Extracts - Tall Tales on the Iron Horse
Gillian pulled the ringlets of hair from her eyes. "As I understand it, the train is enfolded in a field wherein the suppression of disbelief charms the pants off all the quarks which, in their excitement, jump about with their tachyons spinning so fast that their watches go backwards and then they party all night until it's time to feed Schrodinger’s cat. Makes an odd kind of sense, don't you think?"
I rubbed my forehead. I'd never noticed how the veins stood out before. "Could you stop talking?"
"Unfortunately, no."
(Tall Tales on the Iron Horse)
“Move!” Santana commanded. But the creatures remained as before. He pushed between them.
Suddenly a pup leapt at his leg and sank its teeth through outer cloth and insulation and into his flesh. He screamed and released Paul. Others now jumped upon Santana and he was forced to the ground, face pressed into the cold sea ice. “Let me go. You little bastards. Let me go!”
“Now, you remember your lines.” It was Nosey’s voice. “Let the alien go.”
(The Evangelist)
Samuel flexed his painfully cramped fingers and imagined the weight of, not dishes, but a handgun.
First shot...take out the boyfriend. POW! Right knee shattered -- now Paulo had an excuse for that stupid bow-legged gait. He topples, granting Samuel a clear shot at Lady Theresa as she turns. POW! The titanium slug cleaves her tattooed forehead, showering her shimmering green sari with blood. She screams as her towering white wig falls slowly to splash into the koi pool. Oh yes...she screams.
Samuel ducked back into the kitchen and the door swung shut. “She’s arrived.”
(Good and Faithful Servant)
The rail was so narrow I could only just place both feet side by side across its width. But I knew I could stay on. I was an expert at balancing. After all, I’d been doing this for months now.
I started walking.
After only ten short steps I was above the parapet. The face of the tower fell away below me, sucked downwards in narrowing perspective until it punched through the ocean in a crash of white breakers. I decided it was best not to look down.
Fixing my gaze on the rail ahead, I walked away from the tower.
I stepped into the sky.
(Chicken)
When all the shooting and blasting and bludgeoning were finally over and the hairy giant carcass had been hauled onto seven different trucks and the disgusting residue of blood and alien guts had been shovelled from the White House lawn, the twopla relaxed and stretched out its six slender legs across the crisp brown bed of a blade of dead grass.
Washington was beautiful in the Fall, no doubt about it, but the visitor was disappointed. The capital was not on its itinerary. The trip should have been quiet and comfortable. That was before the Grog had decided to have a word with the President -- a naïve decision which had been destined to end in misunderstanding. When the time came to go home, the twopla would have to hitch a new ride.
(The Thing from the Thing from Another World)
"Quick," said Ray. "Into the kitchen."
We raced across the parlour. I crashed into a table. Pain flared in my hip.
It was darker here. Ray directed our attention to the back door knob. I couldn't see well, so I took hold of the polished wood. Something turned the knob, something stronger than me. The door shook against the top and bottom bolts.
Then the front door rattled violently.
That scared me. That really scared me. Any remaining doubts I had about exposing the old fraudster were swept away in a conflagration of anger. I clutched the keys in my pocket. One of these keys would end this nonsense for ever.
"Okay," I said. "Follow me."
(The Hay Devils)
The bookmole snapped its teeth upon
the book. Even though he’d been prepared, Clifford jumped back. The
gnawing and rustling of paper and Clifford’s harsh breathing were the
only sounds in the room. Now for the words. Once again he gave the
command, this time without hesitation. Then he sat on the edge of the
bed and waited.
A shadow crossed the sun, laying
flickering patterns upon the walls. But the shadow was inside the
room. Clifford stiffened. The bedsheets were clenched in his fists.
In front of the window the air thickened, grew dark, took the shape of
a woman. Clifford forgot to breathe.
Zondra Amazon stared at him. Her expression was not entirely one of pleasure.
(Clifford and the Bookmole)
She examined a smudge on the magnolia wall that could have been sauce, or blood. “You’re my friend.”
“Then why can’t you look at me?”
Why? Because she was frightened. The thought of turning to face him brought up unsettling images: a ferocious electrical storm, screams and gunshots, a steel coffin, days of unrelenting darkness, the put-put-put of an air pump, and Alan’s distant but reassuring voice telling her that soon everything would be all right.
“I remember being scared,” she said. “Of noises...and of people.”
“There’s no-one left to fear,” he said.
(All the Right Words)