The Trees And Other Stories
A collection of eight horror stories by Thomas Emson, author of Maneater and The Vampire Trinity. More
Eight tales of terror from Thomas Emson, author of Maneater and Skarlet. A police officer is forced to search for two missing tourists in a cursed wood where nothing seems alive - except for the trees... A property assessor becomes the plaything of terrifying entities that lurk in an abandoned tower block... A father fails to heed the warnings when buying his daughter a birthday present... The collection also includes the sequel to Emson's novel Zombie Britannica, which first appeared in the anthology Holiday Of The Dead (Wild Wolf Publishing).
Praise for Thomas Emson
What a brilliant scary Vampire story! One of the best books in this genre I have ever read! -- Amazon reader *****
You will not be disappointed if you read this - it's great! (Especially if your not a Twilighter!) -- Amazon reader *****
The main character of Jake Lawton is strong, well developed and exceptionally believable -- Goodreads member ****
Inventive, Brutal and Precise, Maneater Will Chew You Up and Spit You Out -- Amazon reader ****
I closed the book on the last page and felt exhausted - it felt like I had been running and fighting with the characters as the story unfolded -- myfavouritebooks.blogspot.co.uk
Prey has become my new favorite in werewolf books! -- WebbWeaver
Extract from 'The Jantot Hourglass'
‘IT IS cursed, you know,’ said the dealer.
‘I’m not surprised at that price,’ said Bellow, looking at the sand timer.
The dealer flapped his hand. ‘But it is rare. The only one of its kind. Jantot’s masterpiece.’
‘Still,’ said Bellow, flicking the price tag, ‘that is somewhat obscene.’
The dealer shrugged. ‘It is a remarkable object. Do you collect?’
Bellow breathed. The shop’s musty odour filled his nostrils. He looked around. The store was heaped with junk.
Bellow said, ‘It’s for my daughter. A birthday present.’
‘She appreciates the finer things, does she?’
‘It’s her hobby, these sand timers.’
The dealer clicked his tongue. ‘I see. Good.’
‘She has hundreds, but they’re trinkets, mostly. I bought her the first one when she was five. It only cost me a pound. She’s been fascinated ever since.’
In his mind, he watched her grow and mourned what he had missed. He shut his eyes. The guilt rose up. He steeled himself, and it leached away, and in its place came fatigue, pressing against him. He stifled a yawn, and glanced out of the window. The midday sun splintered off the Merc’s black shell. Bellow’s bodyguards scanned the street.
‘Long journey, sir?’ said the dealer.
‘I flew in this morning. I fly back in’ – Bellow checked his watch – ‘three hours.’
‘You came to Budapest especially?’
‘I came for the Jantot.’
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