- Title: Christmas Tales of Terror
- Author: Chris Priestley
- Publisher: Bloomsbury
- ISBN: 9781408838402
It’s quite short, just the seven stories featuring a snowman deadly enough to rival yesterday’s Doctor Who Christmas Special, a little toy drummer boy with murderous intent, and you’ll never feel the same way about, or safe again, around holly our seasonal greenery ever again…
Each of the seven stories is deliciously creepy and just the thing to get me in to the seasonal sprit. Well okay maybe not. 😉 But they were a lot of fun. My only problem? They weren’t enough of them.
If you’re looking for something to keep you busy for an hour or so, during what remains of the Christmas break, I can heartily recommend, Chris Priestley’s Christmas Tales of Terror.
From malevolent snowmen to Father Christmas – with a difference …
Chris Priestley is on absolute top form in these atmospheric, clever and thoroughly chilling stories. Add a new kind of thrill to the fluffiest of seasons with seven brilliantly conceived examples of why you’d better be good at Christmas time. For stories which can be enjoyed by the whole family, unwrap these perfectly formed festive tales of terror, each with a gripping yarn and genius twist.
Singing carols may never seem quite the same again … especially after dark.
To celebrate publication of this new collection, Chris Priestley has written a very special 247tale on the subject of A Creepy Christmas for Bloomsbury’s short story writing competition. The competition is then open to budding writers aged between 10 and 16 to create their own frighteningly festive story. For full details go to www.247tales.com
A Creepy Christmas
That end of the park was empty and Lilian’s footsteps were the only ones to trouble the pristine blanket of pure white snow. It was so beautiful, so magical. She was breathless with excitement and, looking back only once at her now distant friends, walked on.
Lillian’s neat and charmless park was utterly transformed. The grim old archway that stood as a lone reminder of the workhouse that had once stood here was smothered in snow and feathery snowflakes fell and tickled her face. Lilian stepped through the arch as though stepping into another world.
The park was unrecognisable here. Lilian felt she was walking through a deserted wood as she reached an area thick with trees where the snow was especially deep and her whispered footfalls were the only sound. She had never thought of the children who lived and died in the workhouse but now they came unbidden into her thoughts. She even thought she could hear them whispering.
Then looking up she saw children sitting in the branches above her head. They looked like roosting owls. They were ragged children, poorly dressed and pale, eerily lit from below by bright snow. Their thin, wan faces looked down at her with large eyes twinkling in the snow light. They bore an expression she thought at first was one of tragic longing, but which she realised too late was in reality some kind of terrible and cruel hunger.
And, before she could even scream, they jumped.
Chris Priestley, (247 words)