Alchemy

 

These souls so full they re-align.
Separated by thoughts and time.
Which hold a love that extends to all.
Who reign above, and for those who fall.
And do not let the world go dark.
But ignite the hope within each spark.
This alchemy that turns hate to kind.
 Our lives, our world, all intertwined.

 

Failures washed over his workbench, dripping down his life. His quest to find the secret of changing lead into gold had consumed and shaken his soul. Yet he had merely strayed from the path he was meant to travel, clouded by the misty haze of obsession. When a little book comes into his life, it realigns his fate and lets the alchemy truly begin.

‘Alchemy’ is a story about a man’s evolution at the end of his life and how his preciousness is valued, not in the gold he makes; but the changes that he conjures. Strewn around poems that lead from dreams to magic, and prayers to happiness; the story navigates from despair to adjustment in surreal and magical landscapes.

Poetry and storytelling collide in this hybrid tale that mixes spirituality with personal well-being.

Alchemy is out now in e-book and paperback.

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Leviathan: Of the soul – Out Aug 25th

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Out Aug 25th

Lurking deep within all of us, even those familiar to the stormy seas, dwells the leviathan. The monster in the soul which takes hold when the sun is so easily burnt out. It is the bringer of the darkness, the chaos and the nightmares. Threatening your little raft of life, cast out into the world.
Journey here out onto the sea of poetry and short stories that explore the waves of emotions, horror and sadness. But keep an eye on the horizon, for that little splinter of hope that breaks from the sky.

‘Leviathan: Of the soul’ is a poetry and short story collection covering topics of death, mental illness, suicide and redemption. Hold on against its onslaught.

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Little book of hope

With all the darkness and fear in the world, it is very important never to give up hope. Remember the potato; it grows down deep in the soil, finding it’s way in the darkness to push and reach up to break the soil to find the light. Reaching up to god. Reaching up to survive.

A free book is available in order to help tip the scale to the brighter side of the world, when you feel covered in earth. Enjoy!

Hope

Book – Little Black Horn

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“He’s a wounded animal. A dying breed who I keep here with me. I never intended him to stay after the first night.”

A woman struggles to hide the truth from a creature she believes to be her lover; a man journeys to Southern Italy in search of a witch; a child makes a pact with a voice he hears at the bottom of his garden. From adult fairy-tales to suburban horror; dark intentions seep through this collection of tales from the imagination of Harley Holland.

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‘Little Black Horn’ is a collection of twisted short tales from a talented writer and wonderful human being who I’m happy to call a very good friend. Bias aside, this book is really good and is sure to offer something for everyone. This is the second edition with a new design and format. Check it out, I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.

·        Buy it here

·        Review it here

WHITE/BLUE – SHADOWS IN THE SNOW

Knock three times

The snow that had collected just above the window frame drifted down in a fine powder, dislodged by the loud knocking coming from the door. Inside, they lady and the girl looked over to the door where the banging was coming from. The knock was repeated, this time with more force.

“Stay here, and please; don’t say a word.” The lady said, and the girl nodded in reply, taking a sip from the tea cup; her throat changing colour as the liquid fell inside her, like a fading rainbow. The lady ambled to the door and grabbed a walking stick she kept by the umbrella stand. She didn’t need the stick of course, her bones were weary but her health was fine, she merely liked how it looked walking along in the snow sometimes; inspecting things with a gentle prod. Now, she held a tight hold on the top of the cane (shaped like a giant snow globe) and cautiously opened the door, catching the knockee mid-knock.

“Oh!” she said, a smile widening like that of the door. “Timothy, what brings you this way?” She looked out into the snowy gloom; the disappearing light had blanketed the world in an encroaching grey, like soup lapping at a bowls rim. A small boy stood on her doorstep, his feet in wellington boots far too big for him. He was wrapped up against the storm, but his nose was as red as a holly berry.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, I didn’t think you could hear me, thought you might be sleeping.” Timothy shouted, compensating for the wind by yelling like only a child can. The lady chuckled.

