Newton Webb's Blog

Greetings, my wicked darlings,

You might have heard the rumours around the authorsphere that times are tough. They are for everyone. The cost-of-living crisis is proving to be a ghastly drain on our resources. I have been somewhat insulated because I am single and child-free, unless three aquariums, a tortoise and a remarkably cheeky dog count, but now I find myself looking at my bank statements and realising that my funds are dwindling.

Being an author is a profession, and like all professions, I have to balance the books. The release of Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 was a huge success and I am very proud of the results. Sales and pre-orders were nearly a third higher than Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3, but the Tales of the Macabre series, while my primary source of income, is not enough to cover the bills.

So, it is time to pivot.

Pivot?!?

Yes, however, it is an evolution and not a complete redesign. But don’t panic. I’m not switching to writing cosy romance any time soon. The closest I got to that was in The Morrígan.

Spoiler Alert:

It didn’t have a happy ending.

First up, I have started writing another novel. I have actually written five novels, but only one of them was up to publishable standards, Nestor Lynch. Different mediums of writing need practice to improve, so I am upping my game in that arena.

I have written over a hundred short stories, which I have given to all my wicked darlings for free. I love writing them. I write them compulsively. In fact, since pivoting to writing longer form fiction, I have accidentally written two more shorts, which I will share with you all shortly.

Secondly, I have been in discussions with Amazon ACX about recording audiobooks for Tales of the Macabre 1 to 4. I vetted about twenty narrators, but they were either too expensive or did not have the tone that I was looking for. So, I’ve decided to self produce the audiobooks. Keen eared readers will remember that I did an early narration of Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1 and other selected shorts on my podcast. I will be completely rerecording Vol. 1 and doing the other three books.

Thirdly, I am creating a paid tier of my newsletter at $5 per month. This means that some of my content will be paywalled in the future. It is not a decision that I am taking lightly.

For free subscribers:

Newt’s Nightmares, now up to 115 issues, will continue to be free and will be released monthly.

It will provide the usual updates, recommended books and movies and the curated free horror story compilations that have proven so popular over the years.

Each issue will include five free horror stories from my back catalogue.

For paid subscribers at 5 dollars a month:

A credit at the back of each of my published books.

New horror stories, novellas and novels will be delivered first to paid subscribers as soon as they are finished.

Audiobooks and early access recordings will be exclusive to paid subscribers.

Regular updates on my progress.

Anyway, let me know what you think in the comments, and I hope these changes cause a minimum of disruption.

Subscribe now

Horror Story Compilations

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 68 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’.

FREE Horror: 33 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’, ‘The Spinster’, ‘12 Minutes’, and ‘Gomorrah’, and ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’.

Terrifying Deals: 44 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

Sweet screams, my dears!

Newt xx

Greetings, my wicked darlings,

It is finally here! Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 has been released!

To celebrate the completion of the series, for the first time, every book in the set is available for the murderously cheap price of $/£0.99 each.

The Macabre Codex, featuring Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1-4 is available for £/$0.99 on Amazon.

It’s been a journey. But, I’m ecstatic that I’ve accomplished what I set out to achieve back in April 2023 when I released Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1.

Back then, I had eight pre-orders, and I’m pretty sure I can list every person who pre-ordered by name.

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 had nearly two hundred pre-orders, and your support has absolutely humbled me. Writing is a tough business, and it is only with your sales and your reviews that I can keep going.

I got to experiment a lot more with Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4. Halfway through the production of Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3 I decided to move house to cut costs (London life is positively murder on the wallet). That proved to be a fiscal lifeline but really cut into my writing time. I had a lot more time with Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 and that let me write a lot more experimental stories. Some of those didn’t work out and haven’t been published, but some of them were really popular with you folks and as such got included in the final product.

And all of them were a ton of fun to write.

So, I guess that leads on to my next project.

And for that, my wicked darlings, you will need to wait until next week.

Horror Story Compilations

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 68 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’.

FREE Horror: 33 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’, ‘The Spinster’, ‘12 Minutes’, and ‘Gomorrah’, and ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’.

Terrifying Deals: 44 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

Sweet screams, my dears!

Newt xx

Greetings, my wicked darlings,

Well, the last giveaway was certainly popular. In fact, it was hoovered up with the same level of enthusiasm as Tina hoovered up Charlie’s ashes in The Black Shuck (TotM 3). Given that, it would have been callous not to repeat the gesture.

So, to celebrate the release of TotM 4 next week, here is a free horror story from each of the books in The Macabre Codex.

FREE eBooks

Horror Story Compilations

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

FREE eBooksThe Black Fog

(Available as a FREE download for the first time)

First appearing in Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1. Ah, the memories. I was so young (citation needed) and innocent (unlikely). The cover was the first I made myself, so it was rough around the edges. It used a stock photo of a harbour and some terrible tentacles that I tried to fix by making them semi-translucent.

1958, Grimsdyke. A sleepy seaside town that is stagnant and dying. The residents go about their dull, insignificant lives, unaware that the black fog is coming.

Now, they face a new threat. Something is hiding in the fog, and it hungers for their souls.

The Enigmatic Skeleton

From Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2.

I wrote this in a single session. My nanny founded four museums in her spare time when she was not raising three girls and supporting her husband, the vicar, and she was fascinated by Sutton Hoo.

I read a BBC News article, although it may have been New Scientist, about teenagers developing an abnormal bone growth called "text neck."

Then the rest of the story basically wrote itself. I loved the rare occasions when that happened.

When a professor tries to unravel the mysteries of a macabre human skeleton collection, he discovers that curiosity comes with its own perils.

Ain't Nothin' But The Blues

From Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3.

The inspiration for this came from my absolute fangirling over The Originals. I really wanted to write Southern Gothic after binging the whole series. As a white British man, I relied heavily on my Southern American friend, Clam, to fix the Anglicised text and help me unleash my inner American.

Deep in the sweltering heart of 56' New Orleans, Jackson Gray, a Xavier University student, becomes entwined in the nocturnal blues sessions of former music maestro Elliot Banks.

However, Banks has a dangerous secret.

The Spinster

And we are back up to date with Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 (available for pre-order at $0.99).

I was reading a lot of articles in the British media about landlords, in the BBC and The Guardian. They were portrayed (in some cases correctly) as predatory, vampiric beings. It was terrifying, so obviously I decided to make a story out of it.

To be fair to the Beeb, nobody quite mentioned pickling babies, but I exaggerate professionally.

“Artists use lies to tell the truth, while politicians use them to cover the truth up.”

- Alan Moore in V for Vendetta

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Available in eBook and Paperback, hardback coming soon.

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.

Horror Story Compilations

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 68 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’.

FREE Horror: 33 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’, ‘The Spinster’, ‘12 Minutes’, and ‘Gomorrah’, and ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’.

Terrifying Deals: 44 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

Sweet screams, my dears!

Newt xx

Newt's Nightmares

Greetings, my wicked darlings!

Happy Halloween or Samhain if you celebrate its original name. What did the Cryptkeeper always say? “Hello, boils and ghouls!” That seems appropriate.

It has been a busy Halloween, as it always is for every horror author. To celebrate, I sent three of my favourite stories set during the Halloween period: Respect, The Road Revenant, Gomorrah. Which was your favourite? Let me know by pinging me an email.

