Monday, March 12, 2018

Paul Bridgeman ~ 2nd interview and his novel ~ When You Walk By Night

Paul Bridgeman

TITLE: When You Walk By Night
RELEASE DATE: September 2017
AUTHOR: Paul Bridgeman
CATEGORIES: Horror/Dark Fantasy/LGBTQ
ISBN: 978-1974477982
IMPRINT: Dark Serpent

I have loved ghost stories from a very early age and by the time I was nine or ten years old I was scaring my brothers with bedtime stories of my own! I always wrote other stories but only really showed my brothers as I was too shy and worried that people would laugh. I was delighted to find creative writing an escape from daily life in my teens. I would often use my artistic skills to illustrate and even create cartoon strips of my stories. However, for many years my pleasure in art and storytelling was mainly shared with close relatives and lovers. I worked for both big soft drinks companies of certain colas and at Westminster, which meant that I have been lucky enough to travel all around the world, which does inform some of my stories, however most of my stories are based in Wales, which is my home country and the place I love best. I lived in Thailand for many years where I worked at Rayong University, teaching Business English. I learned to speak, read and write Thai and to cook their delicious food and to perform their unique massage. The culture of Thailand also sparked my art and writing like never before and I sold my art to clients in Thailand, Japan and the USA. When I returned to Wales I had a successful exhibition of surrealist art called “Genius? Genius!” and I decided to take a course in Art, Design and Illustration which lead to a Batchelor of Arts with honours in General Illustration. This was followed by an ignition of my passion for art and writing again and I began to write and paint with abandon. I was invited to exhibit at New Designers 2012, the most prestigious and largest illustration exhibition in Europe. I was very proud of this and my work received good attention, I even signed autographs, which felt surreal.! A few years ago, I met author David Owain Hughes (Look him up!) and he introduced me to Ravenwood Publishers and the lovely Kitty. It still took a huge nagging session from my Mother Rose and my husband Damian to make me offer up my stories for publication. To tell the truth I had forgotten about sending the stories out at all. So, when I received the email from Kitty offering publication I almost gave Damian a heart attack with the noise I made. When I told him and my Mother they almost deafened me right back! Imagine my delight when I found that other people liked my stories. I sometime wonder where all these dark, spooky and kinky stories come from, I am just glad that they do come to me I hope that you will enjoy my stories and check in with me now and again. I will put up descriptions of my stories and maybe even excerpts of them, I will share my own artwork for characters in my books on my blogg at and also keep you up on gossip and future publications. I really hope we will become friends and then I want to thrill and scare you all to death Mwaahaha Love to you all Paul Bridgeman.


Q: When you think of a garden, do you picture vegetables or flowers?
A: Flowers, the brighter the better

Q: If you didn’t have to clean them, how many bathrooms would you have in your home?
A: One
            How many if you have to clean them?
A: One

Q: Bedtime, relaxing so you can sleep sounds. Is your preference, white noise, TV, soft music, ocean waves, forest or meadow sounds, babbling brook, or something else?
A: Twin Peaks Soundtrack (Original TV Series with Angelo Badalamenti and Julee Cruise (My most played CD/Record ever), very soft though.

Q: What kind of music do you listen to? Do you have an all time favorite song?
A: Madonna, Bowie, Pink Floyd, Blondie, Kate Bush, Tori Amos and Bjork, I love all music really, these are just favourites.

Q: If your life were a movie, would it be considered an action film, comedy, drama, romance, fantasy or a combination?
A: Action/Comedy/Drama Lol, worrying huh?


Q; Now your least favorite part?
A: I always want my stories to be believeable and sometimes endings would be better if I just went with the feeling, but if I think it is dodgy or unconvincing I have to work at it until I am happy

Q: Describe your favorite heroine? (This doesn’t have to be one of yours.)
A: Delores Claiborne, gritty, hard-working, witty and loving with a murderous streak, one of Stephen Kings’ best

Q: Describe your favorite hero? (This doesn’t have to be one of yours.)
A: Calhoun Mooney, from Clive Barkers’ “Weaveworld”, he felt like a friend by the end of the book. He was loyal, brave and hopelessly in love with the heroine of the story, but didn’t giver her attitude when she didn’t love him back (In the right way for him that is)

Q: Who's your favorite author?
A: This is a mean question, but Clive Barker and Stephen King will have to duke it out to win my love.

