Something Weird

By Ian Watson

“On the morning of Sunday April 16, two days before his fortieth birthday, Samuel P Bishop went to kill a man....”

Nick Blake has it all: success, wealth, fame. His last book, Come The Night, was a bestseller, and he’s currently flavour of the month. A media darling.
Sam Bishop, his main rival, is getting desperate. With his career stalled, he’s going nowhere. One night, he breaks into Blake’s house.
The author isn’t home, but Bishop finds his latest manuscript – a collection of stories titled Something Weird. As he begins to read, it isn’t long before the book starts living up to its title....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Watson
• Release date: Oct 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311980465

Ian Watson

Ian Watson is the author of the #1 bestseller Midnight Movie Madness, a 400+ page guide to such bizarre, campy and endearing classics as Reefer Madness, Attack of the 50ft Woman and Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead.

Book preview

Something Weird

By

Ian Watson

Copyright 2014 Ian Watson

Published At Smashwords

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License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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By The Same Author

BLOOD SEX & SCOOBY SNACKS

MORE BLOOD SEX & SCOOBY SNACKS

THE PENIS MONSTER’S MOVIE GUIDE

MIDNIGHT MOVIE MADNESS

SICK IN THE HEAD (AS DUANE BRADLEY)

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Part 1

On the morning of Sunday April 16, two days before his fortieth birthday, Samuel P Bishop went to kill a man.

Nick Blake lived alone in a quiet area of town. Breaking in was not particularly difficult. The challenge for Bishop lay in finding something to do until his quarry arrived at seven pm.

He checked his watch. Right now, Blake was on the road, driving home from the horror festival where he was Guest of Honour. He’d probably stood in front of a hundred adoring fans and prattled on like a simpleton, the way his book did. Had likely reiterated, for the zillionth time, the story of how his self-published novel, released without fanfare, had defied the odds and sold a hundred thousand copies, netting him a deal with a major publisher.

Bishop had read a few pages of Come The Night, and calling it crude and juvenile was being kind. There was a four-letter word in every paragraph, plus dismemberment, usually performed with a chainsaw, every few pages. The men were tough-talking caricatures, the women submissive. Every supporting character behaved like a complete idiot.

Then again, Blake was also this: popular. Whether it was because he was flavour of the month, or because they wanted to appear au courant, the book-buying public tolerated his poor writing skills and went along for the ride.

Bishop often blamed their lapses in judgment for his own failure to make it as a writer. He’d spent half his life bent over a desk, scratching out stories editors didn’t want to buy. Excellent story, the rejection slips read, but simply not for us. For someone like Nick Blake to appear overnight and steal the kudos with an excellent story about cops, hookers, and chainsaws was the final insult.

That was a good reason to kill a man.

Blake lived in a three-storey Brownstone purchased not with the proceeds from his book but his day job, which entailed doctoring film scripts. That probably meant he took a perfectly good story, removed everything that worked and added the kind of gore-soaked ultra-violence that only a