X: A Collection of Horror

by Saunders, Christian

  After breaking down the door the police had no trouble finding the bodies in the house. They probably just followed the stench. The bodies who were soon identified as Roy and Kate Grimworth, the true owners of the house. However, no trace could be found of Lola. Furthermore, no mention of her, or any other young woman matching her description, had ever been noted in connection with the Grimworths. They didn't have any daughters.

  Max had plenty of time to ponder the many riddles of that night, but could never come to terms with what had happened. After recovering from the initial trauma, undergoing extensive plastic surgery to reset his shattered jawbone and repair his shredded cheek, and receiving endless hours of counselling, he suffered the first of many nervous breakdowns and was finally declared unfit to interact with society. There were no more clubs, no more designer clothes, and no more one-night stands. He was placed in a secure mental health unit, which suited him fine. At least in there, Lola couldn't get to him.

  Except in his dreams.

  The best explanation he ever came up with was that, unknown to the rest of the human race, there is another sub-race of human-animal-demon hybrids that share our world. They exist just beyond the boundaries of our limited understanding, and only occasionally mix with people who themselves operate on the fringes of society. People who would not be missed by many if they should disappear off the face of the earth one night.

  People like him.

  Maybe it's a new thing, some freak of nature or genetically-engineered experiment, or maybe they've always been there. Who knows? This mysterious sub-race could be responsible for the werewolf legend, as well as any number of real-life atrocities, both large and small, which had been wrongly attributed to “normal” people by the authorities. Perhaps the authorities knew all about them, and were keeping the public in the dark. You hear conspiracy theories about the dubious activities of the governments of the world all the time. The internet was full of them.

  Max thought this was why they put him away in the nut house. He was quite vocal about his theory, and told anyone who would listen – police, doctors, counsellors, even strangers in shops.

  They couldn't have everyone knowing the truth, could they?

  Afterword

  Here we are, the afterword. The master of the Macabre, Stephen King, often provides accompanying notes in his short story collections. I like the idea, so I'm stealing it. As he says, the notes are at the back of the book, so you don't have to wade through them if you are not inclined to do so. Me, I'm always interested to know where ideas for stories come from. You may not be, which is fine. It's your book now, so its your call. But this is for those who are interested.

  We started with a bang. A Thin Disguise is probably one of my most depraved stories. When I wrote it, I remember I was thinking a lot about appearances, and how deceptive they can be. What really lies behind the façade people try so hard to maintain? The main character, Marcus Lewis, is one sick little number-cruncher. Originally published in a magazine called Raw Nerve in 1998, and again in a later 'best-of' anthology.

  Reading it now, A Hell of My own Creation is basically about loneliness. It first appeared in Tales of the Grotesque & Arabesque in 1999, and was inspired by an article I read somewhere about lucid dreaming. Yes, its a real thing. Apparently, experiments have shown that, with enough practice, it is indeed possible to have some element of control over your dreams. How cool would that be? But then... what if you couldn't wake up? It was repackaged and renamed (at the publisher's request) as The Art of Lucid Dreaming and appeared in the anthology Torn realities over 12 years later.

  The Monkey Man was inspired by a story I read in a tabloid newspaper. One of those little 'Strange But True' fillers. The story was about an area of northern England being terrorized by a man often seen scaling the front's of houses. He was either a peeping Tom or a burglar on the prowl. Maybe he was something worse, which is what my imagination with the story. In a nod to his dexterity the media dubbed him the Monkey Man. I decided to take the funny little story and add a dark twist, resisting the urge to place anyone in a gorilla costume.

  This was the first thing I ever had published, by a dear old man called Arthur Smith who ran the iconic Welsh fiction magazine Cambrensis. In fact it was the first piece of fiction I ever submitted, which set me in a falsely confident state of mind until the rejections started piling up. I think the early success had more to do with Arthur feeling sorry for me than any real skill on my part. I remember submitting the whole manuscript in BLOCK CAPITALS on the suggestion of my dad. Dad, you've been right about most things in my life, but you were wrong about that. People don't submit manuscripts in block capitals. Anyway, Arthur re-typed the whole thing, and put it out in Cambrensis in 1997. I was 23.

  Cambrensis was a labour of love for Arthur. I can't imagine he ever made any money out of his little enterprise. Especially when you take into account that the payment for publication was a lifetime subscription. As it turned out, the 'lifetime' in question was poor old Arthur's, as he died a few years later and Cambrensis died with him. This is a shout out to you, Arthur, wherever you may be. Thanks for believing.

  The Awful Truth is previously unpublished. In a nutshell, it is a story about paranoia and conspiracy theories, prompted by a growing reliance on computers and the notion of what could happen when good things go bad. The original version was written in 2001 or thereabouts, when most of the Western world was in the grip of X Files-mania. It stands as a prime example of the effects of popular culture on contemporary literature, if you want to be all high-brow about it. It was originally entitled 'YES DEAR,' but the minute it was finished, I decided I didn't like it very much after all, and left it sitting on various computer hard drives and portable storage devices for the next seven or eight years until I put it up for free download on my website in 2009, and re-wrote what I hope will be this definitive version in the summer of 2011.