“Well, if I were; I’m sure it would’ve woken me up. Anyway, come in come in.” she said, beckoning him inside out of the cold.

“Is Stacey here yet?” He asked, remaining on the doorstop.

“Stacey? Why would she be here?” She asked him, puzzled somewhat.

“Well, it’s Thursday. You said for us to come for the stories on Thursday, remember? I even brought some biscuits my mum made.” He replied, shaking a small tin he held in his hands, containing, now no doubt, shards of biscuits. “I just wanted to know is Stacey was here yet, if not I would go to her house now and walk with her.”

The lady could see the twinkle of opportunity in his eyes.  Her mind flickered to her calendar and checked the date. Nope, he was a day early. Timothy was always over anxious. She chuckled a little and told him he’d gotten the wrong day. As his face fell she took something out of her pocket. She handed him the small purple glove, its index finger was slightly frayed with a long loose thread which looked like a long woollen nail.

“She left this here last week though, perhaps you might be so kind as to drop it by to her today.” She said. His eyes grew large as he took the little mitten, holding it like a small treasure. He set off straight away back down the little path calling out to the lady as he went,

“Thanks, see you tomorrow!”

The biscuits beyond repair now, flung this way and that in the little tin as he rounded the corner of her fence and disappeared up the lane. She stood and watched him go, enjoying the scene of the darkening light and the heavy snow which spread a happiness inside of her.

But then it stopped. Cut off quickly as she saw the shadows. They reached up and under the little fence she had at the bottom of her garden. Tall and thin wisps of dark, like the fingers of a demon. It all grew suddenly quiet as the wind dropped and the silence that accompanies snow descended.

She couldn’t see him, she only felt he was there. The presence. The energy she could normally feel bubbling way off over the woods, but marked on every page of her treasured magic book. Like a compass it pointed the way to the light and dark, and she felt the shadows creeping nearer and nearer to her. She shut the door hastily, warding off the nefarious nature by her own incantation and signs that keep her little cottage safe.

She never saw the gentleman of the boxes, though she knew he was there. His little eyes peering at her from the trees as he skulked around to her backyard.


Blueberry tart and tears

“What’s wrong?” The girl asked, watching the lady step back inside and lock her door. She was muttering something under her breath when the girl asked again. “Are you okay?” concern showing from a mask which beheld no emotion. It travelled in waves to the lady, she felt it in her bones. Looking over, she smiled back quickly, calmed by her presence.

“Nothing I hope. We’re safe inside her my dear, I just felt some bad energy from outside just now, that’s all.” She said, putting the cane back to where she found it and coming back towards the fire. “I’ll let you know if it builds to anything we need to be alarmed by. But this little cottage can handle a lot thrown its way.” She came back over towards the fireplace, the flames roaring nicely still. “Why, you’ve drunk all your tea. That calls for more, and a little cake too I imagine.” She said, taking a little blueberry tart out of the tin by the tea tray.

“Who was at the door?” The girl asked, curiously.

“That was a little rub of a boy called Timothy Sanderson. He came around today in the hope of tales and stories. But alas, one is being invented now as I sit here with you and might just be finished in time for him tomorrow when he comes back again….and gets the correct day.” She said, sneaking a blueberry tart for herself from the tin.

“I could feel his warmth for you, but also something else. Infatuation?” The girl asked. The lady couldn’t help but laugh at this. Bits of the cake spraying onto the copper coloured rug on the floor.

“Oh my, that would be his growing fascination with a little girl called Stacey Izzana. He really does have it bad. No, me he sees as the crazy old woman who tells stories and feeds the other children chocolates and biscuits when they should be eating fruit.” She said, eyeing up another cake in the small little tin.

“He seemed like a pure soul.” The girl sad, tasting her own cake.

“Yes, they all are the ones that come here. Eager minds looking for adventure and intellect. These books fill them with both, and I’m happy to be the tool in which to help with that.” She leaned forward slightly, inching to the edge of her seat. “But you, you my dear are an Imamiahi are you not? It is you that will bring us that adventure, and the change I’ve felt coming for some time.”

