📮 Next Left and Other Stories by Ash Ericmore (.ePUB)

Ash Ericmore is a British horror author. He resides in the south, in the Garden of England. He writes horror that is sometimes fantastical, sometimes grounded, but always deeply graphic, and black with humour.

♻️ Book's Info:

Ill Repute

Ill Repute Donnie doesn’t want any of this. It was all Ralph’s idea. But that was how they ended up at the house. The one on the dual carriageway. The one you’ve driven by a hundred times and never known it was a house of ill repute. But aside from the women, and the sex, and the sexy women, there is something else there. Something that will change everything. Consider this a trigger warning for everything.

Cult Killing Monsters

Cult Killing Monsters Three guys sent to the rich part of town. Jeremy tells them it’s to send a message. They’ve had to send those messages before. Getting the stains out is a bitch. Husband, wife, and a kid. How hard can it be? Hard. That’s how hard it’s going to be. And sticky. Consider this a trigger warning for everything.

Next Left

Next Left Hayden needs to pee. But he’s doing seventy, he’s on the motorway, and he doesn’t want to stop. But he’s going to have to, right? When the sign comes along that there is hot and cold food off at the next left, he thinks there has to be a toilet, too. Well, yeah. If you can call it that. But there are other things there, too. And other people. And something is not right. At all.

This One Door

This One Door Dance and Malik are looking only for the pile of gold at the end of the rainbow. They break into houses and get into shit. Take the money. This one night they break into the wrong house. Standing alone at the end of the street. Grass overgrown. And once they get in, nothing will ever be the same. Graphic content. Consider this your trigger warning.

Hatching

Hatching It’s an urban legend. Spiders birthing in the human ear. Tiny babies crawling from the most harmless of crevices. The sound, first, of course. The pitter patter of tiny feet. Middle of the night. It’s just the starch in the washing powder. The pillow moving. Not something inside you. Something crawling out of you. Something … … some … things. Consider this a trigger warning for … well … I’m sure you can imagine.

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