chilling collection of Gothic horror stories by Rod Fleming. This book will definitely keep you awake at night!
Most of the stories are set in genuine Scottish locations, mostly in and around Edinburgh, so they are replete with local colour and history. The tales bring to life the Gothic charm and mystery of the ‘Florence of the North’ and will be loved by both aficionados of the horror genre and of Scotland and its unique ambience.
I don’t know why it is that I have accumulated such a collection of ─ well, I suppose you might say ghost stories, though I tend to think of them in less definite terms myself. The fact is that I have never seen a ghost with my two eyes, and in fact I long ago gave up any hope of doing so. I must not be one of those gifted with the sight, as it were. However that may be, though, I seem to be a magnet for stories of the weird and the macabre, as if they seek me out─ and in the strangest of places.
The most recent addition to my collection was found in just such a casual way as all the others. I had been on holiday in France, when I was suddenly called back because of an illness─a very severe one─in the family. It happened that the nearest airport from which I could get a flight home was Lyon, so I made my reservation and got myself there as soon as I possibly could. Continue reading “The Horror of the Blocked-Up Window”
When I was a child, madness was the most terrifying affliction I could imagine. The idea that I might not be able to control my own life was bad enough. But to think that I might be controlling it, yet in ways that my conscious mind would never allow, was enough to give me nightmares. The irrational unknown inside me was terrifying.
The notion that I might be someone other than the sane person I thought I saw, when I looked into the mirror, was simply horrific. The idea of losing rationality and, with it, my central core of me, that hub around which my life revolves, has always been more frightening than anything else I can think of.
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