The girl finished her cake before replying, all the while looking deep into the soul of the lady before her. She knew where she was heading of course, before she even left Europa. She knew the journey would be the way it was and what type of soul who would great her when she stepped out of her cocoon. Best laid plans. But the lady surprised her still. The house and the energy was not something she’d come across before. This woman only wanted to help. It was a selflessness that she had not come across in her previous encounters. She could read the makeup of another being like you would read the ingredients on the back of a cereal box. Formulating and registering the light levels that contained within. But much like the box, it could not tell you the taste, the character or how it might make you feel. Inside the girl felt something she hadn’t felt before.

“Yes, I’ve been called that in the past. You are a kind person, I know that; I can feel it.” She said, blue tears leaving her eyes, falling upwards to the ceiling.

“This, this feels like home.”

To be continued……
(read the other parts here)


GHG

White/Blue – Underneath

The Gentleman of the boxes

Though the perpetual snow covered everyone and everything in a magical flurry, some homes escaped the gingerbread icing of the winter dusting. Though treacherous at times, the snow that fell in the area of Ravensbrook was mostly welcomed. The small village itself was well known for its snow festivals which would be held often during the year. While the borders of the county were at the whim of the regular weather patterns, Ravensbrook enjoyed the snowfall of the mountain passes more than the tropics of the equator. But not everyone was happy with the snow, and one in particular made sure to be out of it as much as they could.

He had once had a large cabin on the other side of the woods which backed on to the small cottage by the stream. His was a stern roughly built cabin, reeking of ash fires and masculinity. It’s coarsely built structure was a testament of his own strength, having built the place himself. But it did not appeal to the eye, and was poorly landscaped. Fresh animal kills were strewn around, the bones of which would be stacked sometimes by an outhouses.  He lived there alone, stuffing small woodland animals with sawdust and brooding over a life that was slipping away from him. That is to say, lived there, for now the gentlemen of the boxes lived underground.

One day, on a particularly snowy afternoon whilst trudging back to his cabin, he’d stopped with his fresh kill slung over his shoulders. The snow had covered his face and was blotting out the view of the track he was following home. He’d stood there, a human snowman for much longer than an idle man should in the cold snow, thinking and pondering and wondering over the incessant weather. Raising his fist in the air, he cursed the sky and the lady who lived in that small little cottage; telling tales and playing god.

He stormed home, and packed the few possession he could into a duffle bag and set off into the depths of the woods. Thick in thorns and thistles, the snow drifts piled high in the dark and gloomy woodland. But soon enough, he’d found what he was looking for. A small opening in the ground marked by two huge boulders which led down underneath the earth. He’d found this long ago, chasing a fox that had sought shelter from his murderous hands. The opening expanded deep underground, a vast cave backed up with many little recesses built into the earth. Here he intended to live, and be away from that infernal snow and cold which stung his bones.

Over time, his little cave house filled with things and skeletons. The shells of the creatures that he didn’t keep in his boxes. He would stuff them with sawdust and set them into little boxes and crates, depending on the size. He would mark them all and catalogue what he had. In his noahistic mind, he would covert two of each creature, stripping one of the fleshy outtings where he could peak at the ivory bones underneath, and stuff and box the other. His collection grew in time, and much of his cave was taken over by the boxes that he would stack high to the ceiling.

One day, when he was in town selling some animal meet, he happened to notice the traveling cart man who’d stopped in the small village square. The man would peddle, in all weathers, around the villages with a huge caravan of objects pushed and slotted onto the back of his trailer. This travelling circus of curiosities was much welcomed where it went, for he was always known to bring treasures and wonders to their little part of the world. The gentlemen of the boxes never usually bothered himself with that sort of thing, but something that day seemed to call to him, picking at his mind and heart. He’d trundled over to the cart, impossibly piled high that day with brass lamps, copper kettles, crystal glasses and books. One book in particular stood out to him, a purple bound one the size of a bible. He slid it out from between a jewellery box and iron fire grate and looked at the cover.