In Scotland, people would peel apples in one strip (it took me several attempts) and throw the peel over their shoulder to reveal the initial of their future husband. The only thing it revealed to me was that my husband will be a complete mess.

In Wales, people believed that spirits called ‘Ysbrydion’ (try pronouncing that) roamed the land, and bonfires were lit to ward them off.

But enough facts, I’ve been writing, talking, chatting, and pondering about my future. I’m looking forward to continuing that at the Horror Writers’ Association Halloween party tonight (come and join us, it’s at The Angel near Tottenham Court Road Station, from 19:30). Tales of the Macabre 1–4, or its collective name, The Macabre Codex, has been such a huge part of my life for the last three years. Before that, I wrote a novel, Nestor Lynch, which has many flaws, but it was only one of four novels I’ve written in my career and set me up as an author.

What next? Well, I’m not sure. I’ve been writing and experimenting with my next new project, which I am hoping will be long form. But, me being me, I’ve already written three more short stories.

The other consideration is fiscal, what with the cost-of-living crisis. So, I’m investigating Patreon and Substack Premium. What do you think, my dears?

Subscribe now

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

FREE eBooks

Horror Story Compilations

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order ($0.99)

Available in eBook and Paperback, hardback coming soon.

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.

FREE eBooks

Respect: 1980s Splatterpunk Short Story: On Halloween night, a debauched party in an East End funeral home turns into a bloodbath.

The Road Revenant: A Supernatural Horror Short Story: After a drunken David tries to seduce Mia while driving, their already dreadful night takes a deadly turn.

Gomorrah: A Contemporary Supernatural Slasher Novella: A group of hedonistic friends having a Halloween rave in an abandoned vicarage awaken the spirit of a vengeful 16th-century Bishop.

Thanks for reading Newton’s Tales of the Macabre! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Horror Story Compilations

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 68 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’.

FREE Halloween Horror: 33 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’, ‘The Spinster’, ‘12 Minutes’, and ‘Gomorrah’, and ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’.

Spooktober Sales: 56 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

Tales of the Macabre

You can find my stories on Amazon, as Kindle Unlimited, eBook, Paperback or Hardback.

This collection of stories is designed for quick reads, whether over a coffee or during a commute. Either way, they promise to deliver exquisitely disturbing nightmares that gaze without flinching into the abyss—and linger in the mind long after.

FREE on Kindle Unlimited

Available to order on AMAZON.

Welcome to the complete collected works of Newton Webb. Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1-4 are intended for mature audiences.

Read a collection of free short stories or listen to free audiobooks by Newton Webb on his website.

Visit my website

Greetings, my wicked darlings,

It is rather difficult to write a weekly update, as I guzzled an excessive quantity of giggle juice at Oktoberfest. I have recovered, but it was a regrettable amount of strong German ale that left me in a state of disarray and lusting after pizza.

My poor lifestyle choices balanced out the benefits I gained from giving up coffee. Now that the brain fog from withdrawal has lifted, I can say that it has definitely helped alleviate my social anxiety.

Shudders.

Perhaps I ought to consider joining the ranks of authors who have gone teetotal next?

I probably should have sent this out as a separate email, but for those interested in an advanced reader copy of my brand-new anthology Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4, it is available from BookSprout if you click HERE.

As you can tell, we are rapidly closing in on the release date for Volume 4 of TotM. I am all aquiver with excitement.

Newt xx

Contents

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Horror Story Compilations

FREE eBook: The Road Revenant

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Available in eBook and paperback, hardback coming soon.

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.

Horror Story Compilations

Fill Your Kindle for All Hallows’ Eve: 101 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 68 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’.

FREE Halloween Horror: 33 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’, ‘The Spinster’, ‘12 Minutes’, and ‘Gomorrah’, and ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’.

Spooktober Sales: 56 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

FREE eBook: The Road Revenant

A Supernatural Horror Short Story: After a drunken David tries to seduce Mia while driving, their already dreadful night takes a deadly turn.

Download

NOTE: This story was first published in Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3

31st October, 2017, Kent, England

Thank you for joining us for the three AM Jazz Essentials on ‘All Hallows Eve’, the pagan Samhain, or as we call it Halloween, when the gates to the otherworld open. For our next naughty number, I give you Screamin’ Jay Hawkins “I Put a Spell on You.”

A jovial laugh filled the car as David reached over to slide his hands up Mia’s thigh. She could feel the sweat from his clammy hands through her jeans. “Eyes on the road, David.”

“Oh piffle, I’ve barely even started,” he mumbled incoherently. The throaty engine roared as they tore through the country lanes, the lights cleaving through the black. David’s glassy eyes were narrowed in an attempt to focus and he pursed his lips. “Go on, Daddy wants a sip of beer.”

Daddy has had more than enough. Mia ignored him, clinging to the grab handle and praying that another car didn’t come along the road.

She tried to block out the sound of Joe and Bethany making out in the back between howls of laughter. There was a clunk as an empty glass bottle fell over.

David flicked his huge blonde mop of hair back, and Mia felt him try again with his wandering hands. She slapped his wrist, causing him to yelp in pain.

That’ll wake him up.

“What is this? Vaginal nimbyism?” David protested, creating more peals of laughter from the back.

Mia ignored him as she concentrated on the road.

I should never have agreed to attend a Halloween party with this jackass. Unfortunately, his parents were friends of her family. They held him in high esteem and felt he would be a good addition to the Bertram-Smythe dynasty. His political ambitions matched her father’s need for social status.

I should have got a taxi home, this is—

“David, watch out!” Mia screamed, as she saw a cloaked figure in a hat and a mask walking down the road towards them.

THUD

It was too late. David slammed on the brakes. The car slew round with an ear- wrenching screech before, with a shuddering impact, it settled in a ditch. Mia was thrown against her seat belt and then against the window.

She sat, shell-shocked. All she could hear was the radio as the occupants of the car silently took in the severity of their situation. Then she shook herself, blinked and turned to look into the back, where Joe was prodding Bethany.

“Bethany? Bethany?” He slapped her face, but when his hand came away with blood on it, he took a sharp intake of breath.

“Don’t hit someone with a head wound,” Mia hissed.

“Is everyone alright?” David asked blearily. “We appear to have got into some japery.”

“Shut up David,” Mia said. “Let me look at Bethany.” She leant over to check. Joe had shrunk away from the still form of his girlfriend. “She’s still breathing,” Mia noted. “Hold her steady. We need to get her to a hospital as soon as we can but first we must find out who or what David just ran into.”

“Oh, it was probably a deer,” David suggested blithely. He shifted into reverse gear and revved with the accelerator and the car shifted slightly. “I think I can get her moving again.”

Mia slapped her thigh in frustration. “David, you really do have to see what you hit! it’s your responsibility.”

David tried to wave it off. “It’s fine Mia, they can just call an ambulance if they are—”

“DAVID!” Mia shrieked, glaring at him.

He blinked at her, then swore ferociously. “Absolutely not. We have to press on. I cannot be arrested, father would be furious.”

“David, you can’t just—” Mia tried, horrified at his blasé attitude to potential manslaughter.

“—I wish I’d gone with Bethany. you’re a dismal old sock.” David spat.

