Coming March 2012!

ACRACKNOPHOBIA

The Sid Tillsley Chronicles – Book Three

By Mark Jackman

The end is near...

When the most prolific and lethal vampire hunter the world has ever known cancels his subscription to Tits, Middlesbrough locals know that something isn’t right.

And that’s an understatement...

The vampire nation is ready to launch an assault on mankind.  The Coalition, a council of vampires and humans formed to hide the existence of the vampire, are almost powerless to stop them. They have one hope, not a person, but a molecule: Haemo, a drug that quells the vampire’s need to feed. If Haemo doesn’t work and the vampires take to the streets life will never be the same again.

Unfortunately, Sid Tillsley cannot be called upon, and it wasn’t even the vampires who cancelled his subscription to his all-time favourite periodical. Sid has got a job, is paying taxes, has stopped smoking and drinking, and hasn’t had a kebab in over a month! But why?

Vampires would never be so cruel. Such devilry can only be the work of womenfolk...

Acracknophobia!

The third and (due to popular demand) final volume in

The Sid Tillsley Chronicles

Mark Jackman proudly presents The Sid Tillsley Chronicles as “the

anti-Twilight” in response to what he sees as a downward spiral of the vampire genre. He explains that “Creatures of the night have slowly evolved through the years to creatures of the...posters of teenage girls. I don’t like that. Follow me on Twitter @Mark_Jackman if you’re interested.”

Gerraint Le Boel laughed raucously at the approaching security guards. “Look, they’re sending the cavalry!” he shouted to his brethren, who all dropped the bloody bodies they were gorging from and joined in the banter, mocking the men with helmets and batons who’d no idea of the monumental task confronting them. The handful of guards slowed their approach. They were used to twelve-year-old’s stealing make-up, not the dismemberment of limbs. To their credit, they advanced.

Like the attack on the concert, the vampires were striking deep into the very heart of human society. A shopping mall was a place for the family, and that was why Borg had sent his army to cause mayhem in various shopping precincts all over the country.

Each of the vampires nearly jumped for joy when they’d been chosen for the mission. This was what they’d yearned for since the Agreement had been formed. Gerraint had lived his life as a prisoner and now this was the first step in breaking free. Borg Hemsman was a hero of the vampire race and would put to bed the travesty that Michael Vitrago had conceived. Maybe they’d lose, but it was better to go out fighting.

Gerraint took one more bite of his victim’s neck and drew down the life-giving blood before wiping his mouth and turning on the overweight and underpaid security of the tacky, dishevelled shopping precinct.

He had never been one to make conversation with humans. However, he was one to break them. Leaping at the nearest guard, he covered the ground between them in a split second. His hand darted out, grabbing the human’s throat in one hand and tearing away the baton from his pitiful grasp with the other. Gerraint had never been interested in weaponry and had never bothered using it, but then he’d never attacked a shopping mall. Today was a day for new experiences.

The vampires burst into laughter watching him attack the security guards with the baton. There was no finesse in his moves. He was a thick-set vampire, relying on brute strength in battle. Normally, he’d take great delight in pulling human beings apart with his hands.

Each security guard earned a single blow from the blunt instrument and the damage was devastating, each strike accompanied with the sound of breaking bones. Blood sprayed across the floor and up the shop windows until only Gerraint stood, twirling the baton.

He turned to his amused friends and, in the process, slipped on the blood-wet tiles and fell to the floor. This brought more hysteria to the vampires and Gerraint joined in laughing until his ribs hurt, still lying on the cold, wet floor.

“It looks like you have another challenger,” cried a vampire, in between fits of laughter.

Gerraint lifted his head, the blood from his victims dripping from his hair. “What is that?”

The laughter waned as the vampires considered their next opponent, looking at each other to make sure they weren’t seeing things. Once more, they all burst into hysterics.

Gerraint got to his feet carefully, not wanting to slip in the pools of blood. He was utterly intrigued by the...giant orange bear, cracking its—he could only presume—knuckles. “Aren’t you adorwable?” he cooed.

“Fook off,” said the bear.

Gerraint struggled deciphering the thick Northeast accent mumbled through a giant fluffy bear head.

The bear pointed at the entrance from which the vampires had entered. “You’ve played enough silly buggers for one day, and if you go now, you’ll all save yourself a bust nose.”

Gerraint caught the gist if not all the words. “I see. Are you security? You’re a little late.” The sadistic vampire gestured at the broken bodies and chuckled.

The bear shook his head. “There was no need for that, ya bastards. Look, I’m on to a nice little earner with this job, so I’ll let you off if you fook off now. Otherwise...” The bear indicated his violent intent with the shake of a big right orange fist.

“Oh, really? Well what would happen if I struck first?” Gerraint pounced and, with all his might, swung the baton like a baseball bat into the bear’s soft stomach.

The bear didn’t budge an inch. Instead, he lazily reached into his mouth and pulled out a lit cigarette and threw it to the floor, accompanied with a puff of smoke.

There was no cool, dry-witted line for this mammal was not smarter than the average bear. Cool-witted lines didn’t matter when you had a right hand like Buddy the Bear.