Fee, fi, fo, fum … John Creed doesn’t know how much danger he’s in. All he knows is that his dreams about the white wolf are getting worse. The sparrows are multiplying, there are too many crows in the sky, and it’s getting cold, Deathly cold. Can secretive, white-haired Fyre King help John unravel the mysteries of his past? Or will the bloodthirsty wolves finally descend while the snow falls and the whole world sleeps?
After attending Parmiter's Grammar School in East London, Keith worked in a local pie, mash and eel shop for two years before joining the East London Advertiser newspaper at the age of 20. After working in East London, Oxford, and Essex, he eventually made it to Fleet Street when he joined The Sunday Times in London. After stints at the Daily Mirror and the China Daily newspaper in Beijing, he emigrated to Australia in 1994 and stayed for 28 years, working on the Sydney Morning Herald and then becoming a freelance travel writer. It was while in Australia that the inspiration struck him to write the YA horror story GRYMM, which waa followed by SNOW and JAGO.
Keith returned to the UK in 2022 and then relocated to Albania for a few months to write his 4th - and most outrageous - YA book (coming soon!).
Poor Deryk doesn't last long as the giant white wolf tears off his head. And from then on things only get weirder and more dangerous for scarred, stuttering teenager John Creed and his friend Fyre as a massive snowstorm envelopes the country and, gradually, the population falls asleep. Well, not everyone ... there are the sparrows, the one-eyed crows and the mad Kitten Tapper.
I liked making John Creed a stutterer as I was one in my younger days (still am at moments) and this was partially my way of getting my own back.
Book Excerpt
SNOW
From a head that was as large as Deryk’s body, two baleful golden eyes the size of boiled eggs gazed at him.
What big eyes you have ... And what big ... teeth.
He just had time to register that the warm feeling was the breath of a massive white wolf standing right behind him. Deryk suddenly found he had no strength to hold onto the gun, and it dropped to the floor with a crash that he barely registered. A warm wet patch spread around his groin as the wolf huffed and puffed.
In the final few seconds of his life, before the wolf tore his head from his body, Deryk McDougall had only one thought. ‘Mum?’
A little later, the white wolf was standing outside in the snow. She could hear snarling and ripping behind her in the house, but her attention was elsewhere. She sniffed the air. The one she had long been searching for had been here; she could smell him – faint but unmistakable. But where was he now?
She looked up, unperturbed, as an explosion of one-eyed ravens came spewing out of the bedroom window where Deryk McDougall had met his fate. The papery rustling of thousands of wings grew louder and louder as the flock rose up into the air and began to swell like some gigantic black fist.
Fly! ordered the wolf with her mind. FLY!
The great mass blew apart as if a bomb had gone off in the heart of it, heading north, south, east, west. Within minutes they were gone, disappeared on the wind.
Fly, thought the wolf again, and turned back towards the cottage.
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