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Twelve Days of Winter: Crime at Christmas #9
Ladies Dancing
Ninth story in a collection of interlinked bite-sized tales of crime and retribution laced with dark humour, set around the festive season – the perfect length for a short commute. Includes first chapters of Shatter the Bones and Birthdays for the Dead.
Kayleigh’s a professional. But lap-dancing has rules. And when someone breaks the rules…
- GenresChristmas
22 pages, Kindle Edition
First published December 9, 2011
About the author
Stuart MacBride
87 books2,777 followersAka Stuart B. MacBride
The life and times of a bearded write-ist.
Stuart MacBride (that's me) was born in Dumbarton -- which is Glasgow as far as I'm concerned -- moving up to Aberdeen at the tender age of two, when fashions were questionable. Nothing much happened for years and years and years: learned to play the recorder, then forgot how when they changed from little coloured dots to proper musical notes (why the hell couldn't they have taught us the notes in the first bloody place? I could have been performing my earth-shattering rendition of 'Three Blind Mice' at the Albert Hall by now!); appeared in some bizarre World War Two musical production; did my best to avoid eating haggis and generally ran about the place a lot.
Next up was an elongated spell in Westhill -- a small suburb seven miles west of Aberdeen -- where I embarked upon a mediocre academic career, hindered by a complete inability to spell and an attention span the length of a gnat's doodad.
And so to UNIVERSITY, far too young, naive and stupid to be away from the family home, sharing a subterranean flat in one of the seedier bits of Edinburgh with a mad Irishman, and four other bizarre individuals. The highlight of walking to the art school in the mornings (yes: we were students, but we still did mornings) was trying not to tread in the fresh bloodstains outside our front door, and dodging the undercover CID officers trying to buy drugs. Lovely place.
But university and I did not see eye to eye, so off I went to work offshore. Like many all-male environments, working offshore was the intellectual equivalent of Animal House, only without the clever bits. Swearing, smoking, eating, more swearing, pornography, swearing, drinking endless plastic cups of tea... and did I mention the swearing? But it was more money than I'd seen in my life! There's something about being handed a wadge of cash as you clamber off the minibus from the heliport, having spent the last two weeks offshore and the last two hours in an orange, rubber romper suit / body bag, then blowing most of it in the pubs and clubs of Aberdeen. And being young enough to get away without a hangover.
Then came a spell of working for myself as a graphic designer, which went the way of all flesh and into the heady world of studio management for a nation-wide marketing company. Then some more freelance design work, a handful of voiceovers for local radio and video production companies and a bash at being an actor (with a small 'a'), giving it up when it became clear there was no way I was ever going to be good enough to earn a decent living.
It was about this time I fell into bad company -- a blonde from Fife who conned me into marrying her -- and started producing websites for a friend's fledgling Internet company. From there it was a roller coaster ride (in that it made a lot of people feel decidedly unwell) from web designer to web manager, lead programmer, team lead and other assorted technical bollocks with three different companies, eventually ending up as a project manager for a global IT company.
But there was always the writing (well, that's not true, the writing only started two chapters above this one). I fell victim to that most dreadful of things: peer pressure. Two friends were writing novels and I thought, 'why not? I could do that'.
Took a few years though...
The life and times of a bearded write-ist.
Stuart MacBride (that's me) was born in Dumbarton -- which is Glasgow as far as I'm concerned -- moving up to Aberdeen at the tender age of two, when fashions were questionable. Nothing much happened for years and years and years: learned to play the recorder, then forgot how when they changed from little coloured dots to proper musical notes (why the hell couldn't they have taught us the notes in the first bloody place? I could have been performing my earth-shattering rendition of 'Three Blind Mice' at the Albert Hall by now!); appeared in some bizarre World War Two musical production; did my best to avoid eating haggis and generally ran about the place a lot.
Next up was an elongated spell in Westhill -- a small suburb seven miles west of Aberdeen -- where I embarked upon a mediocre academic career, hindered by a complete inability to spell and an attention span the length of a gnat's doodad.
And so to UNIVERSITY, far too young, naive and stupid to be away from the family home, sharing a subterranean flat in one of the seedier bits of Edinburgh with a mad Irishman, and four other bizarre individuals. The highlight of walking to the art school in the mornings (yes: we were students, but we still did mornings) was trying not to tread in the fresh bloodstains outside our front door, and dodging the undercover CID officers trying to buy drugs. Lovely place.
