Small Town Creed by Paul D. Brazill

A golf club slammed into the side of Sammy Lee’s face. He fell to the ground and looked up at Crispin. ‘Is that the best you’ve got? You soft Southern shite,’ he said through broken teeth. He spat blood as he spoke and laughed, although he really felt like screaming. Sammy Lee could see Piccadilly […]

The Righteous Man by Paul D. Brazill

Lizzy Beachwell reclined on her sofa while her husband Tom fed her slices of pizza.  Lizzy had been such a svelte thing when she wrote for The Face magazine in the early ‘80s but the good life had taken its toll and she had more recently earned the nickname Lizzy Beached Whale. ‘Tintin Quarantino?’ said […]

Dead Pimp in a Trunk by Paul D. Brazill

I was going to tell you about why I killed Lewis Quad and how he’d had it coming to him. How he’d asked for it and deserved everything he got. Tell you what an evil bastard he was and how many lives he’d destroyed over the years. All the shitty little things he’d done just because he could. Justify my actions, and the like. But then I realised that, well, if you knew Lewis Quad you’d know all of that anyway and if you didn’t know Lewis there was no way in heaven, hell or purgatory that I was ever going to be able to explain the whole thing to you. So I thought I’d just tell you what happened next.

In the Devil’s Name by Paul D. Brazill

Isabelle told the man with the porkpie hat that she had only stopped off at the bar for a couple of drinks to drown her sorrows and that it really wasn’t the sort of establishment that she usually frequented. ‘My father’s funeral, you know?’ she croaked, eyes down, as if she were playing bingo. Since […]

Return of the Tingler by Paul D. Brazill

As the bright spring afternoon melted into evening, Dr Shearing’s office grew darker. As did Lee Madison’s thoughts. ‘13 Ghosts?’ said Dr Shearing. He pulled sharply at his shirt cuffs. ‘I can’t say that I’m familiar with that particular film, or Mr William Castle’s oeuvre as a director, to be honest.’ Lee Madison cringed as […]

White Ink by Paul D. Brazill

‘Words are our tools, Craig. Even our weapons, sometimes’ said Katy sipping her long glass of gin and leaning back against the switched-off cigarette machine. ‘They have no meaning within themselves but we give them meaning depending on our own experiences and prejudices. For example, if I describe a man as single it’s one thing […]