BARATANAC (Part I): Book One of Fitzmarbury Witches


This book will launch on Dec 16, 2020. Currently, only those with the link can see it. 🔒


In 2017, an author flees the accursed London streets of Fitzmarbury, terrified and fearing for his life. In an isolated Barbados redoubt – on wild Atlantic shores – the author’s mind and writings are haunted. Cruel voices speak horrifying revelations. A vast storm approaches as another visitor to Bathsheba – a presence – stalks him in the darkness.


A ruthless priestess of Baal sails from imperial Carthage, sixty years after the fall of King Leonidas and the Spartan 300. She is a hardened warrior, wrenched from the only love she ever knew and raised in merciless service to Baal. Her iron heart holds the secrets of a young girl trafficked across the Sahara from the decaying Egyptian city of Sekht-Am (Siwa). Ever threatened by the scandal of her origins, she proves herself by embarking on a series of violent missions. Once again, she is sent from Africa – this time to penetrate new frontiers at the edge of the world, in ancient Britain. Will she follow orders and fiercely carve a place for Baal in Baratanac? Or will she find reasons to claw back her humanity?

The Malignant Watcher

Le Papillon, Bathsheba


January 13th, 2017

The night’s cloak swallowed all shadows except one. A brooding shadow darker than the sunless sky. It possessed a name – one rarely and never safely uttered. Water was illuminated like liquid neon in the ancient creature’s vengeful gaze, the human’s hands slicing through its surface, over and over. Above the swinging limbs its eyes lingered on a fluid electric-blue that shimmered on the undersides of overhanging coconut palms and swathes of bougainvillea. In the swimming pool’s spectral glow the foliage appeared to float – rootless and untethered.

The creature hung there in its latest transitory form – a void – a fetid smear of eternal sentient misery. Time and again it watched the human’s head gasp, purging and sucking at the warm air. Stifled mercury tears of laughter welled in its undead eyes, mocking the mortal’s stunted vision as he snatched glimpses of the darkness. A simmering darkness about which it knew mankind understood very little, but had always dreaded. A besieging darkness within which humans were prone and nearly always defenceless. Its shapeless mass convulsed and extended a dry cracked tongue to savour the scent of fear – subtle, but perceptible on the air. And so sweet! Every fibre of the creature yearned for fruition, but it remained patient in the way only the eldest ones can. The parchment fragment it sought was still to be found, a scrap borne across the ocean by blemished human hands . . . but it was so close! Soon the creature would be free to crush all the enchantments – trivial and otherwise – that the human had invoked and constructed. It wished to taste blood again, the blood it had been sent by another to reap.

Close to the deep end of the pool the creature lurked, impervious to light, at the spiny ragged base of a macaw palm thicket. It pressed against their deadly spines, shivering with pleasure as they pierced its skin. With confident indifference it neither recoiled nor hid from the doomed human. Indeed it pulsed darker when the mortal’s strokes brought flesh within reach of its talons. The creature wallowed in temptation’s exquisite tenderness, changing its shape at will. A bargain made in Bloomsbury would soon be fulfilled.

About the author

I was born in West Belfast, during the civil war of “The Troubles”. Dangers forced me & my young mother into exile. I've lived in 12 countries and 3 American states, working in varied jobs – factory lines, gem trading, construction, Paris Fashion Week, & collecting windblown trash at a city dump. view profile

Published on November 12, 2020

70000 words

Contains explicit content ⚠️

Genre: Horror

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