Some time ago secret mystery project 25 got mentioned. Secret mystery project 25 was a series of illustrated stories that I wrote as Christmas presents for my family. Later I expanded the project and wrote poems for friends as  well.

These stories and poems I’ve collected together into a book which, thanks to the miracles of technology, you can buy and read and put on your book shelf.  You can buy it here.

Now, hold on a minute, that’s a bit cheeky isn’t it, me selling presents I made for people?
Well, yes.

However, I’m not actually expecting anyone to buy the thing and I thought it would be a good exercise for myself – learning to use publishing software – an experiment in designing a book which I’d like to have on my shelf, and then also I put a lot of effort into those poems and stories and I thought it would be good to make a little more of them.

You can also buy a cheaper pdf version instead of the physical book, however, if you would really like to read it but would rather not pay then drop me an email or a comment and I will email you the pdf version.

Below is a segment of one of the stories and a poem:

Phyte

for Sarah

Stella was, she had always thought, an ordinary, boring sort of a girl – plain of appearance but not hideous, ungifted in sports, average academically, with a few good friends and a few more acquaintances, an older brother she largely ignored and parents out of whose way she kept as often as possible. That was until that August, shortly before the new school year, when she woke up at three am with a feeling of dread filling every bone in her body.

The shadowy figure standing upright as a telephone pole beside her bed whispered softly in a language she didn’t recognise and everything went black, like the deepest sleep she had ever encountered.

She woke up in the morning feeling as freshly rested as ever she had after a night’s sleep. Her alarm clock sounded thirty seconds later and she got up wondering about the dream that she was almost certain was not a dream. She went down to the kitchen and made a glass of fresh orange juice, wondering why her mother wasn’t up and dressed and getting dishes out of the dishwasher and why her brother wasn’t moodily thumping around upstairs.

She came out of the shower, now pretty certain something was wrong – the house was eerily quiet. Still wrapped in her towel she knocked on her parents’ bedroom door. Silence. Slowly she opened the door and peered in. Her parents were both there, in bed, under the covers.

“Mum? Dad? Shouldn’t you be up?”

Nothing. She walked in and approached the bed with trepidation, each step more convinced something terrible had happened. Their heads lay side by side on the pillows and their faces were a terrible shade of white. She reached out and touched her mother’s cheek. It was freezing cold.

Cuerdas y Tinta

para Laura

En tinta gotear de
Cuello hueco sinew (tendón)
Pergamino y ácido y papel
Empapado en químico
Alquimia – plata, plomo
- Gris oscuro, plateado, curvas y
Lineas. Cuerdas desde los rincones
A la piel. Polvo, brillar. Un solo
Hilo rojo lentamente
Corriendo entre palabras
Susurrada en museos
En frente de los cuadros.

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