Mia pulled out her phone to dial 999 when David yanked it out of her hand and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

“Nobody is calling anyone. Father will tidy this up. There is no need to cause a fuss.” David gave a stern look at Mia, who was horrified. The car slowly crawled back onto the road. The engine was making an ominous ticking sound and one tyre had burst, but she was moving. David crowed with success. “Well, we’re all awake now.”

You psychopath, you’re still making jokes.

“Joe’s house is closest. We’ll park in his garage and then dial an ambulance.” David said. “It’s important we do right by Bethany.”

You fucking coward. You mean do right by yourself and not get into trouble?

The car drove at a sedate speed this time. The flopping sound of a burst tyre slapping against the tarmac sounded like a heartbeat, echoing round the car in a rhythmic pulse. After five minutes, Mia saw it.

“Davi—”

“I fucking see it.” The car emergency stopped. She heard Bethany’s body slumping into the footwell. In front of them, standing in the middle of the road, was a figure in the same cloak, mask and hat. With the headlights on him, Mia could see it was a Guy Fawkes mask smeared with blood.

David honked the horn.

“Must have been a themed Halloween party,” he said.

The figure didn’t move.

David revved the engine and honked again.

The figure regarded them impassively through its mask.

“Get out of the road, you blithering imbecile!” He angrily gestured with his arm. “Go on, move, you half-witted dullard. You cretinous dolt!”

Mia watched as the figure slowly started to walk towards the car.

“What the hell is he doing?” David honked once again, then held his hand down on the horn. The figure ignored him and continued to approach. “Right, fuck this.” David accelerated towards the figure and performed an emergency stop in front of him.

“David, Bethany is hurt in the back,” Mia said, trying to encourage him to be careful.

The figure turned and walked round the car. It reached to open the driver’s side door. David slammed the door lock and sped off, leaving the figure to watch them depart. “Probably on drugs. That’s the problem with liberals.”

You did cocaine with Joe.

When they turned the corner, the figure was waiting, again in the middle of the road. Watching them.

“That’s it,” David floored the accelerator and drove straight into the figure with a crunch. The car jerked as it rode over the body.

Terror filled Mia. David had just committed murder.

“I want to get out,” she whispered.

“No, we’re all going to Joe’s to sober up and get our stories straight. I’m not going to prison because some nerd from Anonym—”

As they followed the winding country lane round yet another bend, the figure was waiting for them, its mask cracked and bright red with fresh blood. David growled and drove straight into it. As he ploughed over the body, the car jumped. With the tyre already gone, he lost control and the car smashed into a tree. The engine died and the lights went out.

Mia’s body was once again hurled against her seatbelt.

Bethany.

She looked back. The figure was in the back seat of the car. Its mask was cracked and she could see the pulped face of a corpse behind it. It was regarding David coolly. She couldn’t see Bethany, but Joe…

She released the seatbelt and stumbled out of the car as David started ranting at the manifestation in his backseat. Mia stumbled across the verge and vomited into the hedge. She rolled onto her back in the cold, wet grass, panting with fear and weeping in the cold autumn air.

Joe was dead. His throat was a mess of blood and torn flesh.

As she looked at the car, the angry sounds of David suddenly were replaced by a gurgling. Then silence.

The figure emerged from the car and slowly walked towards her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” she repeated as a mantra as she scooted backwards on her rear across the grass verge. She pressed herself against the needling hedgerow.

The sound of another car engine sounded. The headlights momentarily blinded her.

When she was no longer in the full beam of the highlights, she saw that the figure had disappeared. Mia cast her eyes round in terror.

Where is it?

The new car came to a sudden stop.

“Are you okay, dear?” An elderly couple emerged, faces filled with pity. The wife shone a pocket torch in her direction.

Mia couldn’t answer. She was frozen in place as tears ran down her face.

“Can you move?” the woman asked.

She nodded.

“Let’s get you to a hospital. Is there anyone else?”

Mia shook her head, crying louder.

The man helped her to her feet and into their car.

Mia woke in a hospital bed with an IV drip in her arm and her neck in a brace. Propped up on pillows, she blinked through the mist of pain relief and saw, standing at the foot of the bed, the figure.

It watched her with its inscrutable gaze.

THE END

Sweet screams, my dears!

‘till next time.

Newt xx

Greetings, my wicked darlings,

I’m fully recovered and back to writing full time. I’ve been pounding out a Roman murder mystery set in Britain around the time of Boudicca’s revolt. In between toga-wearing chapters, I wrote a small Halloween treat for you.

It’s called Respect and is about the very real consequences people face when they don’t show it.

While I was ill, I read two fantastic books last month, Beast of Burden by Judith Sonnet and Dead Girl Blues by David Sodergren. Beast of Burden was a heartwarming tribute to the joys of being in a heavy metal band, with some light horror in the third act. Dead Girl Blues was a wonderful noir-style investigative horror, that inspired me to write my own murder mystery. I have written one in the past with The Heir Apparent, but I’m eager to do another one, and Roman Britain is a time ripe with suspicion.

For those who are interested in a reader copy of Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3 it is available from BookSprout if you click HERE.

Newt xx

Contents

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Horror Story Compilations

FREE eBook: Respect

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Available in eBook and Paperback, hardback coming soon.

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.

Horror Story Compilations

Fill Your Kindle for All Hallows’ Eve: 101 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 68 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’.

FREE Halloween Horror: 33 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’, ‘The Spinster’, ‘12 Minutes’, and ‘Gomorrah’, and ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’.

Spooktober Sales: 56 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

FREE eBook: Respect

On Halloween night in 1982, a debauched party in an East End funeral home turns into a bloodbath.

Download

31st October 1982. Bethnal Green.
The air had a bitter edge. Ted felt it on his ears as he hurried down the alley behind Blackwood & Sons Funeral Directors to the mortuary. Steam plumed from his mouth. He clutched a crate of Skol, the cans ice cold against his hands.

Why did I wear this?

The long coat over his He-Man costume did little to keep out the chill. The cold made his bare, hairy legs itch. He had looked forward to the party all week, ever since Jack mentioned it at The Rose and Crown. Jack’s parties were legendary.

Ted balanced the crate on his knee and freed a hand to ring the bell.

A woman in a witch costume appeared behind him. “I’ll get that.”

“Ah, thanks. I’ll repay you with a Skol.” Ted immediately regretted it when he saw the man beside her, a heavy-set figure in a werewolf mask and a denim jacket covered with Saxon and Iron Maiden patches. “How do you know Jack?”

She rang the bell. “Met him a few times when he was drunk. I’m Alice. This is my brother, Tony.”

Brother. Ted offered a silent prayer of thanks.

“I’m Ted. I’d shake your hand, but…” He gestured with the crate.

“We brought whisky. Easier to carry.” She produced a bottle from her corset.

Ted raised an eyebrow. “Nice trick.”

The side door opened. The bassline from Black Sabbath’s ‘Children of the Grave’ rolled out into the alley. Jack stood there, dressed as Lurch. “You rang?”

Ted pushed the crate into Jack’s arms and slipped inside. The hoped-for warmth was absent. The mortuary was as cold as the street.

“Turn the heating up, mate.” Ted took off his coat and hung it over a chair.

“No can do. You’ll see why soon. Come on.” Jack’s breath smelled of tobacco and mints. He hefted the crate onto one shoulder and led them towards the back. “We’ve got a special guest of honour tonight,” Jack called over his shoulder. “A real local celebrity.”