The image on the front was nothing new to him, he’d seen the real thing a hundred times, but the way it was drawn unsettled something inside him. Dislodging some idleness and bringing forth some action. The skull of a creature, that of a deer, stared back at him. The eye sockets glowing with a purple-ish flame tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. He’d just begun to open the book when the seller called over him.

“Ah, I see you’re interested in the Lunamaji.” He came around the side of the cart and up to the man.

“Maybe. How much for the book?” He replied, gruffly.

“Ten Quartz to you good sir, anyone interested in such deep allurement deserves to get a good price.” The man held out his hand as some small glass coins tumbled into them. The gentlemen of the boxes huffed, thinking it was still too much for a book. But then, it held something he couldn’t explain, some pull or hold on him somehow. He had to have it, so he paid the small price. As he turned to walk away, the old man grabbed at his arm suddenly.

“Be warned though, this is not for the faint of heart or weak of conscience. There are many things in there that need to remain within those pages, and just to reside in the mind.” He’d said, hastening a smile to take the edge off his warning.

“Nothing about me has ever been weak.” The man replied, and stormed off with the book under his arm.


Push

He’d consumed the book. Reading it hurriedly in the candlelight of his cave. He’d read it once through and went straight back to the beginning to read it again. Days passed and he’d not emerged from his cave, breaking his concentration only to hydrate and use the bathroom. The words and the knowledge mesmerised him. He’d never been one for books before. He thought stories and fables were just things to tell children before they went to bed. He’d seen the kids from the village, hurrying to that little house by the stream to sit and listen to tales and wonders. Foolish kids. They should be out working, doing, playing, being. Not stuck inside listen to yarns that only take place in the mind.

But this book was different. This book showed him a way to be that was not fiction. These things he was reading told him how he could change his life for the better. How he could master the weather himself, make the wind blow the direction he wanted it to. To even stop death, and bring the things he wanted back to life.

But there was a cost to be paid, like there always was.

He was smart enough to know a warning when he saw it, and the book was riddled with them. And he wasn’t foolish enough not to heed this warnings either. He practised in secret, squirreled away underground. Little things at first, then moving on to larger and more completed things. He left his body many times, if not his cave, and before long he was very knowledgeable about the ways of Lunamaji and where it all could take him. But the power that he craved at first, shifted and changed. At first he’d wanted to see if the magic worked, to see if reading something could arouse a change in the very set up of the earth. To play god himself. But he soon learned, much to the cart seller’s warning, that it could consume and cause havoc. He didn’t want that. He wasn’t an evil soul, merely bitter by the hand life had dealt him. He changed his mind, as so many do, and instead sought out the one thing he knew the book could help him with. Aside from stopping the damn snow.

And that one thing had fallen from the sky that very morning.

To be continued…

 

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White/Blue Read the ongoing story here

Sweet Whispers (poetry book)

For those who haven’t downloaded this yet for free, please do. By the the amazing Singledust.

‘Sweet whispers is poetry inspired by words spoken between two lovers in the early hours of waking as hearts warm together. It is also taken from an intense dialog between lovers against the back drop of snow and words of unrequited love.’

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Novel indulgence

Burn those books, to fan this flame.
Reaching and groping for a reason.
Oh what lies, between these thighs?
And what lies within.
Voids of sin and saccharine.
Humbly taken from the shelf of life.
Dusted and rusted beyond all sense.
Yet still I thumb the page and pluck each word.
Giving myself over, to a conversation with just me.

You’ll see

You will see, said the little whisper.
The sound within.
A distant whimper.
From the voice inside my skull.
The quiet reasoning.
My heart’s strong hull.
That sails beyond a galaxy.
Down here on earth.
In complexity.
These defiant words did manifest.
Into action.
And I must confess.
That I was able to walk away.
From all that trauma.
And sad decay.
And close the book of you and me.
A tired old tale.
Which you will see.

Gospel of no-one

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Your own personal bible, offering a glimpse into worlds you will never normally see. Words struck down, not by God, but by those souls who visited St. Sebastian’s church and who dissected their own sacred hearts for you.

