The jolly man, his floppy auburn hair flapping about as his feet swiftly slipped and sloshed in the mud, roared with laughter. He held no weapon, and no other person was present to restrain the rich man. He was utterly fixed there by forces unseen, terror writ large on his increasingly greying fa...
The magazines on the table in the centre of the room didn’t really take his fancy. Instead, he thought about being dead and that this was his turn to find out where his leftover essence would end up. Then, the door opposite opened and Peter Smith strolled in. Wearing his father’s lovingly tailore...