What if .... by Anne Wilson

 

“What if?” An unanswered question. The unexplained, a mystery, a road not taken.

This is a collection of dark fiction injected here and there with glimmers of humour.

The author takes us on a surreal and ghostly journey from Latin America’s Day of the Dead, through the coastal towns of Lancashire, a pig farm in Denmark, a high-rise in Mallorca, a haunted vicarage at Christmas and a town centre coffee bar. The voices we hear are variously plaintive, nostalgic, and occasionally vindictive or vengeful: the testimonies and fears of the living and the dead.

Anne Wilson, writes about places she knows, imbuing the natural world and the everyday with disturbing fantasy and the supernatural.

RRP £7.00

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Some really effective and enjoyable stories, from the spooky to the deeply creepy, and deserving of a wide audience. The characterization of this collection is a particular strength, with every story having a distinct voice through dialogue or monologue.

Tony Fyler, Editor-in-chief Jefferson-Franklin Editing

 

 

he author weaves a thrilling web with her prose, creating delightful pocket worlds to entice and entrance the reader. These are stories that linger long in the mind after reading.  

 

In these short stories Anne Wilson takes everyday situations and adds an otherworldly twist. Suited for a bedtime read or for a brief commute to work, each tale, sad or sinister, is a self contained gem. Should be on radio or TV but perhaps with a trigger warning for the faint of heart. Loved it! 

 

Read a sample here: 

On the Day of the Dead

Mathias Mori stirs; his body stiff from the chill night air. His nose twitches under the old fedora covering his face, as an ant becomes separated from the detachment marching purposefully across his hat and finds its way into his moustache. Cautiously he raises his head to look around himself and winces with discomfort as the pistol tucked into his belt presses against his lower ribs.

Midnight is approaching and the little graveyard is quiet in the darkness. Here and there Mathias sees the low glow of still-flickering candles. Their light picks out remnants of food, sugar skulls and elaborate floral tributes. He sees a few remaining hushed and huddled figures: the weathered faces of the elderly, the painted faces of the young, craving the company of revenants.

Pale moonlight throws nearer marker crosses and stone memorials into black relief.