Hidden under the base of a statue of Mother Mary, the current pastor of St. Sebastian’s church discovers a small tightly bound book, the contents of which explain the demise of the previous Father, Father Nikolas and the confessions of those who frequented the church throughout his time there. A journey through pain, doubt and forgiveness; the book opens the eyes and hearts and asks everyone for their own confessions.

‘The Gospel of no one’ is a hybrid novel mixing fiction and poetry, orbiting religious imagery and spirituality. Hope, mixed with the horror of being only human.

Just a reminder that The Gospel of no-one is out now in eBook and Paperback. If you’ve purchased it already, thank you; but don’t forget to review and tell a disciple. Comments or questions; please sound off below. Enjoy. For more books, check out the books section

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Graffitied heart

“If Graffiti changed anything it would be illegal”

A Little side project; a small little book of Rhymes and poems. Graffitied heart is out now in ebook and Paperback. Though it may seem pricey, the Paperback is fully illustrated and is in glorious colour. I hope you enjoy it.

‘A well-travelled heart sees it all, from street to street and wall to wall. 
Soaking in life’s wonderment, from euphoric highs to the deep laments.
This heart is stained, bruised and scarred. Still beating, just graffitied; and bursting to show you what it’s seen.
Graffitied Heart is a little book of rhymes and poems, going through the alphabet of existence. And as with all lives, they can be humorous, horrifying and heartening. A compendium of complexities for your enjoyment.’ 

For more info on other titles, click here.

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Out Now – The Gospel of No One

Just a reminder, The Gospel of No One is out now in ebook and paperback forms.

THE GOSPEL OF NO ONE

Be careful of those who open their diamond hands.
Chewing opium smoked souls and offering hearts.
These will be those closest to you.
Forgive them, we know not what we do.
Swimming in the sin of a century.
Crawling once more on the back of time.
A miseducation of things once told.
Scratched on tablets, ground down like baby teeth.
But the skies won’t fall.
And though walls grow tall we strengthen our desire.
To avoid smashing galaxies and fragile pieces of others.
Every time you try to be what they expect, the honey sting;
the disdainful look of Lucifer drops all that is tired.
We become more inspired.
And make way for the inevitable bliss.
In Zion.

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For more info on other titles, click here

A Call to arms

This weekend The Gospel of No one is available for e-book download and paperback purchase (In all territories). I hope you like my new novel, it’s a hybrid work of fiction and poetry based on religious themes and spirituality (and a little bit of horror too, as there always is in life). And as always, if you have any feedback, questions or comments; please let me know by any means.

However….This is my ninth book released, and please forgive the following rally cry:

Reviews, comments and feedback are the life savers of the authors world, as i’m sure you are all aware. For those who have read, downloaded or purchased any of my previous titles, please can I ask you to sound off in reviewing them at Amazon or Goodreads (The links should take you to my author pages). Even if it’s just a… cough cough (5) star selection/click on the options it would be really helpful getting my work out there and for more eyes to devour them.

And please be honest, if you didn’t like anything; let me know as it’s all creative critique. Of course, if it’s just name calling…then that’s just mean.

And in the world of reciprocity, my last poetry will be given away free for download this weekend (again, all territories). I’m very proud of this book and would like those who have not purchased it yet; to read, enjoy and share. Click the cover below for the link:

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Just an added reminder. I do not write for the dollars and cents. With donations to Room to read, this work is more of a passion than profit. Room to read promotes children’s literacy and gender equality in Asia and Africa. If you would like to get involved, or donate, or share a link to tell others; please visit their site by clicking the image below. Thank you.

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Little Black horn

 

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LITTLE BLACK HORN

He’s a wounded animal. A dying breed who I keep here with me. I never intended him to stay after the first night. There is no selfishness with Little Black Horn. This is what I’ve named him. He’s a dying breed. I was draped over him, trailing my fingers down the prominent blue veins on his arms.

‘What are you thinking about?’ He asks me. I’m not thinking about the accident. That is what he is implying. I’m not thinking about how frail you have become.

