Glenridding

By Joseph Griffiths

Driving home from a weekend-long business trip in the Lake District, David suffers a car crash under mysterious circumstances. Looking for help for his injuries and a shelter from the cold night air, he spots a cabin in the distance and makes his way towards it, hoping for solace.

The second in a series of terrifying horror shorts from thriller aficionado Joseph Griffiths

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Griffiths
• Release date: Oct 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201579210

Book preview

Joseph Griffiths is a young author from Derby, England. Growing up as an avid reader, he always dreamed to one day release his literary work to the world, he finally did so in the summer of 2017 with his debut novel, The Union Heist, which kickstarted the The Union City Saga, a series still going strong today. He had since delved head first into the world of horror, releasing numerous shorts and novellas in said genre.

Having studied a degree in forensic science at the university of Derby, the course lent itself well to the crime genre he so desperately wanted to write about.

Stay up to date on his work and upcoming releases on his Facebook page, at:

https://www.facebook.com/JoeIGAuthor/

The sliver 2005 Ford Explorer cut through the still, silent night; being an unnatural addition to the otherwise indigenous woodlands. The hum of the engine was the only sound, outside of the gentle rustling of the trees from the light breeze. The headlights were the only light source, other than the moon occasionally poking its way into view through the branches.

The view driving away from The Inn by the Lake is usually a spectacular one, and the driver hated not being able to see it in the dark. He was just thankful that at least he’d gotten to see it on the way through the valleys and peaks a couple of days earlier.

David had been at a business retreat for the last few days. He had driven all the way to the Glenridding hotel (the company had a somewhat eccentric taste for locations) on Wednesday morning, and it was now pretty late on Friday night. He had hoped he could have stayed over at the hotel another night, but they were fully booked up for the weekend. He had considered stopping off in the small village he’d passed through on the way, Bridgend, but had eventually decided against it. It wasn’t a massively long drive home to Norwich; he’d manage it just fine. It would just mean him getting there not far off daylight.

He hadn’t long set off so was still in essentially the middle of nowhere, like much of the Lake District National Park felt like. He wasn’t used to the winding roads or the lack of many streetlamps, being a city boy through and through, so he was nervous and taking it slow. In hindsight, he thought he should have left earlier, but what was done was done. So there he was, but ten minutes into his travels, just passing what he assumed to be Stony Cove Pike on his left.

The last couple of notes of ‘Love Bites’ by Def Leppard rang out, Joe Elliot’s vocals already ringing out with ‘Step inside, Walk this way...’; David trying his hardest to keep in time and pitch with one of his idols. It was a pretty long drive, but at least he had his music to keep him company. Between Hysteria, Blizzard of Oz, and Seventh Son of a Seventh Son, he