Here are a couple of smatterings from the first of Sean James Bosman's published works.
The rights to be identified as the author of these works belong to Sean James Bosman, and first publication rights belong to the various publishers listed with each piece.
These extracts are accompanied by a link that you can follow to find the publisher's website. If you're interested in reading more than what's on offer here, then click through and please support these small presses.
Don't forget that new pieces will be added soon.
HARBINGER
Originally published in "House of Horror". Visit this great site by clicking through to www.houseofhorror.org.uk
(...)
She tried to call him, but her blabbering maw wouldn’t form the word. The weapon became a lead weight. Her fingers couldn’t hold the grip anymore and the rubber was soaked and slippery with her sweat. It slid from her grasp and swung down, the thick wood head clapping against her ankle. White pain shot up to her hip, sparking across her view.
Julia yelped.
The thing that had once been Clive – Baby! Pookie! – turned the pulp of its former countenance to her. Its lidless eyes, mottled with dark patches, sparkled in their sockets. Bile light twinkled across gored teeth as its jaw shot open.
Clive’s voice bellowed from somewhere deep within.
She limped back a step. Tears stung her eyes, turning what she saw into kaleidoscopic diamonds. The cloying smell of copper and excrement choked her. She swallowed frantically at a lump that hurt her throat.
(...)
SALVATION ROAD
"Salvation Road" was the first of Bosman's stories accepted anywhere, and so holds a special place in his heart - even though he should have read the submission guidelines more thoroughly. When you go through to it's original home, you'll notice everything is underlined.
This is not some mystical African tradition - it's an antiquated way of showing the editor that tracts are meant to be italicised. Assuming, of course, that they're requested that way. Chalk this one up to inexperience.
For the complete story, hover your mouse over this (www.demonictome.com) and click - you know you want to!
(...)
Matthew Hart groaned. Blood oozed from the gash across his forehead, dribbling down the steering wheel and patting against his knee. Rubber footrests pressed tightly against his shattered ankle, wedged between the brakes and the clutch.
White powder from the deployed airbag hung in a thick, talcum cloud. He could smell burned toast and the pages of an old book. Rain drummed against the mangled bonnet, sending fine, cold splashes through the maw of the windshield. It was marbled with fine cracks; some as gold as a sunrise in the wash from the flickering headlight, others crusting black through the spattered, star-shaped chiffon of blood.
Matt’s stomach burned--friction blisters from the safety belt. Alcohol bubbled up his throat as he tried to swallow back vomit.
His eyes flickered open, and everything seemed to curve towards him. The green LED on the radio face was flashing, its throbbing light reflecting off the chrome of the gear lever. He felt like he was leaning over the rail of a lighthouse with a strong wind bellowing.
Matt squeezed his eyes tightly, trying not to concentrate on the spiraling flashes and red pulsing behind his eyelids. It was like a mirror-ball in his head. A mirror-ball and…
(...)
