A Slight Twist in the Road!

Hi – here’s the promised bumf on ‘Feeders’, my latest addition to an ever-growing e-book fraternity. Feeders knocks out at £0.99 in English money, $1.39 in good old US greenbacks – an ideal commuter read, a great forty minute run-in with witches ‘n werewolves and splendidly written (my tiny bit of self praise!).

As is made obvious by the cover, Feeders has been published under my pen name, Enoch Gray. Keeping things separate from, Sons of Africa which is soon to be followed by its younger sibling, Empress Gold; a runaway thriller that will fry your brain cells. It’s that good – believe me, or wouldn’t put my name to it.

Try out the Feeders ‘look inside’ option on Amazon; my little genre diversion just might float your boat. Here’s an excerpt. Have a gander:

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... Jack stood at the window until the Defender’s headlights disappeared, the night outside still wildly unpredictable. Taller hedgerows bent and whipped like shirt tails, wind hissed and howled as wolves hunting the dark slopes of Pendle Hill. He crossed the room and felt inside the bottom drawer of an oak writing bureau.

The photograph had been shot in black and white; to a background of high moor, rows of orphaned children stood statue-like for the camera. Ranked along both sides were the austere images of their guardians. The children’s names were listed at the bottom – from left to right and again, all were neatly aligned in corresponding order. The grey patina of age dulled the text.

One by one, Jack read off the names, remembering those that had stuck in his mind. Some had faded completely, all of those wan and sickly children, like himself, discarded by a malicious society. Most were already long dead.

Habitually, he traced the print with his fingertip, settling it over his own likeness. The fire licked and crackled excitedly; driven by the oncoming storm, the wind howled inside the chimney pot.

On the photograph’s sombre moorland, hidden from the casual onlooker by cloud shadows, a woman had stopped to catch her breath; looking back through the rain it seemed as if she resented the presence of the picture-taker. Her limbs were crippled with age and a veil of poverty and terrible hardship hung about her. Jack nodded his head, the smile on his face now thin with malice. He spoke with slow deliberation, the voice coming out from his mouth not his own...

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