By Nerine Dorman
This version released in 2013.
ISBN 978-1920532-31-4 (ePub)
ISBN 978-1920532-32-1 (PDF)
ISBN 978-1920532-30-7 (print)
Bloody Parchment: the basis Cellar and different tales brings a clean crop of horror and darkish literature from the latest South African HorrorFest Bloody Parchment brief tale festival. From dreary subterranean chambers and angelic visitations to the many-legged horrors of alien invaders and a gathering with the satan himself, this choice of stories bargains readers the chance to acquaint themselves with the likes of Toby Bennett (winner), and runners-up Anna Reith and Chris Limb. Finalists contain Diane Awerbuck, Simon Dewar, Zane Marc Gentis, Stephen Hewitt, Benjamin Knox, Lee Mather, Glen Mehn, S.A. Partridge, and Icy Sedgwick.
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Additional resources for Bloody Parchments: The Root Cellar and Other Stories
Morfury Recke stands at the end of the jetty, gazing over the water. He tilts back his head and breathes in the cold air, picking up the scent of pine sap, and something foetid. That something approaches from the south – and quickly. A village squats on a slope, caught between the forest and the lake, and somewhere in the valley an ancient bell tolls to call its people to church. Morfury frowns, and strides along the jetty towards the village as his silhouette hurries to match his pace. The streets are deserted and Morfury passes with no sound.
I pulled into a side street on the Isle of Dogs as the sky began showing signs of light. My ears rang at the sudden silence after six hours’ driving. I leaped over the short chain-link fence into the dockside cul-desac where Bron slept. I rang the doorbell, clenching a fist inside my pocket. *** I stood in the hallway looking at the battered body secured to the banisters with generous strips of gaffer tape around the stocky neck, shoulders and wrists, a thick layer across the nose and mouth. I dropped the bloodied crowbar into the refuse sack and hurried into the living room, pulled out drawers, tipped their contents into the sack, and gradually filled it with valuables until it was almost too heavy.
Morfury erupts in gales of hearty laughter, slapping his thigh as his amusement echoes around the street. ” “Well, you wouldn’t attack an unarmed man, would you? ” Quo shoots a sly look at Madrigal. “If you’re a man, then I’m a snow phoenix,” she says. Quo narrows his eyes and looks from the mace to the knife to the broadsword to the axe. He tips his head on one side, as if to calculate his odds. Morfury stifles his mirth and stares at Quo. The Alpha’s fangs and claws are no match for the warriors, battle-hardened through centuries of war.