Dark Isle (Dark Isle Series)

Mark Stine is an American academic enjoying his year as a visiting professor at Cambridge University. But when he starts researching the long-dead English writer, Monty Summerskill, he quickly discovers that truth is stranger than fiction. Turns out Summerskill's ghost stories were based on horrifying reality. One that caused the author's shocking death. Mark's journey takes him to dark places, where he finds himself haunted by a ghost from his troubled childhood. But that's nothing compared to the terrors that await as he heads towards the Dark Isle, where the solution to an ancient mystery lies. Something far more terrifying than any ghost is on his trail. Awakened after decades of hibernation, it is deadly, unstoppable and hungry. Hungry for blood.

From the Inside Flap

Excerpt from Chapter 2: Ghosts and Scholars After a slow start to the afternoon, the bar of the Grey Horse was suddenly crowded, thanks to the arrival of the volunteer lifeboat crew. "Another tourist stuck in a sweatbox, was it?" asked Rose Hyde, pulling pints of the local beer. The 'sweatboxes' were small huts mounted on ten-foot stilts near the middle of the causeway, allowing people trapped by the tide to climb up a ladder and wait for rescue. As the nickname suggested, the huts hadn't been designed for comfort. They sometimes ended up smelling of worse things than sweat. "Not exactly," said Jim Falk, the captain of the lifeboat. He gave a slight jerk of the head to indicate the end of the bar where Sharkey was nursing his pint alone. "Another false alarm?" asked Rose, lowering her voice. "Too bloody right!" said another crew member, without moderating his tone. "We spent two friggin' hours farting around out there. Not a trace of anybody. 'Bloke on an old-fashioned bicycle' my arse!" Sharkey didn't look round, but silently picked up his pint and went outside. "You should cut him some slack, lads," said Rose. "He's been through a lot." "I know," replied Jim, but there were derisive noises from other life boatmen. "If you're seeing things, you shouldn't be on the crew, simple as that," said one, to murmurs of agreement. "Well, Barry," shot back Rose, "judging by your state most Saturday nights, we're lucky you don't call the boat out to look for pink elephants." That got a good laugh and lightened the mood somewhat. Leaving the crew to their banter, Rose went outside to collect glasses and found Sharkey standing by the wall of the small beer garden, looking out at the causeway. "Al right, Sharkey?" she asked. He didn't reply. Rose put the glasses down on a table and went up to him, touched him on the shoulder. "I know you saw it, Sharkey." "Don't you go and humor me, girl," he muttered, lips barely moving under his straggling gray beard. "Brown clothes, maybe tweed. Cycle clips, thick socks. Cloth cap, with a peak. Old-fashioned bike, clunky-looking," said Rose. Sharkey looked down at her, eyes wide. Rose turned away, picked up the glasses and said over her shoulder. "You're not the only one with the sight, Sharkey. I've seen that one a few times lately. The closer to the edge we get, one way or another, the more likely we are to see them. They're nothing to be scared of, just you remember that." Sharkey watched her as she went inside, then turned and took a swig of his beer and set the glass back down on the wall. "It's not the ghosts I'm scared of, girl," he said to himself, as he watched the shifting patterns of the restless sea.

About the Author

David Longhorn was born in North East England long before the internet, but fortunately they had plenty of books in those days! He enjoyed reading all sorts of fact and fiction in childhood and also became a huge fan of old horror movies and the BBC's Ghost Stories for Christmas on television, despite losing a lot of sleep as a result. He went on to get a degree in English Studies, which somehow led him to a career in local government, which in turn took him into a recording studio where he provided voice-overs, read news, and did a lot of other audio stuff. It's been that kind of life, really - a bit random but quite interesting. All the while he was reading and writing supernatural fiction, influenced by both the classic tales of writers like Ambrose Bierce, M.R. James, and Edgar Allan Poe, but also by modern masters such as Stephen King. He hopes to write a lot more about the world of the dead and undead, assuming they let him...

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