the rain swept night continued to batter against his apartment's
cracked window, Evan could not help but chortle to himself at the
chapter he had just written. Evan was forty-five years old, divorced,
and by day he was an office clerk, one of about thirty anonymous
faces that existed mundanely within the accounting department
Yet, in the evening he transformed from a mild mannered office rat
to a man with an obsessed passionhe wrote.
had always enjoyed writing ever since he was a young child. He had
always found extraordinary comfort in the realities and alternate
worlds that he fashioned within his mind. Any success he had achieved
had been fleeting at best: a few short stories published by a few
cruddy magazines and various internet websites. Whilst taking another
mouthful from the dark murky liquid from his cracked coffee mug,
he read the newly created words out loud, seemingly relishing upon
each scrumptious syllable.
sat simply sat there cautiously examining the scene he now found
himself in. As he pulled his long black mohair coat tighter about
him he lit another Pall Mall cigarette and greedily breathed it
in. He felt his hands finally stopping trembling as the nicotine
began to reach his blood. He glanced at his watch it was almost
midnight and time to get going. Walking methodically over to the
body, he could still see the fear alive within the dead mans eyes.
He reached down and slowly removed the ten inch butchers knife that
he had deliciously slipped into the unfortunate mans heart. This
was his twelfth murder and his skill at butchery had undoubtedly
become quite refined. Suddenly an image of the first victim abruptly
danced within his mind and he recalled how the man had squirmed
and whimpered. That it wasn't until he had clumsily stabbed him
a dozen times, perhaps more, before the agonizing moans and writhing
I have come a long way over the last six months,' he thought. Yet
he still realized that this wasn't as easy as it would have first
seemed. That some basic knowledge of anatomy was going to be of
benefit to him. He had spent many a night at the library since,
reading, learning and evaluating. Upon each lesson, he would set
out into the night yet again. Of course all these murders had been
merely rehearsals, simple dummy-runs. But next week, after months
of planning, he was finally going to meet his objective. At long
last he would have retribution to the man who had spawned so much
hatred within him.
glowed. "Perfect!" he exclaimed out loud rather victoriously.
don't know where I get these ideas from!" He grinned to himself
gleefully as if he had just been whispered some secret joke.
examined the old faded tabloid he kept purposefully next to his
desk as a continual inspiration. As he had done a hundred times
previously he picked up the newspaper and read the words out loud,
slowly and with purpose.
Revenge of a Madman by Evan McGregorA book review by Justin
has the world of horror become over the last twenty years?
seems that all originality has been replaced with variations upon
the same few tired mundane themes. Case in point the newest book
by the want to be author Evan McGregor; it was to my great horror
that I was assigned to review it and I hasten to add that was the
only horror that I felt during the whole experience. Evan writes
using a formulated series of plastic clichés. You are fully
aware when reading that Evan has not experienced anything remotely
horrific in his life. In fact I would go as far to say that he has
never as much even killed a rat. Evan if you are reading this. I
strongly urge you to either give up on this style of writing or
go out and experience life."
But Evan's rage was at a boiling point.
As he placed on his black mohair coat, remembering to put a new
packet of Pall Mall cigarettes into the side pocket, he looked at
the address he had finally found. The address belonged to Justin