A single bare bulb lit a heavy steel door, propped open with a brick. Jack kicked the brick away and the door swung wide.

The smell hit Ted first. It was a chemical mix of formaldehyde, floral air freshener, and stale cigarettes. The air was thick with smoke. A fan blew across a deep steel pan of dry ice, sending fog across the floor. Through the haze, monstrous shapes danced to the music. A mummy swayed with a purple Catwoman. A vampire in a vicar’s cape slumped in a chair, smoking a Woodbine.

It was the funeral home’s preparation room. White tiled walls rose to a high ceiling. Stainless steel tables gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

Three of those tables held the party’s centrepiece. Three bodies covered in white sheets.

Mega.

The press of people warmed the room, but not enough to stop Ted’s teeth from chattering. He followed Jack to the bar, a steel trolley where surgical tools had been replaced with bottles of spirits. Jack set down the Skol.

Ted grabbed a can and opened it with his keys. The cold lager chilled him further. Alice appeared beside him with her whisky.

“Looks like you need this more than me.” She passed the open bottle to him.

He gratefully took a swallow, the fiery liquid warming his belly. The DJ started playing ‘Season of the Witch’ by Donovan. “It’s your song.”

“At last. That ghastly heavy metal is over.”

Ted almost corrected her, but she had the whisky, and the cold had sharpened the lines of her figure beneath the costume. He took another deep pull from the bottle instead.

Tony grabbed a drink from the bar. “Oi, Jack, where’s the celebrity?”

Jack pointed a clumsy, stitched glove towards the body in the centre.

The music changed to Judas Priest’s ‘Breaking the Law’. Tony swaggered over to the central table, holding a bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale. “Let’s have a look then.”

“Not yet. Wait till more people are here,” Jack protested, trying to get between the werewolf and the table.

“Please tell me that is a real body,” Alice said.

Ted looked at her. His brief attraction cooled to match the room’s temperature.

Tony pulled back the sheet from the corpse’s face. It was an elderly woman with fine, pale features and neatly styled grey hair. He prized her lips open and poured ale into her mouth. “Thirsty old bird, isn’t she?”

Alice laughed and pulled a lipstick from her bag.

Jack stepped back. “Guys, please. Just look, hey? If it gets damaged, I’ll get in trouble.”

A ripple of cruel, drunken laughter went through the room. Alice leaned over the body and applied bright red lipstick to the woman’s thin lips.

“That is enough,” Ted said. “You heard Jack.” He tried to pull Alice away. She shrugged him off.

Tony squared up to him. “Oi. Leave my sister alone.”

“We are just having some fun,” Alice said. The other revellers pressed around the body. Someone pulled the sheet completely away, exposing the woman’s naked form.

“Urgh, that is so gross,” Alice giggled.

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes darted around the room, looking for support that was not there.

“That is enough.” Ted picked up the sheet and made to cover the woman.

Tony ripped it from his hands.

Ted gritted his teeth. “I am warning you.”

He never finished. Tony’s fist hit his jaw. Ted blinked and found himself on the floor. He touched the back of his head and his fingers came away bloody where he had hit the tiles. His He-Man wig lay a few feet away.

“She is dead,” Tony loomed over him. “Who the fuck cares?”

There was a click.

“Guess I do, mate.”

Everyone turned. A man in a suit stood by the door. He pulled the key from the lock and dropped it into his pocket. He sniffed. “People in London used to have respect. Know what I mean?”

“Who the hell are you?” Tony cracked his neck and swaggered towards the man.

Tony’s head snapped back. Even with Alice Cooper’s ‘I Love the Dead’ blasting from the speakers, the sharp sound of the pistol shot was unmistakable. The back of Tony’s skull vanished, spraying blood and grey matter over the partygoers behind him.

“I’m the man with the gun.”

Alice screamed.

“Now then.” The man took a position by the door.

Jack approached, his hands outstretched. “I work here. We are just having a few drinks. We won’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t suppose you will.” The man raised his pistol and opened fire into the crowd. Ted cried out as boots stamped over him. He tried to crawl as bodies dropped around him. A stiletto heel crushed his left hand, snapping the small bones. He scrambled over the body of a ghost, the sharp smell of voided bowels filling his nostrils. The shooting paused only for the time it took the man to reload.

Ted slithered through blood until he found a cabinet to hide behind.

The music stopped.

He peeked out. The man walked through the charnel house, putting a bullet into the head of anyone still moving. Ted flinched at every shot. Tears ran down his face. His furry pants grew warm as his bladder failed.

Silence filled the room.

Ted looked across the floor and saw Jack, the only other survivor, huddled under a table.

The man with the gun walked towards the dead woman. His polished shoes clacked on the tiles. He gently replaced the sheet over her body. He took a clean white handkerchief from his breast pocket and carefully wiped the lipstick from her mouth.

He stood for a full minute, just looking at her face. The silence stretched. Ted felt his heart hammering his ribs.

Finally, the man turned. He had known where Ted was hiding all along.

“Do either of you donkeys know who this is?”

Neither of them answered. Jack stared at the floor.

“You do then,“ the man said, his voice dropping. “This is Violet Kray.”

Ted’s blood ran cold. Violet Kray. Mother of Ronnie and Reggie. The Queen Mother of the East End’s most feared firm.

“I didn’t know,” Ted mumbled.

“They weren’t supposed to do anything,” Jack said. “It was just for Halloween. To set the scene. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

The man in the suit smiled. It was a horrible sight, all teeth and no warmth. “No disrespect,” he repeated softly. “You hold a piss-up. You lay your filthy hands all over her, douse her in your cheap beer, and paint her like a whore. Is that what you call no disrespect?”

He stepped over the bodies.

“Come here.” He ejected the magazine from his pistol, then worked the slide to check a bullet was in the chamber.

Neither Ted nor Jack moved.

“If you don’t come and kneel before me right now, this is going to go proper wrong for you,” he barked. “Now!”

Ted stumbled from his hiding place and knelt before the man, head down, expecting the bullet. Beside him, Jack knelt, babbling.

“You. He-Man. Look up.”

Ted forced his gaze upwards. The man was offering him the pistol, grip first.

“Go on. I ain’t waiting all day. Take it.”

Nursing his injured left hand, Ted reached out with his right hand. His trembling fingers closed around the cold metal.

“I saw you trying to stop this. I reckon you might be alright.” The man stepped back. “So, by the power of Greyskull, you have the pistol.” He looked at Jack. “One bullet. One of you dies tonight, the other lives. You choose.”

Ted looked at the pistol, then at Jack, who was praying. He looked back at the man and raised the gun, aiming it at his chest.

“Well, you could try that, I guess.” The man looked unconcerned. “See how the dice roll.”

Ted’s finger tightened on the trigger.

There was only one choice, really.

THE END

Sweet screams, my dears!

‘till next time.

Newt xx

Greetings, my wicked darlings,

I’m fully recovered and back to writing full time. I’ve been pounding out a Roman murder mystery set in Britain around the time of Boudicca’s revolt. In between toga-wearing chapters, I wrote a small Halloween treat for you.

It’s called Respect and is about the very real consequences people face when they don’t show it.

