Scribblings in genre fiction from Sarah include short stories for Jurassic London, Fox Spirit and lots of blathering on about dead people in London…


Pandemonium // Stories Of The Smoke // Jurassic London

+ Pandemonium // Stories Of The Smoke // Jurassic London

Pandemonium: Stories of the Smoke brings you London as you’ve never seen it before – science fiction and fantasy in the great tradition of Charles Dickens.

This London is at once an historical artifact and a living, breathing creature: the steaming, heaving, weeping, stinking, everlasting Smoke.

– Jurassic London –

+ From…

Fifteen wondrous tales of London Town from Sarah Lotz, Archie Black, Aliette de Bodard, Alexis Kennedy, Esther Saxey, David Thomas Moore, Jonathan Green, Rebecca Levene, Jenni van der Merwe, Glen Mehn, Kaaron Warren, Michelle Goldsmith, James Wallis, Charles Dickens, Lavie Tidhar, David Thomas Moore, Adam Roberts and Sarah Anne Langton!

Edited by Jared Shurin and Anne Perry. Wonderful illustrations by Gary Northfield!

Available now at Amazon UK and Amazon US.

+ Read a little excerpt…


You can always get what you want. Enough money? The right contacts? Smart enough to read the City’s ebb and flow of dirty little connections? Yes? Then it’s yours.

Bullseye. Whatever you need. Mr Bullseye to you.

And that’s what I do. A very specialist service for a very select clientele. And if you don’t know how to find me, then you probably don’t need to. Though all you have to do is look in the right places. Nasty places though, mind. Places you don’t really want to go. The City knows how to find me. If you let her. She’s a little too shy to reveal her very darkest of secrets, but then she’s a lady. Always has been. Just show her a bit of respect and she’ll soon bring you down to find me, when there’s business to be done.

And I’ve always been a people person. Happy to help.

Walk behind Waterloo Station. The smell of electricity. The solidified grime of a thousand commutes home. Marsh Street. South of the river. A road that’s always been here. And South of the river was always a haven for the City’s basest of desires. Bear baiting. Brothels. Money laundering, Taverns. Visit the circus and get knifed for your gold buttons by some enterprising soul. From these streets seeps the legacy of an unsated need to indulge. Ingrained into the spiritual geography a formal dictum of rapacity. There’s always a price here for anything you’re selling. Always the ways and means to do business. Circumvent the faux respectability of the trader’s luncheon right here on the street.

For tomorrow? Well, that’ll cost you. But when do I not deliver?


Urban Occult Anthology // Anachron Press

+ Urban Occult Anthology // Anachron Press

The whispers and chills of things long gone… the promise of power from the darkness… the seduction of those that lie in the shadows… the occult is all around us: in town houses, in mansions, and in your very own street.

– Anachron Press –

+ From…

Editor Colin F. Barnes collected together fifteen stories by a cast of critically acclaimed authors from around the globe who look into the stygian gloom, explore the dark corners of our houses, and peer into the abyss of human temptation.

Featuring stories by: Gary McMahon, Ren Warom, Gary Fry, Mark West, K.T. Davies, Nerine Dorman, Alan Baxter, Adam Millard, Julie Travis, Jason Andrew, James Brogden, A.A Garrison, Jennifer Williams, Sarah Anne Langton, and Chris Barnham.

Mrs West, along with fourteen other wonderfully spooky urban tales, are out from Anachron.Go take a look!

+ Read a little excerpt…


You’d think the dead had better things to do. But no. They hang about, getting under people’s feet, and in the case of Mr. Moses, retaining a controlling share in several import businesses where they were distinctly unwanted. All concerned generally considered they were making an infernal nuisance of themselves. Several family members, having found the gentleman insufferable in life, felt very hard done by that death had refused to claim him.

Yes, tea please. White. No sugar.

You see people will dabble in stuff. Give them enough money and they can do all sorts of damage. A little demonic deal here, a little cheating death there. Hardly a situation where you have recourse to law, when an unwanted relative acquires a nasty habit of popping back from the other side. So at this point you require some quality help. Who knows what’s been chanted to lure Aunty away from Death’s door? And she might have been a charming old dear in her former life but you’ll find a little death makes her not so ready with the mint humbugs. More likely to poke the nearest knitting needle in your eye. So it’s prudent to watch out for that. These are exactly the sort of issues that amateur occultists don’t tell you about. Cowboys. I’m forever clearing up their nasty mess.

Oh, and when you call I prefer the term ‘Occult Practitioner’. Please don’t use ‘witch’. I’m not entirely convinced they’ve stopped burning them. Best not to give anybody ideas.

