Publisher: Mad Doctors of Literature
Length: 114 Pages
Genre: Horror Fiction
Age Category: Adult
Date Published: 8 June 2022
Purchase Ebook / Print

Blurb

Tracy Forrest has it all. A great boyfriend, loyal best mate, good job and new house. But something is missing. There’s a wistful longing for good times gone by that Trace just can’t lay to rest. When she spots a ubiquitous and mysterious teenage doodle in an old schoolbook, she becomes obsessed with finding out what it is.

You know Cool S? Yeah, you do. Cool S. Super S. Pointy S. THE S. That thing we all doodled on notebooks and schoolbooks and pencil cases, maybe graffitied on a park bench or a bus stop if you were frisky. Ever wondered what it was? Where it came from? What it means? Well, I’m here to tell you. Are you sure you want to know? Cool S. Some things should stay lost.

Excerpt

Three thirty-three AM. She groaned and rubbed her nose, closing her eyes against the inevitability of waking. She really should try and get back to sleep.  Listening for Rick coming back from the bathroom, for any sounds of him snoring downstairs, Trace became exquisitely aware of every little night noise, crowding in around her and peering down at the island of her bed. The house tapped and creaked, each tiny sound amplified, then drowned out by the rush of her own pulse in her temples. There was no need to feel like this. The quilt was too hot, but for some unfathomable reason, carted with her from the distant land of childhood, she couldn’t bring herself to push down the covers. She felt for the cool part of the pillow instead, sliding a hand beneath it and-

Trace opened her eyes. The room was just the same as it had been a moment ago: darkness, with indistinct depths of grey and black, outlines of furniture like television static, not quite illuminated by the sickly green gleam of the clock.

Cool S was gone.

She felt around under her pillow, trying for silence, but the torn scrap of paper was just not there. It had obviously fallen down the side of the bed during the night, but the thought of putting a hand down there to feel around blindly for it… The hammer of blood in her head was so loud now she could feel the pound of it in her ears. There was nothing to do but admit defeat and switch the light on so she could find the diary page she’d dropped. Braving the world outside the quilt, she reached for the power cord of the bedside lamp, found the switch and clicked it.

Nothing happened.

Trace’s pulse thumped so hard that her throat throbbed. She clicked the switch again, but the darkness remained. Had the bulb blown? There was only one way to find out. She shifted beneath the covers, trying to shuffle to sit up, only to find that she couldn’t. She couldn’t move. A dismayed sound forced up through her throat, but didn’t even make a strangled whimper. Somewhere off towards the door, something thudded quietly, like a cat jumping down onto carpet, and Trace’s throat closed up completely. She snatched her hand back beneath the quilt, staring unseeing into the darkness. The noises continued. They were definitely not Rick returning from the bathroom. Something was out there – the realisation smothered her, unsure if ‘something’ was better or worse than ‘someone’.

About the Author

Die Booth is a queer author who loves wild beaches, feral tunes and cosy darkness. When not writing, drawing, or making stuff he runs Last Rites, the best* goth club in Chester, England, with his partner, Mark.

You can read his work in publications from places like Egaeus Press, Flametree Press, Neon Hemlock and Prime. His indie short story collections ‘My Glass is Runn’, ‘365 Lies’ (all profits go to the MNDA) and ‘Making Friends (and other fictions)’, and novel ‘Spirit Houses’ are available online.

You can find out more about his writing at http://diebooth.wordpress.com/ or say hi on Twitter @diebooth

*and only

Keep an eye on Divination Hollow’s Twitter for an ebook giveaway of COOL S