John Winter

This is the story I wanted to tell. An eloquent urban myth, hearsay, like those, passed on from a friend of a friend or someone who knew...

There’s no such thing as a happy ending. You’re going to die. Maybe not now, maybe not anytime soon, but it’s inevitable. Like taxes. ...

"They called him The Collector," Vincent commented. "You've not really referred to him." There was a rustle of papers as the old editor...

I felt the needle tear a hole, piercing soft tissue as it punctured a vein in my neck. An immense weight held me down. I screamed, my...

The inhumanity of man surrounds me, like the stench of decay. Sallow faced, hollow cheeked, and with eyes that have seen too much, I...

Brad and Joe investigate the van parked near the disused train tunnel.

A thin haze hung suspended between the buildings like an exhalation waiting to dispelled; as though one deep breath from the living city...

The cold hit me like a wave, crashing against my chest; the change in pressure popped my ears. On I stumbled, barely able to lift my feet...

There is beauty in destruction. I knew this, had from an early age but it was only recently that I discovered the pleasure to be had. On...

The dilapidated entrance had grown cancerous with age, riddled with uneven floorboards, dusted with fallen plaster and masonry. I...