While I was ill, I read two fantastic books last month, Beast of Burden by Judith Sonnet and Dead Girl Blues by David Sodergren. Beast of Burden was a heartwarming tribute to the joys of being in a heavy metal band, with some light horror in the third act. Dead Girl Blues was a wonderful noir-style investigative horror, that inspired me to write my own murder mystery. I have written one in the past with The Heir Apparent, but I’m eager to do another one, and Roman Britain is a time ripe with suspicion.

For those who are interested in a reader copy of Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3 it is available from BookSprout if you click HERE.

Newt xx

Contents

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Horror Story Compilations

FREE eBook: Respect

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Available in eBook and Paperback, hardback coming soon.

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.

Horror Story Compilations

Fill Your Kindle for All Hallows’ Eve: 101 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 68 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’.

FREE Halloween Horror: 33 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’, ‘The Spinster’, ‘12 Minutes’, and ‘Gomorrah’, and ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’.

Spooktober Sales: 56 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

FREE eBook: Respect

On Halloween night in 1982, a debauched party in an East End funeral home turns into a bloodbath.

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31st October 1982. Bethnal Green.
The air had a bitter edge. Ted felt it on his ears as he hurried down the alley behind Blackwood & Sons Funeral Directors to the mortuary. Steam plumed from his mouth. He clutched a crate of Skol, the cans ice cold against his hands.

Why did I wear this?

The long coat over his He-Man costume did little to keep out the chill. The cold made his bare, hairy legs itch. He had looked forward to the party all week, ever since Jack mentioned it at The Rose and Crown. Jack’s parties were legendary.

Ted balanced the crate on his knee and freed a hand to ring the bell.

A woman in a witch costume appeared behind him. “I’ll get that.”

“Ah, thanks. I’ll repay you with a Skol.” Ted immediately regretted it when he saw the man beside her, a heavy-set figure in a werewolf mask and a denim jacket covered with Saxon and Iron Maiden patches. “How do you know Jack?”

She rang the bell. “Met him a few times when he was drunk. I’m Alice. This is my brother, Tony.”

Brother. Ted offered a silent prayer of thanks.

“I’m Ted. I’d shake your hand, but…” He gestured with the crate.

“We brought whisky. Easier to carry.” She produced a bottle from her corset.

Ted raised an eyebrow. “Nice trick.”

The side door opened. The bassline from Black Sabbath’s ‘Children of the Grave’ rolled out into the alley. Jack stood there, dressed as Lurch. “You rang?”

Ted pushed the crate into Jack’s arms and slipped inside. The hoped-for warmth was absent. The mortuary was as cold as the street.

“Turn the heating up, mate.” Ted took off his coat and hung it over a chair.

“No can do. You’ll see why soon. Come on.” Jack’s breath smelled of tobacco and mints. He hefted the crate onto one shoulder and led them towards the back. “We’ve got a special guest of honour tonight,” Jack called over his shoulder. “A real local celebrity.”

A single bare bulb lit a heavy steel door, propped open with a brick. Jack kicked the brick away and the door swung wide.

The smell hit Ted first. It was a chemical mix of formaldehyde, floral air freshener, and stale cigarettes. The air was thick with smoke. A fan blew across a deep steel pan of dry ice, sending fog across the floor. Through the haze, monstrous shapes danced to the music. A mummy swayed with a purple Catwoman. A vampire in a vicar’s cape slumped in a chair, smoking a Woodbine.

It was the funeral home’s preparation room. White tiled walls rose to a high ceiling. Stainless steel tables gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

Three of those tables held the party’s centrepiece. Three bodies covered in white sheets.

Mega.

The press of people warmed the room, but not enough to stop Ted’s teeth from chattering. He followed Jack to the bar, a steel trolley where surgical tools had been replaced with bottles of spirits. Jack set down the Skol.

Ted grabbed a can and opened it with his keys. The cold lager chilled him further. Alice appeared beside him with her whisky.

“Looks like you need this more than me.” She passed the open bottle to him.

He gratefully took a swallow, the fiery liquid warming his belly. The DJ started playing ‘Season of the Witch’ by Donovan. “It’s your song.”

“At last. That ghastly heavy metal is over.”

Ted almost corrected her, but she had the whisky, and the cold had sharpened the lines of her figure beneath the costume. He took another deep pull from the bottle instead.

Tony grabbed a drink from the bar. “Oi, Jack, where’s the celebrity?”

Jack pointed a clumsy, stitched glove towards the body in the centre.

The music changed to Judas Priest’s ‘Breaking the Law’. Tony swaggered over to the central table, holding a bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale. “Let’s have a look then.”

“Not yet. Wait till more people are here,” Jack protested, trying to get between the werewolf and the table.

“Please tell me that is a real body,” Alice said.

Ted looked at her. His brief attraction cooled to match the room’s temperature.

Tony pulled back the sheet from the corpse’s face. It was an elderly woman with fine, pale features and neatly styled grey hair. He prized her lips open and poured ale into her mouth. “Thirsty old bird, isn’t she?”

Alice laughed and pulled a lipstick from her bag.

Jack stepped back. “Guys, please. Just look, hey? If it gets damaged, I’ll get in trouble.”

A ripple of cruel, drunken laughter went through the room. Alice leaned over the body and applied bright red lipstick to the woman’s thin lips.

“That is enough,” Ted said. “You heard Jack.” He tried to pull Alice away. She shrugged him off.

Tony squared up to him. “Oi. Leave my sister alone.”

“We are just having some fun,” Alice said. The other revellers pressed around the body. Someone pulled the sheet completely away, exposing the woman’s naked form.

“Urgh, that is so gross,” Alice giggled.

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes darted around the room, looking for support that was not there.

“That is enough.” Ted picked up the sheet and made to cover the woman.

Tony ripped it from his hands.

Ted gritted his teeth. “I am warning you.”

He never finished. Tony’s fist hit his jaw. Ted blinked and found himself on the floor. He touched the back of his head and his fingers came away bloody where he had hit the tiles. His He-Man wig lay a few feet away.

“She is dead,” Tony loomed over him. “Who the fuck cares?”

There was a click.

“Guess I do, mate.”

Everyone turned. A man in a suit stood by the door. He pulled the key from the lock and dropped it into his pocket. He sniffed. “People in London used to have respect. Know what I mean?”

“Who the hell are you?” Tony cracked his neck and swaggered towards the man.

Tony’s head snapped back. Even with Alice Cooper’s ‘I Love the Dead’ blasting from the speakers, the sharp sound of the pistol shot was unmistakable. The back of Tony’s skull vanished, spraying blood and grey matter over the partygoers behind him.

“I’m the man with the gun.”

Alice screamed.

“Now then.” The man took a position by the door.

Jack approached, his hands outstretched. “I work here. We are just having a few drinks. We won’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t suppose you will.” The man raised his pistol and opened fire into the crowd. Ted cried out as boots stamped over him. He tried to crawl as bodies dropped around him. A stiletto heel crushed his left hand, snapping the small bones. He scrambled over the body of a ghost, the sharp smell of voided bowels filling his nostrils. The shooting paused only for the time it took the man to reload.

Ted slithered through blood until he found a cabinet to hide behind.

The music stopped.

He peeked out. The man walked through the charnel house, putting a bullet into the head of anyone still moving. Ted flinched at every shot. Tears ran down his face. His furry pants grew warm as his bladder failed.

Silence filled the room.

Ted looked across the floor and saw Jack, the only other survivor, huddled under a table.