‘That we really should be eating something. You know I want to, but we can’t be laying on top of the bed all day.’

‘Then how about we lay in it?’ He begins kicking the duvet down around our ankles.

‘I really need to eat. Let me cook us something special.’….


(Highly recommended and free this weekend. Click the images for link. For more information on Harley Holland, visit his blog here.)

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‘The Last Man’ – Book

Fantasy Novel suggestion:

Farris Mathalion did not believe in the old stories, not until her own brother was kidnapped by monsters to send her on a fantastical journey. She travels both within the mind and without, taking a path of harrowing adventure and personal enlightenment as she strives to rescue him.

THE FIRST MAN is the first volume in a two-part young adult/fantasy series that can be read on many different levels; whether the reader appreciates the excitement of the many fast-paced action scenes, the surreal beauty and mystery of new worlds, the philosophical musings of the guides along the way, or the spiritual path of overcoming reality that Farris finds before her.

She will travel through the seven kingdoms of the earth, each woven into the deep mythology of the land she passes, and each representative of one aspect of spiritual enlightenment.

In the first volume she passes through the surface world as well as the lands of fear, pleasure and illusion below the earth. She is accompanied in her journeys by a variety of strange creatures, including her faithful pet goat Bumble, Gloria the magical fish, and a romantic interest that makes uncertain love and looming betrayal pervasive themes throughout

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Tobias Wade writes fantasy and horror stories (both of which styles are excellent). For more information, visit him on Goodreads or his own website.

Something for the weekend

Looking for something to do this weekend? Don’t forget, Echoes in Space: Cosmically collapsing poetry is out now in eBook format. Click here to get yours today and spend the weekend wrapped in stars and decaying words.

Looking for something to do next weekend? Don’t forget, Echoes in Space: Cosmically collapsing poetry is out now in paperback. Click here to get yours in the next few days and spend the following weekend wrapped in the celestial bodies and wandering words.

(‘Echoes in space’ is available worldwide…follow your regional amazon moon rabbit.)

For those who have been kind enough to download this already, may I encourage you to write a review on Amazon and Goodreads to spread the word.

Thank you. Here are some freebies:

SHINE

Crushed to Diamond dust.
Inhaled in the right light.
When the moon is bright.
Deep into your vines I travel.
Filling your soul with stars.

 

Sweet Whispers

From the dust into dreams. Singledust has a new poetry book out now, I encourage all with an imagination to take a peek……

Sweet whispers is poetry inspired by words spoken between two lovers in the early hours of waking as hearts warm together. It is also taken from an intense dialog between lovers against the back drop of snow and words of unrequited love.’

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A Bhikku’s Tale

Deep in a forest of Inis Fail, there was a cabin, well hidden, in which there lived a solitary bhikku…

‘Bhikku Reilly of Fararden Wood has defeated the mad god Morpheo’s dragon with the help of Red City’s shaman, Murray. Now they face a much harder task.
In a fight with Cernunnos, Morpheo has broken off a piece antler from the horned god, which gives him immeasurable power over the natural world. Reilly and Murray, together with the Green Man, the Sybarite and the ghost girl, Tracy, must pursue the mad god and stop him from taking over the whole country of Inis Fail.

Their journey takes them to the Otherworld and back again, crossing the paths of many colourful characters and strange creatures.’

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Packed with Irish mythology and great landscapes for you to transverse,  ‘A Bhikku’s tale’ by Dave R. Jordan is worth looking up: Goodreads  & Amazon

Little Black Horn

 

Little black horn, weathered and worn; wondering about what to do.
He split the world and climbed inside, and out of hell he peaked on through.  

Little Black Horn: A Collection of Short Horror Stories:-

‘A woman struggles to hide the truth from a creature she believes to be her lover; a man journeys to Southern Italy in search of a witch; a child makes a pact with a voice he hears at the bottom of his garden.

From adult fairy-tales to suburban horror; dark intentions seep through this collection of tales from the imagination of Harley Holland.’

Buy the work in paperback or on kindle here: Little Black Horn

Check out Harley Holland also

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