Reviews:
A
classic chiller from a talented new author - Guy N. Smith, Author of
Writing Horror Fiction and The Dark One
Shaun Jeffrey's debut novel is haunting, disturbing and spooky as hell -
Tim Lebbon, Stoker Award-winning Author of Face
Evilution
is a horror book definitely worth reading - BartX -
Horror (Polish
review)
A gripping horror story that will have you on the
edge of your seat -
Booklore
Evilution
is certainly one of the most enjoyable horror debuts that I can remember
reading in recent times. Joe Rattigan -
The Alien Online
In my opinion, this is a great piece of
fiction from the horror genre ... Go and buy this book, you definitely
won't regret it! Donna Jones -
SF Crowsnest.com
Shaun Jeffrey is a name to look out for. A
skilled author who writes eminently readable stories. Lesley Mazey -
The Eternal Night
First novel from a notable talent of Britain's genre small press mags ...
Shaun Jeffrey has a knack for adding clever twists to common genre
clichés. Spindoc - dragon's breath newsletter
Jeffrey's sharp characterization, engaging dialogue, tangy local color,
and galloping impetus, make this a must read for all fans of the genre ...
He strikes harder and with more finesse than most of his cotemporaries in
the horror/thriller genre. R. Douglas Weber - Author of Protocol-17: A
Conspiracy Thriller
Jeffrey handles the pace and mood well in this chiller, and certainly has
the skills in shifting expectation as quickly as the gears ... you will
experience a genuinely creepy story that goes somewhere more sophisticated
than schlock-horrorville ... just book into the cottage at the top of the
hill in Paradise with Miss Black - you will find it hard to leave. Paul
Terry - dreamwatch
At heart it is a type of John Wyndham science fiction, and the world could
certainly do with more of that ... Chris
Williams - Tregolwyn Book Reviews
This is a first novel that reads like a longtime master of horror wrote it
... Add Shaun Jeffrey to my list of authors who are going to shake up the
horror genre in a dark and delightful manner. Diana Bennett - Author of
His Father's Son: Dante's Rage
It's obvious (at least to me) that Mr. Jeffrey was having fun when he
wrote this. That fun is infectious ... If you're a horror fan and enjoy
reading emerging talent, I can recommend this. Lynn Nicole Louis -
SFReader.com
Shaun Jeffrey’s first novel is anything but foggy. Not only is it cleverly
written, but the twists and turns that take place in the novel are as
mysterious as the fog itself. Stephanie Simpson-Woods - Author of I.M.
Internet Message and reviewer for Camp Horror
... outstanding trade paperback horror novel ... - Shocklines
... this is certainly the best horror book I
have read since Stephen King’s Desperation.
Brian O'Shaughnessy
- Visions of Terror
... rewards you with some fine moments of horror - The Dark Side
Evilution
is one of the most impressive debut novels this year
- The Hacker's Source
Chapter 1:
The letter arrived as
innocuously as any other, announced by the sprung letterbox which snapped
shut like a mantrap with a resounding metallic crack – Chase Black always
imagined the postman and paperboy wincing whenever they had to deliver
something to the house with the snapping letterbox.
She picked
the letter up with the rest of the morning post and walked through to the
dining room, where she dropped the letters on the table. Opening the
curtains, she took in the bleak suburban view and yawned, stretching her
arms to try and shrug off the last vestiges of sleep.
Since
being made redundant, life had become monotonous, a mundane carousel of
television and comfort food. She rarely got out of bed before noon; rarely
went to bed before 3 a.m., existing in the hours of the insomniac. She had
only risen early this morning because sleep eluded her. She wondered where
her life had gone wrong.
To kill
the silence, she switched on the radio - just catching the end of a Limp
Bizkit track – and turned her attention to the highlight of her day: the
morning mail. Most of the letters were bills, which she threw aside. She
knew she would have to pay them, especially as some of them were red
letters, but she liked to leave it to the last minute, as though in a
final act of defiance. Recognising her own handwriting, she knew that one
of the letters was a reply to a job she had applied for and she opened it
with an excited flutter in her stomach. Perhaps this would be the one.
But the
anticipation soon turned to a sickly feeling - the position had already
been filled and she silently cursed the company for wasting her time by
advertising a non-existent job. They hadn’t even given her a chance. How
many jobs had she applied for now? One hundred? Two hundred? However many
it was, she had only received a handful of replies, and out of the handful
she had only secured three interviews. All unsuccessful.
The
elegant Gothic handwriting and crisp white envelope of the last letter
caught her attention. Curious, her chocolate coloured eyes sparkled as she
examined the envelope, turning it this way and that, delaying the moment
of opening to prolong the anticipation. Even though she was twenty-five
years old, she still got the same feeling on Christmas morning. Now she
only hoped the letter wasn’t junk mail in pretty packaging, a postal
Trojan horse designed to entice.
