Canal Dweller: Part of the Dweller Series, #1

By Matthew Samm

Love terrifying monsters? There are few more terrifying than this!

A silent, unknown killer stalking Manchester's underbelly!

"His eyes met mine. We stared at each other. They were screaming as well. They begged for help. They begged for another day on earth, a day he would never get.'

David has a disease. He was born with it and when he tried to tell his parents about it, they shunned him. In desperate search of peace, he sits by the city's black artery; the canal. He's done this many times.

But when he sees a man viciously murdered, David becomes entwined in a secret that's been killing for years. In the midst of terror, David begins to find himself. Will he survive? And what will be the cost?

Written with Matthew Samm's trademark pace, "Canal Dweller' offers thrills and terror, sure to leave readers cowering; then smiling.

Read the book that reached #5 in 'teen and young adult horror' within the first 24 hours.

Read on...if you dare!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew Samm
• Release date: Oct 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386702412

Book preview

1

The first words he said to me were ‘Here he comes. The faggot makes an appearance". It was how my dad greeted me. I had become used to this kind of welcoming, unfortunately.

I don't know why my dad had to speak to me like that. I knew what I was. I knew I was dirty and needed to be cleansed of my improper thoughts. Humiliation wasn't the way to do it and every time he did, he weakened our bond and made me hate him a little more.

I pulled out the chair at the dining room table and took a seat, placing my rapidly cooling plate of bland chicken and broccoli in front of me. My elbow scraped along the table edge, cut rough by my dad when he had to make the thing fit in our new kitchen. He'd just used a hacksaw to trim off a few inches and then left it. The table edge remained ragged, and I’d lost count of how many gifted splinters I’d received.

What you been up to today, David? Have you had a nice day? asked my mum, sitting off to my right, scrolling through her tablet and asking the question absentmindedly.

Not too bad, thanks, mum. I’ve just been, you know, getting along with things. I didn’t like to give too much away, and besides, she wasn’t really listening.

And what things would those be? my dad asked, tilting his head back and swallowing a gulp of Stella. Mum was polite. Dad was actively seeking a way to twist the knife. He’d always had this personality inside him, but it wasn’t until I broke my news that it had gained free reign.

Just stuff, I said, avoiding his question as best as I could. If I were lucky, he’d take another swig of booze and leave me alone. He didn’t.

Instead, he leant forward, his eyes boring into mine and his lips twisting into a sarcastic sneer. Wow! Stuff! We just love the level of detail, don’t we Cindy? Any other details, or do we have to drag them out of you?

I breathed a sigh of surrender. Look, I went to the therapy session and then I went to work. Work was just the same old shit as every day. Happy?

He leant back in his chair, taking another draft, but missing his mouth. Suds bubbled out of the corners, dribbled down his chin and rolled down his stubbly neck onto his shirt. He immediately put the bottle down, cursing and wiped most of the liquid away with a stained sleeve. He seemed happier, and even if he wasn’t, the spillage has distracted him.

I was glad of the break. My family could be stomached in small portions only. Mum was OK, mostly indifferent to me, but she left me alone. Dad, on the other hand, enjoyed seeing me squirm. It was a punishment for my choices. I was a massive disappointment for him because he lived such a pious life and I lived sinfully. I was not a real man. I had a disease. It was an illness that plagued my soul, and would not kill me in this life. It would damn me eternally. It never used to be this way.

---

It all started when I was in my late teens. I’d always known that I was different, but I refused to accept it. I didn’t want to be different. I wanted to be like the men in movies, the ones who’d decimate an army of hired guns without breaking a sweat and then ride off into the sunset with the girl on his arm. It was the girl bit I had a problem with.

I can’t remember when I actually started to notice it, but I think it was during secondary school when the hormones kicked in. I began to want relationships. I was a good looking guy. Naturally athletic and toned, I’d achieved the look most guys wish for without doing anything to earn it. True, I enjoyed cycling, and I played a bit of rugby, but I was far from the roided up super athlete. Plenty of girls wanted me. At the time I didn't notice them, but my friends were always amazed at the admiring looks I received. They were never from the people I wanted, however.

Of course, I tried dating them and even enjoyed it sometimes, but loneliness started creeping in. I wasn't…me. I couldn’t explain it until I saw Brandon Harper, the new kid in school. Everything came together for me right then, I think, although it would still be a few years until I admitted to myself what I already knew.

I carried on living a lie with girlfriends. Each relationship started off well, but then, I’d get tired of putting on a charade, and they’d start to notice my level of effort had decreased. I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t keep it up. It was like a New Year’s Resolution. For six weeks, you count your calories, hit the gym and make sure nothing but salad passes your lips. Then you go out to dinner and the steak smells so good you order the biggest one they have. You’ve started the slide downhill, and the resolution dies. It was the same with female relationships. I’d manage six weeks, and then I’d feel like I couldn’t keep it up any more and my efforts would wain. I never broke up with them. I didn’t have the guts for that. They’d always break up with me. I left many a tearful girl in the Manchester rain as they ended things and I walked away feeling more relief than sorrow.

When I saw Brandon, I knew there would have been no effort required. I never dated him. I never dated anyone until university, but I just knew, and for the first time, I could imagine actually living my life instead of watching others live their own.

Finally, I dared to admit that I might be...I can't even say the word. No one could ever know!

But, after two years of university, I’d tenderly explored being myself, and there was a growing feeling that I should let others know who I was. They were all so liberal at University. I forgot whose family I was in.

When I decided to tell my friends, it was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Some friends embraced me, others castigated me. It was the nature of the game, but each time I lost a friend, I’d feel a blade slide between the ribs and pierce my heart. I couldn’t help it, and there was a wall of resistance about whether I was doing the right thing.

The biggest test would be my parents. I thought mum would take the news well, were I to tell them, but my dad certainly wouldn’t. He was a profoundly religious man, even though his life was almost the opposite of how a Christian should live. In fact, it seemed the only part of the Bible he did care about was the ‘no man shall lie with another man’ part. He also partook of more than his fair share of communion wine.

Regardless, I finally worked up the courage to tell them who I was. I hoped my dad would see his son for the first time and his love would be so strong that he’d throw off his biblical shackles and embrace me. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I sat them down in the living room, on the plush sofa. They held hands and waited for me to sit down as well. Dad, in his shirt and tie, carried a half-empty bottle of beer between his fingers nonchalantly, as if he was trying to work himself up to accept whatever was going to be said. Come to think of it, I can’t think of a time when dad didn’t have a bottle in his hand.

I sat on the leg rest in the middle of the room. They sat in silence, and I perched on this leather island in the centre of the living room. "Mum. Dad. I