The man with the gun walked towards the dead woman. His polished shoes clacked on the tiles. He gently replaced the sheet over her body. He took a clean white handkerchief from his breast pocket and carefully wiped the lipstick from her mouth.

He stood for a full minute, just looking at her face. The silence stretched. Ted felt his heart hammering his ribs.

Finally, the man turned. He had known where Ted was hiding all along.

“Do either of you donkeys know who this is?”

Neither of them answered. Jack stared at the floor.

“You do then,“ the man said, his voice dropping. “This is Violet Kray.”

Ted’s blood ran cold. Violet Kray. Mother of Ronnie and Reggie. The Queen Mother of the East End’s most feared firm.

“I didn’t know,” Ted mumbled.

“They weren’t supposed to do anything,” Jack said. “It was just for Halloween. To set the scene. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

The man in the suit smiled. It was a horrible sight, all teeth and no warmth. “No disrespect,” he repeated softly. “You hold a piss-up. You lay your filthy hands all over her, douse her in your cheap beer, and paint her like a whore. Is that what you call no disrespect?”

He stepped over the bodies.

“Come here.” He ejected the magazine from his pistol, then worked the slide to check a bullet was in the chamber.

Neither Ted nor Jack moved.

“If you don’t come and kneel before me right now, this is going to go proper wrong for you,” he barked. “Now!”

Ted stumbled from his hiding place and knelt before the man, head down, expecting the bullet. Beside him, Jack knelt, babbling.

“You. He-Man. Look up.”

Ted forced his gaze upwards. The man was offering him the pistol, grip first.

“Go on. I ain’t waiting all day. Take it.”

Nursing his injured left hand, Ted reached out with his right hand. His trembling fingers closed around the cold metal.

“I saw you trying to stop this. I reckon you might be alright.” The man stepped back. “So, by the power of Greyskull, you have the pistol.” He looked at Jack. “One bullet. One of you dies tonight, the other lives. You choose.”

Ted looked at the pistol, then at Jack, who was praying. He looked back at the man and raised the gun, aiming it at his chest.

“Well, you could try that, I guess.” The man looked unconcerned. “See how the dice roll.”

Ted’s finger tightened on the trigger.

There was only one choice, really.

THE END

Sweet screams, my dears!

‘till next time.

Newt xx

Newt's Nightmares

Greetings, my wicked darlings!

The Newt is healed. Well, mostly. A steady diet of chicken soup and green tea gut-punched the flu, and I’m back in action. I did write a story while fever struck, but it was not at the level of quality that I am happy publishing. Homicidal newts are fun and all, but perhaps fever isn’t always the best muse.

Fun fact, Festival of the Damned was written when I had COVID.

Speaking of which, I was dabbling while ill with Elsie. The lucky darling was happily murdering gangsters in a bar.

Subscribe now

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

FREE eBooks

Live Narration of TotM 1

Review Reader Opportunity (TotM 3)

Horror Story Compilations

Who I’ve Been Chatting To

What I’ve Been Reading

What I’ve Been Watching

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order ($0.99)

Available in eBook and Paperback, hardback coming soon.

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.

FREE eBooks

The Doll House Killer: 1980s Slasher Flash Fiction: A quiet evening of babysitting in Berkshire turns into a bloody battle for survival.

Live Narration of TotM 1

I’m currently auditioning narrators for the audiobook of TotM v1. I narrated most of it myself over the years, which you can find below, but wanted a higher studio quality for the final audiobook.

The Grimsdyke Ghouls: (renamed from The Hastings Harvest) In the 16th century, a family kicked out from their homes in Grimsdyke finds a new and murderous way to survive.

The Black Fog: When the black fog rolls in, death follows. In 1950‘s Grimsdyke, two lovers encounter a horror unlike any other.

Rock Bottom: Aussie back packers come face to face with primal adversaries in the cold peaks of Nepal.

The Platinum Service: When you have almost bottomless wealth, you can buy your way out of almost anything. But sometimes, actions come with unexpected consequences.

Festival of the Damned: Four teenagers are hired to perform at a county fair, but they soon realise that they were each chosen for a very specific reason.

The Sinful Child: Held captive in her father’s basement, Amelia struggles to escape. But reality isn’t always what it appears to be and soon she will learn an earth-shattering secret.

Terror from the Trash: Climate change is a very real threat to the world, but scientists find new perils, as something long thought to be dead, awakens.

The Tattoo: A hitchhiker and a lorry driver exchange tales on the road. Soon, they realise that neither of them is whom they claim to be.

The Tokoloshe: In South Africa, there exists a demonic entity that can make wishes come true, but the consequences cannot always be predicted.

The Heir Apparent: Keen to support his parents’ failing farm, Keith asks his wealthy cousins for a position in the family firm. As he becomes more and more entrenched in the business, he discovers that limitless ambition can be murderous.

The Wrong Crowd: Tim just wanted to apologise to his girlfriend, but soon finds himself in peril as he accidentally joins a very exclusive, very deadly club.

The Black Box: Waking up from a coma after a severe accident. Jack finds it is better to read the small print when offering your body to medical science. The Illusive Passenger In the distant future, a freighter captain picks up a most unusual cargo.

The Ghouls of Bangalore: In outer space, greed and narcism still plague the human race. An engineer whose life is at its nadir learns a terrifying secret.

Thanks for reading Newton’s Tales of the Macabre! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Review Reader Opportunity

I’ve teamed up with BookSprout to offer review copies of Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3 if anyone is looking for a complimentary eBook.

https://booksprout.co/reviewer/review-copy/view/234536/tales-of-the-macabre-vol-3-eighteen-stories-of-ghoulish-terror

Horror Story Compilations

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 68 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’.

FREE Halloween Horror: 33 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’, ‘The Spinster’, ‘12 Minutes’, and ‘Gomorrah’, and ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’.

Spooktober Sales: 56 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’

What I’ve Been Reading

I read six books in October. My top three being:

Rotten Tommy by David Sodergren. This cost me a night’s sleep. It has all the most vital components of horror. Lighthouses, muppets and pugs. I cannot recommend this book or David Sodergren enough.

Night Shoot by David Sodergren. You can’t go wrong with David Sodergren. Mutant rich people, cannibalism, degenerate. A wonderful mix.

Our Dead Girlfriend by Jon Athan. Utterly gross and morally reprehensible. I fully recommend it.

If anyone wants to listen to my author chat with David Sodergren, it is HERE.

Also, the following Substacks I follow released:

A E Deakin: Released the free short story ‘Signed Off’

A J Burton: Released the free short stories ‘A Day with Death’, ‘Delvina’.

What I’ve Been Watching

I watched twenty six horror movies. The top three being:

Tammy and the T-Rex

Mama

Taste of Fear

Who I’ve Been Chatting To

Author Chat #10: Tracy Fahey

Tracy Fahey is an award-winning Irish author of six books. Her collection, I Spit Myself Out, won the 2025 Rubery International Book Award and her novella What Happens At The End, was awarded the 2024 Paul Cave Prize for Literature. Fahey has been a British Fantasy Award finalist in 2017, 2022, and 2024, and in 2024 she was also shortlisted for the London Independent Story Prize. In 2023 she received a Saari Fellowship from the Kone Foundation.

Sample her short story ‘I Look Like You, I Speak Like You, I Walk Like You’ here.

