Rather than struggle through book 3, the Children of the Shadow, and produce something that suffers as a result, i have decided to take a break from it until after my holiday to Chester, beginning of Sept. I’m hoping a change of scenery and that that will get my thoughts whirling again. Until then I am working on a new project, not my faerie collection of short stories, but a novel about zombies and cats, call;ed the Forest of Ghosts. (Yes, it has ghosts too) It’s an idea I’ve had for a long time, set in a completely new world, so new gods, new kingdoms, new rules! I’ve been writing the story of Candale for so long it’s a little odd to do something new, but good, too. So far I haven’t done that much and of course it’s very rough, but I thought i would share the start as a teaser.
So here it is!
The Forest of Ghosts
THE BLURRED MAN
He was standing across the street from me, beneath the striped red and white canopy of a butcher’s shop. He was dressed simply in plain brown breeches and tunic. Nondescript clothes, to match his nondescript form, average height and average build. He could have been anyone, any man, doing any job, standing any where, if it wasn’t for his face. A perfect oval of pale pink flesh, framed by shaggy brown hair, nothing remarkable in itself, except it had no features only blurs of colour where his features should be. Brown smudges for his eyes, a red thin smudge for lips, he was an oil painting of a man left in the rain until his face began to run and blur together.
It wasn’t the first time that I’d seen him. In the last six years, or so, I’d seen him a dozen times. There didn’t seem to be any rule to when I’d see him, day or night, sun or rain, town or country, when I was alone, or with company, or hard at work, he would just be standing there, blurred features turned my way. He never moved, he never spoke, and no one else ever showed any sign of having seen him, but I knew he was there all the same, even though I had always been too cowardly to approach him myself. And tonight wasn’t going to be any different. Even if Darrian hadn’t been drunkenly throwing up, rather too close to my feet for comfort, I would have kept my distance. The Blurred Man was the sort of thing that it was better to ignore, than worry about.