Danny Hewson

@dannyhewson.bsky.social

125 Followers 59 Following

Definitely not a seagull. Arch-prognosticator and futurist. D&D DM. 40K painter. Writer of weird fiction. 🏳️‍🌈 https://dannysworldofstuff.com My first novel, "Empty Shells", is now available on Amazon in eBook and paperback. I'm told it's quite good.

A copy of the masterpiece demonic fiction novel Empty Shells, artfully positioned atop a brick step in the summer sunshine, overlooking the Thames.
A squirrel, on a fence, wet from the rain and looking cross about it.
A newt probably. Or something similar. I don’t know. Cute though.
A squirrel, close up, against a window.
A big-ass toad.
Stupid freeloading orange cat.
Excerpt Reads: The most recent entertaining mishap doing the rounds was the story of a local petty criminal who had attempted to break into the back of a van, which was parked on the street outside a diner while its owner stopped for lunch, only to find the back of the van was carrying thousands of inch-long hornet like insects. Having disturbed the creatures while breaking open the van and prying open the crate storing them, the gentleman in question was set upon by the creatures and ended up running screaming down Main Street while the swarm pursued him. Before anyone had a chance to help him, not that anyone was particularly inclined to, the sheer quantity of stings had saturated him with so much toxic and acidic venom that most of his soft tissues had liquefied. ‘Yeah, so they just sluiced most of him down the drain and let the hellhounds have the bones. Except the skull, the emo girl that runs the occult novelties shop wanted that,’ Fin concluded.
Excerpt reads: ‘If it walks like a panic attack, and quacks like a panic attack,’ Nox said. ‘It’s a severely traumatised duck,’ Tyler finished.
12 comedically painted geese in various novelty schemes.
A ferret. It’s a yellow one.
Excerpt reads as follows: For an hour, he had been drafted in behind the bar to cover for breaks, during which time he had found a perverse pleasure in ad-libbing cocktails for people who ordered without being specific about what they wanted, or who couldn't quite remember what a drink was called. Or just annoyed him by asking a load of questions he couldn’t answer. It had crossed his mind, after handing a glass of absinthe and diet cherryade to a woman who had ordered “whatever” while distracted by her phone, that this may not be the most sensible course of action. Then he saw Moira crack up at her revolted reaction and decided to go for it. It seemed that the job came with a pretty reasonable allowance of snark. As long as they paid first. After two more customers had accidentally ordered what some of the staff and regulars came to call a ‘Mikey Special’ (In the first instance, neat vodka and instant gravy granules, with a cocktail sausage on a stick, for a man who wanted “something strong, and make it quick”. In the second, watermelon liquor with kirsch and a raw egg yolk, garnished with a coiled up gummy worm, for a woman who had spent two minutes trying to describe a drink she had once had on holiday but couldn’t quite recall the name of), people had started being sent to the bar to order “whatever” as a dare. He rather feared, by the end of the night, that he may have created a tradition.
Excerpt reads as follows: Time was a slippery thing in The Labyrinth, it never entirely seemed to match up to the outside world. The passage of time would catch and slip like a failing gearbox. It didn’t help that it was damn near impossible to keep a non-magical clock working within the maze. Analogue clocks tended to spin randomly or fail altogether, while their digital counterparts had an off-putting habit of simply showing glowing runic symbols in place of numbers. A very clever demon once invented an organic clock that worked by containing a carefully curated array of different varieties of bacteria which would devour each other (and the luminescent dyes contained along with them), die, and reproduce on an impeccably accurate twelve hour rotating schedule. This living clock glowed different colours at different times of day. It was a thing of genius and surprising beauty, which was rather spoiled for its creator when someone had the idea of taking one into The Labyrinth in the hope that the strictly organic timepiece would function in the borderline technological dead zone. No one’s quite sure how, but it vomited itself to death, in the process cracking open the casing and giving the person who carried it dysentery. It seemed to be The Labyrinth’s way of suggesting he was pushing his luck a bit.
Excerpt reads as follows: “She was nice.” Reggie said, slightly muffled, from his comfy spot in the footwell. “Of course you say that, she gave us pie.” Scamp made a quiet squeaking noise from his spot on the dashboard. “Motherfucker, you are more cheese than rat now, there’s no way you could be hungry, you can have yours later!” “What the hell have I gotten myself into.” Mikey said, grinning despite himself.
Excerpt reads as follows: They talked for a few minutes, until the waitress returned with a tray load of plates and passed them out. She got as far as “Now you be careful, this is hot-” before Scamp shoved his entire head into his bowl of mac and cheese, giving an effect somewhat like someone bobbing for pasta. Bubbles slowly surfaced in the thick sauce, accompanied by a wet squelching noise. “Should we… do something about that?” Mikey asked, in morbid fascination. “No, no, let’s see how this plays out…” Suggested Reggie. The three of them stared at the partially submerged rat demon for close to a minute, before he surfaced, dripping cheese sauce and panting for breath. The level in the bowl had noticeably dropped. “Oh, thank Lucifer for that, we get in so much trouble if we kill a customer.” The waitress said, relieved. “How about I fetch you some extra napkins… and maybe some wet wipes?” “That would be appreciated, thank you.” Mikey said, shaking his head wearily.