Author Chat #11: Ash Ericmore

Ash Ericmore is a British horror author. He resides in the south, in the Garden of England. He writes horror that is sometimes fantastical, sometimes grounded, but always deeply graphic, and black with humour.

You can find him at his website by searching Google for ashericmore, or on Facebook, Patreon, Twitter and more!

Tales of the Macabre

You can find my stories on Amazon, as Kindle Unlimited, eBook, Paperback or Hardback.

This collection of stories is designed for quick reads, whether over a coffee or during a commute. Either way, they promise to deliver exquisitely disturbing nightmares that gaze without flinching into the abyss—and linger in the mind long after.

FREE on Kindle Unlimited

Available to order on AMAZON.

Welcome to the complete collected works of Newton Webb. Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1-3 are intended for mature audiences.

Read a collection of free short stories or listen to free audiobooks by Newton Webb on his website.

Visit my website

Greetings, my wicked darlings,

A host of treats for you below.

I am currently laid up with a rotten cold, so expect many plague related stories in the future.

Newt xx

Contents

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Review Reader Opportunity (TotM 2)

Horror Story Compilations

FREE eBook: The Doll House Killer

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Available in eBook and Paperback, hardback coming soon.

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.

Review Reader Opportunity

I’ve teamed up with BookSprout to offer review copies of Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2 if anyone is looking for a complimentary eBook.

https://booksprout.co/reviewer/review-copy/view/234533/tales-of-the-macabre-vol-2-eleven-scary-stories-of-spine-chilling-terror

Horror Story Compilations

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 81 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Spinster’, ‘The Wild Hunt’.

(These compilations have only one day left to go, so take advantage of them while you can.)

September Screams: 35 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Spinster’, ‘The Dead Man’s Trousers’, ‘The Silvergate Initiative’, ‘What Came Down’ and ‘Justice is Unlimited’.

Sales from the Pit: 24 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Festival of the Damned,’ ‘The Morrígan.’

FREE eBook: The Doll House Killer

A quiet evening of babysitting in 1980s Berkshire turns into a bloody battle for survival.

Download

‘Police have confirmed the escape of a dangerous patient from Broadmoor Hospital in Berkshire.

Newspapers have dubbed the fugitive ‘The Doll House Killer,’ in reference to—’

Layla clicked off the radio. She hummed a jaunty tune as she waltzed around the kitchen with the kettle. She filled it at the sink, swaying her hips to a rhythm only she could hear.

Smiling, she rummaged through the Wilkinsons’ kitchen. “Not long now, my darlings.”
In the second cupboard, she found a corked ceramic jar labelled ‘TEA’.

“Ah,” she said, pulling it down. She found milk in the fridge and made three cups of tea in delicate porcelain mugs.

“My little beauties, have you got any biscuits?” She crossed her arms, disappointed. “No biscuits. Unbelievable. That’s criminal.”

The telephone rang, its shrill cry cutting through the quiet.

Layla stiffened. She looked down at the three steaming cups, her lips pursed. “Guess the tea will have to wait.”

Walking towards the hall, she paused. The front door stood open a few inches.

“That’s odd.” She hummed.

Ignoring the ringing phone, she walked to the front door and pushed it shut. The bolt slid home with a heavy clunk.

“I swear I shut that.”

The answerphone beeped. A tinny voice filled the silence. “Hello? Hello. Just checking in to see how the kids are doing. We heard the news—”

A floorboard creaked above her.

Layla’s head snapped up. She moved to the bottom of the staircase, her hand brushing against the wallpaper. The stairwell looked empty. She slowly peered around the corner, her gaze travelling up the crimson carpet runner.

An impact threw her against the wall. The back of her skull cracked against the plaster.

A man snarled at her. “Where are the children?”

She looked up into his frantic eyes.

“Where are they?” He repeated.

Layla drove a knee toward his groin. He twisted, blocking with his thigh, but the move left his face exposed. She slammed her forehead into his nose. Cartilage gave way with a crack. He shrieked and staggered back. Blood poured through his fingers.

“Bitch!” he howled, reeling back and clutching his face.

Layla scrambled, trying to run past him up the stairs. A hand gripped her ankle. her palms slapping against the carpet. Snarling, she kicked back, her heel connecting with his cheek. He grunted, his grip tightening. He hauled on her ankle, dragging her down one step, then another. The carpet fibres scraped her skin raw.

“Get. Off.” She struggled against his strength.

He pulled her the rest of the way down and leapt on top of her. “Where are the kids?” he screamed. Blood and spittle sprayed her face.

His weight was immense, crushing her. His hands found her throat. They squeezed. The world shrank to a dark tunnel. Her lungs burned. She stopped fighting his wrists. Instead, she drove her thumbs hard into his eyes.

He screamed, a high, panicked sound that sounded alien coming from a man’s throat. His hands flew to his face. The pressure on her throat vanished. Layla gasped, the air searing her throat. She drew her knees to her chest and bucked, throwing his weight off her. He stumbled sideways, clawing blindly for the banister, and missed. She surged to her feet and shoved the heels of both hands into the centre of his chest.

He fell backwards into the stairwell. There was a wet, heavy crack as his head hit the wall. He lay twitching.

Shaken, she stood up, her breath coming in ragged bursts. She stepped over his twitching body and went back towards the kitchen. He was already stirring, shaking his head as he followed her, one hand covering his ruined face.

Layla felt his hand on her shoulder as she entered through the kitchen door. Her eyes locked on the knife block. She squirmed free. He grabbed her again, pinning her against the worktop. Her fingers stretched, inches away from the chef’s knife.

She twisted her body. Her left hand snaked out and closed around the handle. She pulled the blade free for the briefest of seconds before his fist caught her on the jaw. The world went white for a second. The knife clattered to the lino floor.

Layla slid down the wall, her legs giving way.

He lunged at her prone form. “I won’t let you—”

She rolled onto her back. Her fingers found the fallen knife on the lino. As his weight descended, she drove the blade up with all her strength. She felt the point resist against his sternum, then punch through with a sickening give. The blade sank into his chest to the hilt.

“No, no,” he gurgled, a red foam blooming on his lips. “The children…”

She watched the light drain from his eyes, then shoved his body aside. Painfully, she lifted herself to her feet and stumbled away from the corpse.

The phone started ringing again.

Exhausted, she stared at it.

Chapter Two

Sam and Clara pulled into the driveway. Clara was out of the car before Sam had turned off the ignition.

The front door was ajar.

“Jo? Kim?” she called. Her voice trembled. She walked into the kitchen and cried out, her hand flying to her chest as she saw the blood smeared across the floor and cabinets. Sam joined her, pushing her gently behind him.

“David!” she cried, following Sam as he traced the bloody trail to the living room.

“Oh God,” Sam said, stepping back.

Clara moved around him. Their babysitter, David, was slumped in an armchair. A cold cup of tea sat on the table next to him. The radio beside him was on, blaring out a news report.

Ignoring it, Clara turned and ran up the stairs. “Jo! Kim!”

She collapsed to her knees in the doorway of the girls’ bedroom, a long, tearing scream ripping from her throat.

Downstairs, the sound of the radio filtered through the house.

‘Police have confirmed the escape of a dangerous patient from Broadmoor Hospital in Berkshire.