Who could
it be from? Feeling a tingle of excitement, she slid her long nail along
the gummed flap and tore it open, quickly pulling out a single sheet of
paper that sliced through her finger like a razor.
“Shit
...” She winced, leaving a smear of blood on the paper as she started to
read:
Dear Ms
Black,
It is with
great pleasure that I am writing to inform you that your entry into the
Dream House competition has been selected as the winning entry. A
representative of Storm will call on you on Saturday, 27th of July at 9.00
a.m. to drive you to view your prize, High Top Cottage, a picturesque
period house of great charm and character, overlooking the village of
Paradise in Staffordshire. The viewing will necessitate staying over, so
can you please keep this in mind when thinking what to bring in the way of
clothes and toiletries.
Yours
sincerely,
Nigel Moon
Chase read
the letter again - several times.
What
competition?
She’d
entered a few in the past, but she was sure none of them were for a house.
It must be
a joke, but she failed to find it funny.
The
heading on the paper read: Storm Enterprises, P.O. Box 296, London. There
was no telephone number.
She
suddenly wondered if it had been delivered to the wrong house. Wasn’t it
illegal to open someone else’s mail? She checked the name and address on
the envelope. But no, thankfully it was addressed to her, so she hadn’t
broken the law. She frowned. Having never won anything in her life, not
even a pound on a scratch card, she didn’t think she was going to start
now, especially with something like a house.
Staring
out of the window at the depressing urban street of terraced houses, she
wished she really had won a house.
She ran a
hand through her unruly short brown hair, but it still appeared as though
a demon barber had struck during the night. Her pretty features had a
pixie-like quality that could be mistaken for impishness, and she had a
wicked sense of humour, but she failed to find anything funny about the
letter.
A couple
of the buildings over the road had been boarded up after being burnt by
teenage arsonists; vandals daubed others with graffiti, marking their
territory like dogs. The area had not always been like this, but it had
slowly deteriorated and her house was now way beyond negative equity - you
couldn’t give it away. At one time the houses would have been the first
rungs on the homeowners’ ladder; now they were the impoverished dwellings
of those resigned to a life of unemployment and drudgery. The only people
who lived here were forced to by monetary circumstances or by the council.
When the
sun went down, it just got worse. Gangs of teenagers gathered on corners
and in doorways, the night their domain as they smoked cigarettes and
swigged bottles of beer, the smashed bottles sparkling like diamonds on
the floor; broken dreams.
Roberta’s
Wine Bar was virtually deserted; its chrome fittings and neon lights made
it look like the set from a science fiction movie.
“Of course
I don’t believe it, Jane. I’ve never won anything in my life, never mind
bloody High Top Cottage.” Chase let the name linger on the tip of her
tongue, savouring it before complementing the taste with a mouthful of
wine. If only it were true. “You didn’t really think I’d fall for your
joke, did you?” She reclined in her seat and smiled, waiting for Jane to
burst out laughing.
Jane
brushed a strand of long black hair from her face. Her Caribbean roots
gave her a sultry, exotic appearance that Chase envied. At six feet tall,
Jane also had five inches on Chase, and as Chase knew, size does matter.
Where Jane looked like an Amazonian warrior, Chase felt like one of the
seven dwarfs. She wasn’t unattractive, but she felt she looked plain when
Jane was with her. Men always noticed Jane, which would be fine if she
wasn’t gay. When they found out, they would either try harder in the
misguided belief that they could convert her, or they scurried off,
tails between their legs. Either way, Chase was ignored as they assumed
she was Jane’s partner.
“Not
guilty, sugar,” Jane said in her Caribbean lilt. She took a sip of wine,
her purple latex top stretching over her ample charms like a bizarre
second skin.
Although
Chase didn’t want to believe her, she did. The one thing Jane couldn’t do
convincingly was lie. But if it wasn’t Jane, then who was it?
Gazing out
of the window, she absently noticed a man leaning in the doorway of the
house over the road. He was staring at the wine bar; Chase felt he was
staring right at her and the hairs on her neck prickled. A lorry trundled
past, and when it had gone, so had the man.
Up until
now she had assumed the letter was a joke. But after talking to Jane, she
was beginning to wonder; perhaps even secretly hope. But she still
couldn’t bring herself to get excited. Things like this didn’t happen to
Chase Black.
But what
if ...?
Then it
would be her first bit of good luck in ages. First, Mat had dumped her
after six years, with no explanation bar a hastily scribbled note pushed
through her letterbox (she hoped it had bitten him), announcing he was
going away ‘to sort his head out,’ and it would be better, in the
circumstances, to stop seeing each other. He had become moody and taciturn
before disappearing, and their lovemaking, when it occurred, had become
more urgent, but she had just put it down to stress. Although they had
never officially moved in together, Mat stayed at her house whenever he
wasn’t working away, so bar the piece of paper they were as good as
married (she often practised his surname in her head to see if it felt
right: Chase Underwood, and she did think it had a certain ring to it).