But somebody had done an impressive job with Mr Moses. You could clearly see where the money had been spent. Very little wear and tear. Fully mobile. Chattering away rather eloquently. If you didn’t know better – and I do – you would never have thought the old gentleman should have exited this earthly plane over a month ago. He’d been brought back rather promptly. And to a very high standard. No obvious madness. No eating next door’s cats. No previously-absent tentacles. And the erroneous ‘death’ put down to the terrible incompetence of NHS paperwork. Which obviously everybody involved found entirely plausible. The standard excuse.

There were little hints of his condition about him. Slightly blurry at the edges. A disconcerting habit of simply walking through smaller pieces of furniture. The usual problems with reflections and howling dogs. He’d acquired a very slight translucent quality to his demeanour in the brightest of sunlight, and a shadow which plainly wasn’t his own. But on the whole a convincing resurrection. Despite the problem with the red eyes. One of the best I’ve seen. And one which was singularly determined to hang onto his business interests. Much to his daughter’s disgust.



+ Fox Pocket Anthologies // Things In The Dark & In An Unknown Country // Fox Spirit

Welcome to Fox Pockets! Small but perfectly formed collections of stories by a den full of talented writers, put together by Fox Spirit books for your enjoyment.

The stories are flash fiction, giving the reader bite sized introductions to Fox Spirit and the writers we love to work with. All designed to fit perfectly into the pocket so you can take a little fox with you everywhere you go.

Stories in Fox Pockets will wander unfettered between genres, mixing horror, fantasy, science fiction and crime.

– Fox Spirit –

+ From…

A selection of wondrous tales from…
Andre Reid – Rise of the Huntress, Stephen Poore – Junior Twilight Stock Replacer, Andie Percival – Running from Sleep, Ben Stewart – Close your Eyes, Carol Borden – Thomas Hobbes Vs The Mole People, Chloe Yates – The Devil’s Haemorrhoids, Christian D’Amico – The Beast Within, Craig Leyenaar – Down by the River, Danie Ware – Smile, Den Patrick – Occlusion, James Fadeley – Selachimorpha Caesar, Jennifer L Barnes – A Boomstick and Popcorn Seasoning, Jenny Barber – In Darkness Dreaming, K.A.Laity – Ransom of the Red Witch, Margret Helgadottir – Nightmare, Rahne Sinclair – See you in the morning, Sarah Cawkwell – Things, Sarah Langton – Welcome to the Northern Line, W.P.Johnson – Shelob Headlines the Ox

Alasdair Stuart – Overwatch, Cindy Dunham – An Unexpected Storm, Jonathan Ward – Hiatus, Christian D’Amico – Lianus Invaded, James Fadeley – Stroppendrager, Philip Thoroghgood – Reversal, Craig Leyenaar – Walking of Worlds, Ashley Fox – Somebody Else, Kim Bannerman – Cape of Storms, Jenny Barber – The Strongest Conjuration, Tracy Fahey – Wherever you go there you are, Ed Fortune – A long lost land, Chloe Yates – The City is of Night but not of Sleep, Margret Helgadottir – Arnhild, Sarah Langton – Are you Listening, Rahne Sinclair – Finding Home, Paul Currion – And Eve Called Her Husbands Name, Emma Teichmann – Tombstone

All edited by Adele Wearing!

+ Read a little excerpt…


Do you choose to walk with me? As I slip from beneath the paving stones. Twist, running, over balustrades. Greet you as your journey begins. Do you choose to walk with me? As I fold myself around grime-laden stairwells. Slip silently through the commuter close concourse. Take your hand
upon the platform’s edge. Here I have the right to ask. Travel with me, should you choose. Here I can offer comfort. Escape. Absolution. So why not talk with me a while?

A rain-stained fall of worn stone steps. Victorian facades streaked with rust. The plastered advertisements of a decade’s inducement to buy. Furled umbrella. Slicked back sodden hair. The hurry of rain steeped shoes on a monochrome-tiled floor. Engage the formal absence of recognition. The subroutine of anonymity. The necessary requirements of the unwanted journey home. Slip down skeletal stairwells. Sidestep as bodies peel away to the station’s airless heart. Enter the labyrinthine tributaries offering the destination of your choice. Wait patiently on the platform. Linger behind tainted white lines. Wait with hushed, resigned, counted breath. A timeless wait as further travellers descend from a greyscale North London night.

