“Above the tower block, the slate-coloured clouds crackled with lightning, followed a heartbeat later by a chest-tightening bellow of thunder. . .”’

And then, just to round off a perfect day, Cthulhu peed on the end of the bed.

Read on for an exclusive short story by Stuart MacBride

Read on for an exclusive short story by

The Ballad of Manky Milne

… and that was why, on a cold night in February, Duncan Milne was up to his neck in shite. Literally. There was a small stunned pause, and then the swearing started. ‘FUCK, Jesus, fuck! Aaaaaaargh!’ Then some spitting, then more swearing.

A silhouette blocked out the handful of stars visible through the septic tank’s inspection hatch. ‘You OK?’

‘No I’m not fucking OK!’ More spitting. ‘Argh! Jesus – that tastes horrible!’

‘Aye, well … it is shite.’

Duncan ‘Manky’ Milne wiped his eyes and flicked the scummy liquid away. The smell was appalling, like a thousand jobbies marinating in a sea of wet farts. ‘Don’t tell me it’s shite, OK? I know it’s fucking shite! I’m bloody swimming in it!’ He screwed his face up and spat some more. Breaking into Neil McRitchie’s septic tank had seemed like such a good idea at the time – smacked out of their tits and jacked up on shoplifted vodka – but treading ‘water’ in a subterranean vat of raw sewage, Milne had to admit it was losing its appeal.

‘Can you see it?’

He scowled up at the dark shape. ‘Help me out!’

A pause, then, ‘But—’

‘Josie, I swear: if you don’t help me out of here I’m gonnae stab you in the fucking eye!’

‘But you’re down there anyway …’ Wheedling, putting on her ‘little girl’ voice, because she thinks it makes men squirm.

‘It’s pitch black down here. I can’t—’

‘So feel about for it! It’ll be easy enough to find. I’ll bet it floats.’

Milne spat again, trying to get rid of the aftertaste. ‘Why the hell would it float?’

Pause. ‘Well, it’s powder, it should—’

‘Oh for God’s sake. If it was bloody powder it’d be dissolved in all this crap! It’ll be wrapped in polythene. And parcel tape. Like in the movies.’ A kilo of heroin for their very own.

‘OK, so it’ll sink. You just have to feel about for it.’

‘You fucking “feel about for it”! Jump down here and see how you like it!’

‘Come on Duncan, pwease?’ She was bringing out the big guns now – the fake lisp. Silly cow. It hurt to admit it, but she was probably right – he might as well look while he was down here. Wasn’t as if he was going to get any mankier than he already was.