I’ve been sitting on this news for a while, so it’s with much excitement that I can say I have a short story appearing in a new Gothic horror anthology by FunDead Publications!

FunDead is an amazing indie horror publisher based in the Witch City – Salem, Massachusetts. Back in December 2016 it released a Christmas horror book – ‘O Horrid Night’ – I had the pleasure of appearing in, with a story called ‘The Sixpence in the Pudding’ (republished in Fresh Blood Orange last year).

Now, coming in Autumn/Winter this year, is a new anthology which will feature my story ‘The Lunatic Song’ (teaser below).

There are a few reasons I’m really stoked about this one. First, the brief this time was for ‘long’ short stories, or novelettes. At around 12,000 words, ‘The Lunatic Song’ is the longest piece to date I’ve had published by a third party.

Second, the theme: traditional Gothic Horror with non-traditional characters. Keep some tropes, break some others. It was a blast to work on, I really enjoyed researching – the story is partly set in Bedlam, Victorian London’s notorious insane asylum – and writing this piece and consider it to be some of my best work to date.

Third, FunDead turns out wonderfully high-quality, well-designed books that any author would be proud to be a part of. The team are active in their local indie book scene and dedicated to their work. Check out their stuff here.

The Lunatic Song

by Callum McSorley

Her family had an illustrious name, so I took it when I married her. I signed away my old name on our wedding day and was glad that the past might be dead and buried, for at that time I no longer wanted anything to do with it and the man who owned it, called Charles Hale.

The wedding was at St Paul’s in town, the reception at the country estate owned by the bride’s family – my family. The carriage-drivers wore top hats and bow ties, the horses were frocked in white, spattered with mud as they trotted through the unlaid road up the hill through Hampstead Village and on to Promontory House. Our first dance was to Schubert’s ‘Adagio in C’, played by a string quintet. There was no pianist to accompany. I hadn’t requested this myself but Mr Myerscough, the father of the bride, was a perceptive man, so there was no pianist. Our marriage proposal was something of a not-altogether-unpleasant surprise for him and, secretly, a relief. He knew more than he let on, I guessed. His daughter did not credit him this.

We danced, our cheeks brushed, I felt her lips touch my ear. She whispered: “Kiss me again, brother dearest, and this time try not to look so revolted.”

Read more soon