  Mr C is an early stab at social commentary. The events in the story are transcribed almost directly from something that happened in a village near where I grew up. South Wales is awash with drugs. Mr C is real. And he would probably recognise himself if he ever read this. But let's be honest about it, he probably wont. The story was published in a small-press title called the Asphalt Jungle, and later in a 'best-of' anthology.

  My very first attempt at flash fiction, written in the early 2000's, was Fame / Infamy: A Deconstruction. The hyperactive little rant is a glimpse into the head of a man pushed too far and on the verge of committing suicide, taking twenty or thirty others with him. I tried unsuccessfully to get it placed somewhere, but nobody seemed overly impressed. I remember one editor saying it had no cohesive structure or plot, and was nothing more than a half-baked stream of consciousness. Whatever, dude! I kinda like it.

  Another False Dawn is very much in the vein of A Thin Disguise. The two stories were written around the same time, and address similar subject matter. I was reading a lot about serial killers at the time, and was particularly fascinated by the way they constantly evaded capture by the authorities. Without even trying too hard, it seemed. One of the reasons many killers remained free to claim so many victims was simple geography. They just moved around a lot, often choosing victims with whom they had no obvious connection. The police couldn't link them with the crimes, and why would they even try? They had a serial killer to catch. The story was originally published by Screams of Terror webzine in 2009, and this is where newbie writers should take note. SoT is an 'exposure' only market, which means they don't pay any actual money. However, it still counts as being published, so you can only sell Second Rights afterwards, which are generally a lot lower than First Rights. Most high-paying markets won't even consider a story that has been previously published. You live and learn.

  The Night Everything Changed used to be called The Shed, but I realised pretty early on how lame that title was! About as exciting as The Workmate, another old story title of mine. I later changed the name of that one, too. The Night Every
thing Changed deals primarily with guilt, momentary loss of control, and dealing with the consequences of your actions. Something most people can relate to, I think. Though hopefully not to this extent.

  The Devil & Jim Rosenthal is a story I wrote about a dream I had. Jim Rosenthal is a cheesy ITV Sport presenter. I don't know him personally, but he doesn't seem like a bad guy, so I have no idea why he haunted my nightmares. He does have slightly gargoyle-esque features. This story has a long publishing history. It was first printed in a magazine called Roadworks in 2000, then again a decade later in an anthology called DOA: Extreme Horror. Roadworks went the way of the albatross three or four years later, which was unfortunate as it was one of the best quality speculative fiction magazines around at the time, and featured some big names during its short life span.

  Club Culture was first published in 2009 in a US-based magazine called Shallow Graves, which was based on the popular TV series Supernatural. It was written a few years earlier, and is best described as a modern morality tale warning of the dangers and potential pitfalls of a decadent lifestyle filled with clubs, drugs and casual sex. Thematically I was still playing with the idea that all is often not what it seems, and I am aware that any half-decent psychologist would probably conclude from Club Culture that I have a pathological fear of women. And they might have a point.

  About the Author

  “A superb storyteller, Saunders is well on his way to becoming a true master of the macabre.”

  - Mark Edward Hall, author of Soul Thief and Apocalypse Island

  Christian Saunders, who writes fiction as C.M. Saunders, comes from a small ex-mining village in South Wales called New Tredegar. He began writing in 1997, his early fiction appearing in several small-press titles and anthologies. His first book, Into the Dragon's Lair – A Supernatural History of Wales was published in 2003. After graduating with a degree in journalism from Southampton Solent university he worked extensively in the freelance market, contributing to numerous international publications including Fortean Times, Chat, Its Fate! Bizarre, Urban Ink, Enigma, Record Collector, Nuts and Maxim,and a regular column to the Western Mail newspaper. Since returning to dark fiction he has had stories published in Screams of Terror, Shallow Graves, Dark Valentine, Fantastic Horror, Unbroken Waters, Gore and several anthologies. His novellas Dead of Night and Apartment 14F: An Oriental Ghost Story are available now on Damnation Books, while 2012 saw the release of his latest, Devil's Island, on Rainstorm Press. His most recent published work is From the Ashes: The REAL Story of Cardiff City FC, out now on Gwasg Carreg Gwalch.

  You can follow him on Twitter @CMSaunders01

  Or visit his website: www.cmsaunders.wordpress.com/

  Also by C.M. Saunders:

  Into the Dragon's Lair: A Supernatural History of Wales

  Apartment 14F: An Oriental Ghost Story

  Dead of Night

  Devil's Island

  From the Ashes: The REAL Story of Cardiff City

  Available on ebook and paperback from Amazon.co.uk / Amazon.com, and all good online retailers.

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