Book Description
Cameron Mortice visits his girlfriend, Gillian, in Leeds to find he has arrived at the onset of a vampire invasion.
He is unwillingly enrolled into saving the world along with Gillian and her housemates.
Contains 'strong language' (like juxtaposition), 'sexual swear words' (as Simon Bates used to warn us) and sex scenes.
Also mentions Bagpuss.
From the Author
Until it does.
About the Author
Started writing Blood Lust in 1993 and has taken 9 years to get it published.
Hopefully more will follow.
Excerpted from Blood Lust by Rhys Wilcox. Copyright © 2002. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
It was going to be a surprising day for John Settle; it was going to be the day that he discovered he was dead.
Will be dead.
Is dead.
Whatever.
He was forty-three, slightly balding, slightly paunched but nothing to be overly concerned with. He had a wife, two children aged nineteen and seven, a boring job and a Damocles of a mortgage of which he was trying to discuss with his bank manager.
"Mister Settle," the banker said, "you are currently five months in arrears of payment. If the money is not forth coming within the next two weeks then we will have no choice but to foreclose on your mortgage."
"Two weeks!" John squealed. "I couldn’t raise fifty pee from the back of the sofa in two weeks, let alone this much."
"Then I suggest you concentrate your efforts on finding a new home Mister Settle." The banker smiled that kind of a smile that just begged to be punched.
John was not the sort of man who would give in to that sort of pleading. He was a believer of justice; he believed that every man, woman and child would get what was coming to them. He believed this quite vehemently - he had to - because of all the men, women and children who had abused him in one way or another in the past and he had not had the spontaneity to do anything about it. He did not have the bottle to do anything about it. John was one of those poor saps in the world who could not handle direct and immediate confrontations; that is why, as he walked down the street away from the bank, he was thinking of all the things he could have done and should have done.
It is called l’esprit d’escalier, it is French and therefore sounds very romantic. There is no word for it in English apart from the direct translation ‘the spirit of the stairs’. For whose side of the ‘better language’ argument that would be for is uncertain. It is a disorder that affects all of us. Even those amongst us who are quick enough to come up with some sort of witty retort. Sometimes they walk away from a situation with their teeth in their pocket and their nose smeared up their forehead thinking, I should not have said that. From the simple decisions in life; I wish I’d said yes to seconds; to earth shattering life changers; ‘Still be friends’? Should’ve said, ‘F**k off and die, whore queen from hell!’ From political meetings, I should have said no to that war. Oh well; to John Settle; Should have dived across the table, rammed my fist down his throat and pulled out his heart.
Being of the literary kind, this description does not pay full credit to the images he was creating in his fevered brain.
Ripped off his head and shat down his neck.
In his mind’s eye the banker was still smiling that smile but his head was rolling around his ‘IN’ tray and John was squatting over his blood spurting neck straining off a load. In reality, however, John had simply wandered aimlessly in to the park.
"I should have at least sworn at him," he said out loud.
