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The Secret Life of Brady

The Boss prison is home of the Shady City’s worst. During my time in Coldford there were none such dark tales as those that belonged to the men behind those bars. They were blood thirsty, cruel men who committed atrocities beyond your wildest fears. This story is not one of those. I’m reporter Sam Crusow and this is the secret life of Brady.  

*** 

Coldford City High Court. Located in City Main

Inmate 2069, Ryan Brady, didn’t really belong in the cells of The Boss, in the sense he wasn’t like the other murderous fiends you would expect to find there. He did belong though in the sense the Office of Law Makers had told him so. The High Court had determined him to be a danger to himself and to others. He needed to be locked up.  

It all began at the Weir Hotel in City Main where Brady had joined his bros of the Kappa So fraternity for a celebration. Robert ‘Bobby’ Owen, known to them all affectionately as Pops, was visiting the city from the Great States. You couldn’t imagine the excitement in the air. The Brady family – manufacturers of fitness wear and protein pills for decades – would sure to be front and centre. Father and son duo – Cam and Ryan Brady were brothers for life and they took that shit real serious.  

Brady gushed at how much of an honour it would be to meet Pops and maybe shake the man’s hand so he put on his best Kappa So gear and made his way to the hotel in Main.  

“Are you saying you were already in an excitable mood?”  

“We were, Your Honour. We cock walked straight there to get that party started!”  

Brady didn’t deny things might have gotten a little out of hand. Stood in the office of Judge Karyn Doyle would make anyone realise that. He was nervous with the one eyed temptress staring at him ‘monocoly’. That was his word not mine. I believe he was trying to be intellectual. He had been forced to explain why things had gotten so out of hand.  

“We were a bunch of frat boys, high on life and having a great time. Who would have thought that would get out of hand?”  

That statement wasn’t going to cut any ice. God, that eye on him made him want to rip everything off. He probably shouldn’t. Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Owen, the lawyer tasked with defending his actions, wouldn’t want that. Brady supposed he could have Judge Doyle, with that freaky one eye, across the desk and make her feel glad he hit that reporter with the inflatable dong. Since I am that reporter, dear readers, I can assure you she would not, on any account.  

“Do not,” Ronnie warned as he felt his client reach for the hem of his cropped T to pull it off and expose some well crafted abs.  

For just 19.99 you can have 1 kilo of Brady Burners, guaranteed to burn that fat! 

It wasn’t time for an advert break. Doyle didn’t look like she was up for the ads. She wanted to skip right past that. She looked like a bit of a fitness freak herself. She was a freak. She wanted some freaky deeky! Yeah, with that one eye … Concentrate Brady!  

She had brought her sub bosses with her too to glare at him with disapproval. Sophie Bergman, