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Back The Trickster
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

The sweat was pouring from him now, his eyes swivelling in his head as he tried to see the switch his hand could not locate. Suddenly flesh met with plastic and he banged the heel of his palm against the white switch with a grunt. Striplights hummed into life, and when their flickering had done she was still there. Smiling.

He felt his knees give way, but his legs were too rigid to obey the command to buckle. Instead Craig McGee kept his hand on the light switch and a small noise like air escaping from a pressure cooker left his lips.

It was Sylvia. She stood smiling at him the way she always did when he came home tired and grouchy. Her eyes said she knew how tired he was. Her lips said she was ready to kiss that tiredness away. But that was all there was of the Sylvia he remembered.

She was holding something very close to her in a posture that was so unlike her. Closed and hunched, as if she held something she thought was in danger of being stolen.

‘That’s it, sweetheart. Look. Look at our baby we made.’

Craig’s eyes slipped slowly down to her huddled arms and as he watched she held them out to him, the smile on her face turning sickly, insane, like a TV evangelist asking for money.

He wanted to scream but he couldn’t. There seemed to be no part of his body that would be able to express the scream he needed to give voice to. So Craig McGee made no noise at all, and instead let a string of saliva drool ponderously from his bottom lip.

With her arms outstretched like this he could see that Sylvia was open from breast-bone to hip-bone. A gaping black hole replaced the area where he’d known the firm flesh of Sylvia McGee to be. There was her heart, pumping away. A liver, the glimpse of some grey intestine. And then nothing but a spacious, ripped and ragged black-red hole.

And in her arms, the thing she so desperately wanted him to look at was cradled gently and carefully. Black, shining and viscous. A grotesquely swollen oval sac lay in her arms, black growths extending from the glistening body of the mess like fungus.

Sylvia’s womb.

She spoke again and this time it was a voice from the cellar, deep and rasping and so full of malice he felt its heat on his soul.

‘Our baby, darling. Isn’t he beautiful? Don’t you do wonderful things with that policeman’s cock of yours? You do know it was your cock that did this, don’t you?’