Newspapers have dubbed the fugitive ‘The Doll House Killer,’ in reference to the circumstances of four murders committed between 1979 and 1981.

The victims, all children under the age of ten, were discovered posed with toys and furniture arranged to resemble dolls’ play settings.

The individual detained for the crimes is a seventeen-year-old girl, who had been held at the hospital since her arrest last year.

Police are urging the public to remain vigilant and to contact them immediately with any information.’

Sweet screams, my dears!

Newt xx

Greetings, my wicked darlings,

A host of treats for you below.

I am currently laid up with a rotten cold, so expect many plague related stories in the future.

Newt xx

Contents

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Review Reader Opportunity (TotM 2)

Horror Story Compilations

FREE eBook: The Doll House Killer

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4 Pre-Order

Available in eBook and Paperback, hardback coming soon.

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.

Review Reader Opportunity

I’ve teamed up with BookSprout to offer review copies of Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2 if anyone is looking for a complimentary eBook.

https://booksprout.co/reviewer/review-copy/view/234533/tales-of-the-macabre-vol-2-eleven-scary-stories-of-spine-chilling-terror

Horror Story Compilations

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza!: 81 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Spinster’, ‘The Wild Hunt’.

(These compilations have only one day left to go, so take advantage of them while you can.)

September Screams: 35 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Spinster’, ‘The Dead Man’s Trousers’, ‘The Silvergate Initiative’, ‘What Came Down’ and ‘Justice is Unlimited’.

Sales from the Pit: 24 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Festival of the Damned,’ ‘The Morrígan.’

FREE eBook: The Doll House Killer

A quiet evening of babysitting in 1980s Berkshire turns into a bloody battle for survival.

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‘Police have confirmed the escape of a dangerous patient from Broadmoor Hospital in Berkshire.

Newspapers have dubbed the fugitive ‘The Doll House Killer,’ in reference to—’

Layla clicked off the radio. She hummed a jaunty tune as she waltzed around the kitchen with the kettle. She filled it at the sink, swaying her hips to a rhythm only she could hear.

Smiling, she rummaged through the Wilkinsons’ kitchen. “Not long now, my darlings.”
In the second cupboard, she found a corked ceramic jar labelled ‘TEA’.

“Ah,” she said, pulling it down. She found milk in the fridge and made three cups of tea in delicate porcelain mugs.

“My little beauties, have you got any biscuits?” She crossed her arms, disappointed. “No biscuits. Unbelievable. That’s criminal.”

The telephone rang, its shrill cry cutting through the quiet.

Layla stiffened. She looked down at the three steaming cups, her lips pursed. “Guess the tea will have to wait.”

Walking towards the hall, she paused. The front door stood open a few inches.

“That’s odd.” She hummed.

Ignoring the ringing phone, she walked to the front door and pushed it shut. The bolt slid home with a heavy clunk.

“I swear I shut that.”

The answerphone beeped. A tinny voice filled the silence. “Hello? Hello. Just checking in to see how the kids are doing. We heard the news—”

A floorboard creaked above her.

Layla’s head snapped up. She moved to the bottom of the staircase, her hand brushing against the wallpaper. The stairwell looked empty. She slowly peered around the corner, her gaze travelling up the crimson carpet runner.

An impact threw her against the wall. The back of her skull cracked against the plaster.

A man snarled at her. “Where are the children?”

She looked up into his frantic eyes.

“Where are they?” He repeated.

Layla drove a knee toward his groin. He twisted, blocking with his thigh, but the move left his face exposed. She slammed her forehead into his nose. Cartilage gave way with a crack. He shrieked and staggered back. Blood poured through his fingers.

“Bitch!” he howled, reeling back and clutching his face.

Layla scrambled, trying to run past him up the stairs. A hand gripped her ankle. her palms slapping against the carpet. Snarling, she kicked back, her heel connecting with his cheek. He grunted, his grip tightening. He hauled on her ankle, dragging her down one step, then another. The carpet fibres scraped her skin raw.

“Get. Off.” She struggled against his strength.

He pulled her the rest of the way down and leapt on top of her. “Where are the kids?” he screamed. Blood and spittle sprayed her face.

His weight was immense, crushing her. His hands found her throat. They squeezed. The world shrank to a dark tunnel. Her lungs burned. She stopped fighting his wrists. Instead, she drove her thumbs hard into his eyes.

He screamed, a high, panicked sound that sounded alien coming from a man’s throat. His hands flew to his face. The pressure on her throat vanished. Layla gasped, the air searing her throat. She drew her knees to her chest and bucked, throwing his weight off her. He stumbled sideways, clawing blindly for the banister, and missed. She surged to her feet and shoved the heels of both hands into the centre of his chest.

He fell backwards into the stairwell. There was a wet, heavy crack as his head hit the wall. He lay twitching.

Shaken, she stood up, her breath coming in ragged bursts. She stepped over his twitching body and went back towards the kitchen. He was already stirring, shaking his head as he followed her, one hand covering his ruined face.

Layla felt his hand on her shoulder as she entered through the kitchen door. Her eyes locked on the knife block. She squirmed free. He grabbed her again, pinning her against the worktop. Her fingers stretched, inches away from the chef’s knife.

She twisted her body. Her left hand snaked out and closed around the handle. She pulled the blade free for the briefest of seconds before his fist caught her on the jaw. The world went white for a second. The knife clattered to the lino floor.

Layla slid down the wall, her legs giving way.

He lunged at her prone form. “I won’t let you—”

She rolled onto her back. Her fingers found the fallen knife on the lino. As his weight descended, she drove the blade up with all her strength. She felt the point resist against his sternum, then punch through with a sickening give. The blade sank into his chest to the hilt.

“No, no,” he gurgled, a red foam blooming on his lips. “The children…”

She watched the light drain from his eyes, then shoved his body aside. Painfully, she lifted herself to her feet and stumbled away from the corpse.

The phone started ringing again.

Exhausted, she stared at it.

Chapter Two

Sam and Clara pulled into the driveway. Clara was out of the car before Sam had turned off the ignition.

The front door was ajar.

“Jo? Kim?” she called. Her voice trembled. She walked into the kitchen and cried out, her hand flying to her chest as she saw the blood smeared across the floor and cabinets. Sam joined her, pushing her gently behind him.

“David!” she cried, following Sam as he traced the bloody trail to the living room.

“Oh God,” Sam said, stepping back.

Clara moved around him. Their babysitter, David, was slumped in an armchair. A cold cup of tea sat on the table next to him. The radio beside him was on, blaring out a news report.

Ignoring it, Clara turned and ran up the stairs. “Jo! Kim!”

She collapsed to her knees in the doorway of the girls’ bedroom, a long, tearing scream ripping from her throat.

Downstairs, the sound of the radio filtered through the house.

‘Police have confirmed the escape of a dangerous patient from Broadmoor Hospital in Berkshire.

Newspapers have dubbed the fugitive ‘The Doll House Killer,’ in reference to the circumstances of four murders committed between 1979 and 1981.

The victims, all children under the age of ten, were discovered posed with toys and furniture arranged to resemble dolls’ play settings.

The individual detained for the crimes is a seventeen-year-old girl, who had been held at the hospital since her arrest last year.

Police are urging the public to remain vigilant and to contact them immediately with any information.’

Sweet screams, my dears!

Newt xx