I have known Marcus Blacksmith for a long time. I should say, to the extent that it is possible to know someone. How well do any of us really know anyone? The psyche behind the persona? If we unravelled that person, so their viscera was laid out, streamer-like for inspection, would we discover more? Anything tangible? No, only that we all appear vaguely similar inside, with differently shaded skin. What sets us all apart is what lies in the jelly-like mass within our cranium. Which, in truth, is only ever partially revealed. What I can tell you, with the utmost confidence, is that behind the placid, self-effacing exterior, there operates a mind much like that of the crazed, cymbal-playing Jolly Chimp. A version of that maniacal toy that haunts the darkest corners, the deepest shadows, the dankest cellars. A version that, when you least expect it, will spring forth in a terrifying clatter of chattering teeth and banging cymbals.
Marcus Blacksmith lives and works in the Cotswolds. He started writing around the time he moved there with his family. This collection of short stories, his first published work, draws on experiences from his full-time employment. It is, in the decade of living and working there in construction, social housing and tourism, that the seeds of these stories were sown.
This unique insight into Cotswolds life, combined with his love of a weird, macabre and twisted sense of justice, form the backdrop for this collection. He is in the process of writing the next collection, Into Darkness, which, he promises, will take you to places beyond the edge of reason.
Yours,
–B–