Q: Your favorite title?
A: Weaveworld Clive Barker

Q: Would you ever consider a joint project?
A: Yes, With Clive, Stephen or C.A. Lear


Q: What are you working on now? Would you like to share anything about it?
A: I am working on a full length novel called “Bringing Them Back”, I can’t say anything about it because it isn’t finished, but my trusted friends and family that read for me are all nagging me for more, so it’s on the right track and writing it feels so good! I’ll tell you about it when it’s due out

Q: Do you have a new book coming out soon? Tell us about it.
A: “On Your Way Home” is my next Book. It’s the story of a young boy who moves back to his parents village and is horrified to find that the road home from his friends house has no street lights. As he walks up the lane he begins to feel a pull in his stomach and the hairs on his neck stand up. A feeling of horror is emanating from a side road and he tries to resist, but in the end the fear wins and he runs the whole mile home. That night he wakes to find a figure standing in the corner of his bedroom, a total absence of features,but red glowing eyes glare at him and from that moment the battle lines are drawn, but can a Twelve year old boy beat an ancient evil? Out next year! Lol


When he went to bed that night he fell into a deep dream of darkness, like falling through a vast starless space. It was relaxing, nothing like the darkness of the lanes just peaceful drifting weightlessness and a feeling of safety. As he moved he began to hear a noise. A high pitched broken tone, almost like Morse code, in fact almost exactly like it. With each noise a broken silver line appeared, bright in itself, but not shedding light and once it appeared it moved across his vision. As the tones became longer, the line solidified and he wondered what it was. The line now stretched across the whole horizon of this black place and a voice said, “Touch it!” and although he didn’t seem to have a body in this place James reached up to touch the line of light with his mind. As his mental fingers touched the line he was grasped and yanked violently out of his body. He flew towards the wall so fast that he jerked awake! What the fuck! He was terrified. He was soaked with cold sweat, even his hair was drenched, he pulled it out of his eyes and stood up.

Q: How can we find you? Do you have a web page, FaceBook page or any buy links?
A:Yes, I do. Here are the links.   


KEYWORDS: Extra-dimensional beings, lesbian, gay, bisexual, nymphomania, Prostitution, Brothel 

Let me take you for a walk by night, I have dark stories to tell, You won't regret it.

Take a walk with me to the end of your street, where the lampposts end and the darkness hides dancing, skipping horrors. Waiting for us are a Copy-cat killer who picks the wrong guy to copy. A strange epidemic that is not quite what it seems and has consequences for us all. An ancient Djiin who trades in souls and loves a twist in his deals. A girl plagued by nymphomania who is going through some deep changes. An exclusive, high class brothel with an interesting charging policy. Inter-dimensional horror on a human farm. A collector of cursed books and Objet D’Art, with a very nosey wife. A group of flatmates terrorised by a possessing spirit with murderous intentions and a sweet girl who would do anything for love. Oh! And Vampires. I can see them now. Come on, take my hand they are getting impatient. . . 

White Out – From When You Walk At Night

It was a cold crisp winter night in Wales when it happened. People were rushing home in rapidly darkening October night. My fingers were stiff with cold and aching in the joints when the snow began falling. Luckily my bus arrived on time and I sat at a seat near a heater as I headed home. The snow gave the street lamps an orange aura as it fell and when I got off at my stop I noticed a faint musky smell in the air. It was both familiar and intangible at the same time. Unable to place it I hurried on to my house where a nice, warm cuppa awaited.

As I ate my tea, a couple of sausage sandwiches and that cup of tea I mentioned, I watched the snow as it slowly transformed my garden into a mini-wonderland. The Rowan tree looked particularly pretty with its’ dusting of snow on branches still thick with berries. Above the branches rose the moon, looking huge and yellow as it crested above the houses across the railway track from me. All sound from outside seemed muffled and comforting, far off. It was a perfect night. One that we would remember for quite a while, if not forever.

In the morning, I woke up feeling chesty, coughing hard as I showered. The steam seemed to help a little, but once I left the house the choking feeling resumed. Everyone I passed on the streets seemed to be the same. Well, it was the time of the year for bugs, so I guessed that was what it was. Once I was on the bus to work the coughing was worse, everyone on the bus clearing their throats and coughing hard. As I walked up Queen Street my head began to ache and felt fuzzy. Everywhere people were coughing, it seemed this bug was going to get everyone this year.

My work mates were standing near the fire exit smoking, I didn’t smoke myself, but it was good to catch up with each other before work, so I often joined them, the topic of conversation was of course the cough everyone had. It seemed that there were no exceptions. I tried using my asthma pump and even that didn’t help me. My chest felt like it had metal bands restricting it, I felt awful by midday.

Our company sent us all home, you couldn’t hear yourself think over the noise of people choking or clearing their throats and as most of our business involved the telephone we were as good as useless. On the way to the bus I noticed a lot of the shops were either closed or were in the process of closing.

The queue for the bus seemed endless and the sound of coughing made me nervous for the first time. Surely though it would be a simple cough, nothing to get concerned about, just that it is very contagious, more an irritation than a real threat to health. I walked back from the bus with my neighbour, of course the same conversation was covered again. Mrs Jones told me that the cough was all over the country not just here. They were advising people to cover up because of the snow and had warned there was more to come tonight.

When I got home my head was banging and my throat felt swollen and sore. I looked in my bathroom mirror and my throat looked very red and inflamed too. I also noticed light brown swellings on my throat, they looked like smudges gone mad. I had some flu remedies in the cupboard and made myself a mug of it, there was also cough medicine in the fridge. I couldn’t see the date of expiry, but if the medicine didn’t kill me it could only help. I put the cough medicine in hot water and sweetened it, like my Mam used to do when we were little ones. It seemed more comforting that way, always had. As if thinking of her had summoned her my phone rang “Hiya Mam, you okay?”, she didn’t need to answer I could hear her and my dad coughing.

“This cough is terrible Babe. Have you got it?” I told her yes. “They say that it is all over the world. Not just here, something to do with the snow.” I hated that she sounded so frightened.

“It’s just a cough Mam, it will pass just keep warm and take your medicine”

“That’s what your Dad is saying too, but I think it’s frightening I can hardly breathe”.

We talked like this for a while, I think I re-assured her of the impotence of the cough and we said goodnight. I fell asleep right away and when I woke up two hours later my ears were ringing and my skin felt clammy, unpleasant to touch. I stood and the room swam. I almost sat back down but made it to my feet. I began to shudder and shiver and realized my temperature must have raised to fever pitch. I went into the bathroom and to examined myself in the mirror.

It was a total shocked, my skin was white, not the pale pink we call white but an absolute white. Under my eyes were more of the brown smudges. Under my arms and in my crotch, were swellings where the original smudges had been. Now they were red and painful. I washed my face hoping it would come off and when it didn’t I panicked and ran the shower on high, scrubbing wildly at my flesh, even grazed my skin in places. The water seemed to run off my skin and where it stayed it formed droplets that sat on the surface. I wondered if I was hallucinating? I touched my skin again and it felt unbelievably soft, almost powdery. I dried off and put on my dressing gown. Looking out of the window of the front room, snow had fallen again, maybe another five inches. I was about to turn away when I heard a moan from my neighbours garden. I couldn’t make out if it was human or animal the sound was almost just a ragged breath as much as a moan.

I ran to the bedroom and got dressed, my neighbour was elderly, if he had fallen in the snow the difference between life and death could be minutes in these temperatures hyperthermia was deadly the older you were. Clothes on, I pulled open the back door and vaulted the fence, the exertion slowed me down and I was wracked with a barrage of coughing. There in the snow was a vague shape totally covered. I knelt down and began digging the snow away. The shape was too small to be Mr Kennedy, I thought perhaps it might be a child or an animal even. The snow finally parted and there it was.

I drew my breath in hard, there lay a dog. At least I thought that was what it was. It was covered in transparent slime and its’ hair was falling out in huge clumps. The bald patches were white and had the same brown smears that my own had. Its body was giving off an exceptional heat and it let out a whimper as I touched it “There, there boy” I said and wondered what exactly I intended to say to calm the sick animal. I stood up and everything swam again, lights bloomed in my eyes and I realized if I was going to help the dog I had best get myself and it indoors. I knocked Mr Kennedys’ back door, the lights were on but there was no sound from inside. I had no doubt that he was sick too. Possibly worse than myself and flat out in a delirious sleep. I knocked again, louder this time, but with the same result. I turned and despite my disgust at the state of the dog I picked him up and placed him over the fence on to one of the deeper drifts.

I got him in and took him into the bathroom where I washed him in hot water. His hair just slid off, even under the gentle flow of my shower and when I turned the shower off the dog lay bald and trembling on the tiles. I went into the living room and towelled the dog off speaking softly to soothe it as I worked. I found some clean towels and wrapped him in them and lay him by the radiator to keep warm. The dog made no noise at all, but his skin was on fire, so I guessed he wasn’t dead. I returned to the bathroom and cleaned myself up again, I was covered in the dogs’ clear gunk from rescuing him.

I unblocked the drain of dog hair and found myself a couple of duvets. I would sleep on the sofa tonight, close to the dog. I felt better knowing that I wasn’t alone even if the dog was sicker than I was.

When I woke up in the morning I went to run my hand through my hair. I was bald as the dog?

What was going on? Find out in “When You Walk by Night” by Paul Bridgeman


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