Do you do any antique shopping?
I do. Quite more than I should, if I’m being honest. I like to roam the small booths of antique co-ops, and the rambling expanses of barns packed with items of debatable worth. As I move among the various bric-a-brac, toys, and forgotten tools, I wonder about the people who owned them. What were they like?
And of course, my thoughts travel down a dark path.
That innocent looking vegetable chopper, with a carved wooden handle and a hand-forged blade, surely it could be buried in the back of someone’s head.
And that necklace, with the ivory broach, hadn’t someone been murdered for it in the distant past?
Then my eyes find the worst of the lot.
What is it about an old toy that twists my guts? Why do I see something foul and wicked in the eyes of a porcelain doll, or the straight-armed wind-up bear with the ragged fur?
Whatever the reason is, those toys have inspired me to write the story of Victor Daniels and the horror he is plunged into. And it is horror for poor Victor.
Do you want to come along and see what happens to him?
Here’s a warning, though: it gets bloody, and it gets bad.
But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?
Keeping it Spooky,
Ron Ripley and Team Scare Street