But university and I did not see eye to eye, so off I went to work offshore. Like many all-male environments, working offshore was the intellectual equivalent of Animal House, only without the clever bits. Swearing, smoking, eating, more swearing, pornography, swearing, drinking endless plastic cups of tea... and did I mention the swearing? But it was more money than I'd seen in my life! There's something about being handed a wadge of cash as you clamber off the minibus from the heliport, having spent the last two weeks offshore and the last two hours in an orange, rubber romper suit / body bag, then blowing most of it in the pubs and clubs of Aberdeen. And being young enough to get away without a hangover.
Then came a spell of working for myself as a graphic designer, which went the way of all flesh and into the heady world of studio management for a nation-wide marketing company. Then some more freelance design work, a handful of voiceovers for local radio and video production companies and a bash at being an actor (with a small 'a'), giving it up when it became clear there was no way I was ever going to be good enough to earn a decent living.
It was about this time I fell into bad company -- a blonde from Fife who conned me into marrying her -- and started producing websites for a friend's fledgling Internet company. From there it was a roller coaster ride (in that it made a lot of people feel decidedly unwell) from web designer to web manager, lead programmer, team lead and other assorted technical bollocks with three different companies, eventually ending up as a project manager for a global IT company.
But there was always the writing (well, that's not true, the writing only started two chapters above this one). I fell victim to that most dreadful of things: peer pressure. Two friends were writing novels and I thought, 'why not? I could do that'.
Took a few years though...
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
December 29, 2018
It is difficult to rate each individual Twelve Days of Winter story, so the following is a review of all twelve stories when read back-to-back.
I’ve had Stuart MacBride’s Twelve Days of Winter sitting on my Kindle for a couple of years now, and each year around Christmas I tell myself to dive in and give it a read. I constantly find myself caught up in other books, though, and by the time I get around to it Christmas is already over. Thus, I decided I would read it early this year. It may only be the start of November, and I’m very much someone who believes such a date is too early for festivities, but I wanted to make sure I was able to read it this year.
Twelve Days of Winter provides us with twelve short stories that link together to give us a gritty tale told in the days leading up to Christmas. Some of the stories are better than others, but all have the usual Stuart MacBride darkness thrown in to keep us interested in reading more.
If I’m being honest, my ratings for these stories vary. I read them back-to-back and as a whole had an almost four-star experience (so close that I had to round my rating up), but individually we have three-star, three-point-five-star, and four-star ratings. Some were more enjoyable than others, and if you read them alone they are simply decent reads. It’s when you read them together that the best effect is had, giving us something that ties together in a great way.
Although Twelve Days of Winter will never be labelled my favourite Stuart MacBride read, it certain kept me hooked throughout.
I’ve had Stuart MacBride’s Twelve Days of Winter sitting on my Kindle for a couple of years now, and each year around Christmas I tell myself to dive in and give it a read. I constantly find myself caught up in other books, though, and by the time I get around to it Christmas is already over. Thus, I decided I would read it early this year. It may only be the start of November, and I’m very much someone who believes such a date is too early for festivities, but I wanted to make sure I was able to read it this year.
Twelve Days of Winter provides us with twelve short stories that link together to give us a gritty tale told in the days leading up to Christmas. Some of the stories are better than others, but all have the usual Stuart MacBride darkness thrown in to keep us interested in reading more.
If I’m being honest, my ratings for these stories vary. I read them back-to-back and as a whole had an almost four-star experience (so close that I had to round my rating up), but individually we have three-star, three-point-five-star, and four-star ratings. Some were more enjoyable than others, and if you read them alone they are simply decent reads. It’s when you read them together that the best effect is had, giving us something that ties together in a great way.
Although Twelve Days of Winter will never be labelled my favourite Stuart MacBride read, it certain kept me hooked throughout.
December 26, 2017
Another dark story with great narration by Ian Hanmore. MacBride's noir is, as always, unsettling and full of matter-of-fact, chilling details that propel the narrative. Nothing is ever what it seems in his stories.
November 3, 2020
A dark little story about the perils of borrowing from a moneylender
January 30, 2023
My rating system
1 Did not like it
2 It was okay
3 I liked/enjoyed it
4 I Loved it
5 It was amazing!
1 Did not like it
2 It was okay
3 I liked/enjoyed it
4 I Loved it
5 It was amazing!
March 28, 2025
Well, this deals with a horror of mine, so... urgh. Ah dudes.
December 19, 2013
grausam, brutal...
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews