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An alien did it THE END

Simon John Cox

I was approached recently by literary renegade and force of nature Bernard Schaffer to take part in a big and exciting science fiction project called Confederation Reborn that will involve a range of authors and should generate a network of tightly or loosely connected narratives.I don't want to say too much about it mainly because… Continue reading An alien did it THE END

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OK so what if like the TV show Quantum Leap was real and like North Korea stole the technology and like went into people’s heads and someone who went into the machine like couldn’t get back out again?

Simon John Cox

I've written a short story in which the technology featured in the 1980s/90s TV series Quantum Leap is real and has been stolen and reverse-engineered by North Korea. It's called, fairly unsurprisingly, A Quantum Leap.The "A" is important. I should point out that it's absolutely not the roistering, knockabout romp that the above description implies.… Continue reading OK so what if like the TV show Quantum Leap was real and like North Korea stole the technology and like went into people’s heads and someone who went into the machine like couldn’t get back out again?

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Edge Of Oblivion now available

Simon John Cox

The Edge Of Oblivion short story anthology is now out, and as well as my short story Still it contains some great stories from indie publishing talents such as William Vitka, David Hulegaard and the far-too-young-to-be-having-any-business-writing-as-well-as-he-does Brendan Swogger, plus many others whose absence here is by no means a reflection on their ability but is every bit a reflection of the fact that I'm too lazy to list them all.

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Feast

Simon John Cox

In rags and lace the half-folk come, in velvet and in iron. On the year’s longest night the ancient kings shake free their bones, and the forgotten creatures pass from their world into this. From their standing stones and crossroads the hobs and fairies come, from their hills and holes the sidhe and the elves, all down deep into the long, cold barrow.

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Atoc

Simon John Cox

Inside the box is a large glass case, almost as large as the box itself, and inside the case is a shrunken figure. It looks like a mummy, but it is unlike any that I’ve ever seen before. The position is all wrong, for a start: it is sat upright, hugging its knees to its chest, and its chin is perched neatly upon its folded arms. There are no bandages; instead it is naked apart from a perished woollen loincloth, a couple of dull gold bracelets and a woven headdress tied with feathers made almost translucent by age. Its dead skin is the miserable grey of wet slate, and dry black fingernails protrude like chips of bark from its fingers. Worst of all is its face, from which two black pebbles stare dully out of the puckered sockets of its eyes above a collapsed nose and two desiccated lips that have shrivelled into a cruel grin.