The Shrieking Flesh 

Chapter One

Ken Preston

23 April 2024

A German expressionist illustration of a dark angel with frayed wings.

Shoulders hunched and head down against the driving rain, Arthur dashed down Willoughby Road. In his hand he held two coins, a two pence piece and a ten pence piece. Would it be enough? Mr Jakel, sometimes he said the bare minimum. And then there were the other times, when he was in an expansive mood. Philosophical.

Bloody hell, why does it have to piss it down every time I set foot outside?

One day soon, when he made that big score, Arthur was sodding off somewhere warm and dry.

Somewhere it didn’t rain all the sodding time.

Arthur turned the corner on to High Top Crescent and pulled up short.

Bloody typical! Why me, eh? Why the bloody hell is it always me?

Writing in the Shadows is a reader-supported publication. To continue reading, receive new posts, and support my work, consider becoming a paid subscriber.

>