Guest Writer

My Guest Writer spot is back and the first author to be featured here is Darren Youngson. He’s a great writer and has just released his first book, The Calling, available from Amazon. Here’s a little bit about Darren and his writing:

My name is Darren Youngson. I’ve been writing for a near part of a decade now, and I’ve finally finished my novel. It took a while but here it is. Its inception began after I went through a phase of watching werewolf films such as Dog soldiers, The Howling, American werewolf in London and so forth. The transformations were vivid and visceral which gave me the idea of this novel before you.

So here it is! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Here’s a taster for you:

Prologue

John Jones! He was my nemesis – the leader of his juvenile gang at high school. They were always harassing and tormenting students that couldn’t defend themselves. And these imbeciles seemed to have a grudge against me and my friend, Pete. It was starting to become a major problem.

One particular cold, damp night, John and his cronies took it into their heads to track us down. They chased us into Craigvinean Forest.

My feet flew over the fallen leaves and there was a moment when I thought that my legs were going to give way. Panic was rising in my chest as I glanced around to see where Pete was, but my fear was worse when he was nowhere to be seen, but I didn’t need to worry about him: it seemed I was the one who was their centre of attention.

My eyes fell on a gap at the base of a tree. I threw myself at it, trying not to give away my position as leaves crunched under my feet. Just as they were in sight, I peeked out to observe their next move.

There were four of them standing in the distance looking in each and every direction. One skinny small-boned, blond boy with a Glaswegian accent, Paul, took off his baseball cap to have a better scan of the area. The other two were twins, Frank and Jesse, who obviously shared similar features as well as character traits – one was as dumb as the other. Their hair was beach-blond and their bodies chubby in stature which caused them both to wheeze at the slightest hint of exercise. Their persona made me think that they’d be a success in show business or some sort of comedy routine where audiences could point and laugh at how pathetic they were.

 As for John, well, to his compadres, he was known as Jonesy. He was a rough-looking boy, with constant mischief in his eyes. Trouble stalked him everywhere he went and the others followed.

‘Come on out, Jacob, we’re going to find you sooner or later. If not here then at school,’ Jonesy’s voice reverberated throughout the forest.

‘Fuck this, man, am going hame for a munch. Face it, Jonesy, he’s gone,’ Paul said, wiping the sweat off his brow and putting his cap back on. 

‘Shut the fuck up. We’ll find that little shit.’ 

They turned their backs to me and, as I watched them walk away, I decided to make a run for it.

‘There he is!’ a voice exclaimed.

I ran as fast as I could, focusing on the path that lay before me.

But judging by the sounds of their voices, they’d clearly fanned out. I heard verbal expletives followed by rapid breathing as my pursuers endeavoured to catch me. I manoeuvred myself from tree-to-tree to help compromise their vision; the trees were thick enough to provide cover. I made a bid for the next trunk. I was almost there when a body flew out and knocked me off my feet. Paul and I fell to the ground.

‘We’ve got you now, you little shit. HEY, GUYS, I’VE GOT HIM!’ he shouted.

Soon after the rest of my pursuers arrived at the scene. Frank and Paul took hold of my arms as I struggled to get free and pull them back. I dug my feet into the mulch, pressing my back against a tree. The pain shooting up my arms was unbearable; I looked at Frank and Paul’s grinning faces as they pulled from each side.

Jonesy walked up to me until we were face to face. His smile was menacing; he gave out a small chuckle and said, ‘You’re gonna pay for what you did in the school toilets, you little ****.’

‘I had no choice,’ I said.

He threw a punch to my stomach. The air burst free from my lungs as his fist made contact. Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. A hand yanked my hair back so that my throat was exposed. The adrenaline channelling through my body was more profound as Jonesy pulled out a knife. An uncontrollable rage built up in me and I felt myself changing.  

‘Jonesy, please don’t do this!’ I begged, but they paid no heed to my words. They weren’t going to listen. 

I was past the point of no return. The transformation was triggered by instinct, somehow sensing danger and acting as, I could only guess, a self-defence mechanism.  

They punched and kicked me, but as the beating progressed, pain was no longer a factor; I was resilient to their attacks. My body started to increase in size as my bones snapped and altered.

The feeling of my antagonist’s limbs making contact with my body stopped short as they were witnessing my clothes ripping to expose fur. And just as my body mass increased, I felt Jonesy’s knife penetrate one of my ribs, but the blade simply slipped back out and fell to the ground as the growing commenced.

Shocked faces greeted me as I stood up, snarling to expose teeth and I poised myself with claws outstretched ready to slash. I regarded my awestruck antagonists who seemed paralytic with fear. There was a momentarily silence between them and the beast I’d become. Then, an abrupt roar left my mouth, almost deafening to my own ears, echoing around the quiet forest and disturbing the wildlife.   

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If you’d like to be featured in this slot, please send your work – fiction, non-fiction and poetry to estherchilton@gmail.com