At Camden Town tell me of your lost lover. Of your heartache. Of your despair. Let me ease your burden. Here I can offer respite from your cares. Lean upon my shoulder. I know the pain of your memories is too strong. Let me talk to you of another journey. A destination that offers solace. Come take my hand?

A train borne in on a static blast of warm air. Displaced ozone. Invasive mass. Step swiftly into suburbanite warm carriages. Thoughts lost. Emotional baggage packed. Push through the hollowness of uniform aluminium fittings. Grasp space and define it as yours. Dismiss your fellow travellers. Swiftly take an empty seat. Stained upholstery. Discarded news. Slip packages beneath industrial textiles. Snap the velcro of a worn phone cover. Comforting familiarity. Something to do. Suspended worries now free to roam. The unfinished project. The argument unresolved. Rational thought starts to wander. Decisions laid bare in the intermittent, ugly flare of artificial white light.

Mornington Crescent. Euston. Warren Street. Tottenham Court Road. Do you choose to hear me now as we travel down into a world that is mine?



+ Day Of Demons // Anachron Press

Day of Demons is a collection of powerful stories featuring the conflict of demons and humans over the course of a day.

Read how one woman’s inner-self awakens to unexpected and frightening consequences, or how a charismatic half-breed thief is forced to strike a deal with a pen-stealing imp. Read about a mother as she struggles to cope with a deadly, satanic bargain, and a sword-wielding anti-hero as he returns out of exile to face his demonic fate.

Nine stories, nine demons, nine authors. From fantasy, to horror, to contemporary fiction, this anthology will fright, delight and grip you with tales of daring-do, danger and of course — demons.

– Anachron Press –

+ From…

‘Deal’ by Karen Davies, ‘Inheritance’ by Phil Hickes, ‘Serpent’s Kiss’ by Krista Walsh, ‘Sam & The Spear’ by Gary Bonn. ‘Numen’ by V. Đ. Griesdoorn, ‘City of Light and Stone’ by Laura Diamond, ‘Cost of Glory’ by Edward Drake and ‘A Mother’s Love’ by James M. Mazzaro. All masterfully put together by editor Colin F. Barnes! Available right now at Amazon UK and Amazon US! Go take a look if you’d like some demonic tales to entertain. And who wouldn’t?

+ Read a little excerpt…


Would you like my life? The money. The connections. The trappings of wealth. The comforts of success. Would you take it if I offered? Snatch opportunity from my hands? In one small gesture have this to be yours?

Don’t be under any illusions. Don’t fail to see behind the shining veneer. This all came at a high price. A tithe paid in blood. And you should be very careful with whom you strike a bargain.

Nothing is a safe bet. And there’s sometimes a cost you don’t really want to pay.

I have an appointment this evening. A nefarious friend is intending to call. Balance on a debt that’s unavoidably due. Not anybody you’d like to meet. But stay and talk a while. I have a little time before he arrives.

The business deal. A social engagement. The relationship. The new enterprise. I have the magical gift of turning all to gold. Success always stands by my side. Doors that eternally open. My path invariably takes me towards greater rewards. Whatever journey I embark upon my providence is assured. I never put a foot wrong. Always safely walk between the paving cracks. I have insinuated myself into the most fortuitous relationship with life. Everything unfailingly falls my way. Life appears to love me. A prominent participant in all that is esteemed. But I’ve had a little help you see. An unfair advantage. A sleight of hand. A dirty secret. Something I’ve kept hidden from others in my world. Not that ever I asked for it. Nothing that I wanted. A node of success. Too big. Too close. A life that didn’t appear tangible to any who looked too intently. A legacy of my family for generations. A bargain made in my absence a long time ago.

Perhaps I should be resigned to my fate. A bit of North London Zen? I’ve had many long years to think about this day. Plotting. Planning. Secrets. My fetch has always stood close by. Watching from the sidelines. Expectantly eager in the corners of a room. She’s never been too distant. Always following in the backwash of my days. The street lights that dim as I approach. The hissing cat that will never sit by my side. The distant chime of bells as sleep pulls me down into fragmentary dreams. I discern my guest and his associates have tainted my life. Little reminders to ensure I don’t forget our deal. I fear that I burn a little too brightly in the more ethereal of places. But that was never of my choice. An attraction I never desired. And as the more esoteric of gentleman would point out (and I’m certain they speak truly) when you have no choice but to see them, then of course, they can see you.

I believe my guest is on his way. Twisting just out of perception. Signal to noise against the monochrome streets of a Camden winter’s day. Don’t feel obliged to wait with me. I’m sure anybody would understand should you leave. But company is pleasant. And I have a curious tale to tell.


Westminster Tube Station: London

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