But then on top of Mat disappearing she had lost her job as an
administrative assistant in a car manufacturing company that was ‘down
sizing’ to revive a flagging share price. But didn’t luck, good or bad,
always come in three’s? So where was piece of bad luck number three? Could
she really dare to hope that her luck was changing?
“So where
is it again, this house?” Jane asked.
“Paradise.
It says it’s somewhere in Staffordshire.”
“Somewhere?”
“Well, I
looked for it on a map but I couldn’t find it. The place doesn’t seem to
exist.”
“Just
because it’s not on a map, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Perhaps it’s
too small to put on. Let me have another look at that letter.”
Chase
passed her the letter.
“It’s a
bit obscure isn’t it?” Jane turned the piece of paper over, as though
looking for more writing. “You’d have thought they would have put a phone
number on so you could ring to confirm.”
Chase had
already considered this. “The post mark’s too smudged to read, so I can’t
even tell where it was posted from. I even rang directory enquiries, but
they couldn’t help me unless I said what town I wanted. So I said London
because of the address, but there was no listing. I also tried the
Internet which just directed me to a porn site.”
“Strange.”
Jane frowned, shook her head and handed the letter back.
“No you
would have liked it, lots of flesh.” Chase laughed.
Jane
raised her eyebrows in feigned disgust.
Chase
didn’t want to think about it anymore. Her head was spinning, but a funny
feeling danced in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know whether it was
excitement or apprehension.
Unlike
Jane’s daring manner of dress, Chase wore a smart blue, knee length skirt
and a white blouse, allowing her to blend in with the few office workers
drowning another day in an alcoholic haze. She envied them the luxury of
receiving a wage, but not the tedium of a nine to five.
The
thought of Mat came uninvited and unwanted into her mind. Tears bristled
in her eyes. She wiped them away and took a sip of wine.
“Are you
okay?” Jane asked.
“Yes, just
smoke in my eyes.”
Jane
frowned, “No one’s smoking. What is it? Is it Mat?”
Chase
nodded, instantly regretting the action as the room started to spin.
“That
bastard. He isn’t worth spitting on, never mind crying over. It’s his
loss. He won’t get a honey like you again. Now if you batted for the other
side ...”
Chase
laughed. “Then you would be my first choice, but I doubt Gina would like
it.”
“What she
don’t see, sugar.”
“Now you
know you don’t mean that.”
“Just
don’t ever try me.”
Chase
wagged her finger in mock admonishment. “Easy tiger, I don’t want Gina
scratching my eyes out, so don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, I
think about it all right!”
“You’re
terrible. I don’t know how Gina ever trusts you.”
Jane
laughed. “I’m going to have to go to the toilet, and I may be some time.”
She winked salaciously.
“Get out
of here.” She watched Jane walk away, as did most of the men in the room,
and turned her thoughts back to Mat. She still couldn’t believe he had
left her in such a cowardly way. It was just not like him. They had been
able to talk about anything. She would have known if there was a problem.
He was her soul mate, or at least she’d thought he was. In the last year
he had performed more disappearing acts than Houdini.
At first
she had thought he might have another girlfriend; that he was leading a
double life, flitting between two partners, but she knew that was just
silly. He wouldn’t do that to her. Would he? There were times when she did
wonder. Especially when he once called her by another girl’s name. It had
only been a slip of the tongue, and Mat couldn’t even remember doing it,
but she had definitely heard him. He didn’t offer any explanation for the
disappearances - he said that he couldn’t remember where he’d been. When
she questioned him further, he got angry. She had never seen him like that
before and when he started smashing plates, he had scared her more than
she would like to admit, and she had run out of the house. When she
returned, it was as if nothing had happened. The incident was never
mentioned again. Another time he assaulted a man in a bar who accidentally
knocked into him. That just wasn’t like Mat. He was a pacifist.
But this
time he had been gone for nearly four months! She had tried to find him,
unconcerned that she might not like what she found, but not even his
friends or family knew where he was. Or so they said - she had her doubts,
especially as his mother never seemed to like her, always staring down her
nose, as though Chase wasn’t good enough for her son.
She had
even considered reporting him as missing, but shrugged it off as a stupid
idea. He was an adult, and free to do as he pleased. More tears bristled
in her eyes and she wiped them away before Jane came back and admonished
her again.
At times
like this she wished her parents hadn’t emigrated to the other side of the
world.
While she
waited for Jane, she read the letter again.
It had
to be a joke.
Didn’t it?
Outside,
the night smothered the world beneath its huge raven wing.
As a car
drove past, its headlights momentarily illuminated the doorway of the
building opposite.
The man
was back.
And he
was still staring at the wine bar.
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