Enduring blistering Australian summers always made me wonder why horror favors the colder months.
Don’t get me wrong.
I love the naturally creepy autumn aesthetic. And the bleakness of winter is a welcome excuse to curl up.
But there’s this strange phenomenon that only happens when it’s scorching hot. It seems like people just stop caring.
People will step into oncoming traffic, swim despite shark warnings, even try to poke venomous snakes without considering what a bad idea that is.
It’s like there’s a required temperature for our self-preservation instincts, to push us beyond that and we’ll stop seeing the dangers around us… or for a rare few, even go a little crazy.
Tell me this scenario isn’t a prime setting for a killer on the loose.
I longed to write a horror story in this backdrop, and Claws of Death gave me the perfect chance.
These demons would thrive in an environment where everyone has been lured into placidity, into ignoring all the warning signs that should have sent them running…
… a place where the Rose siblings can never be sure how far people are willing to go.
In Claws of Death, hell has come to Skuttle Beach.
Everyone should get out while they still have the chance.
But then, it’s far too hot to run.
Other books in the series:
See you in the shadows,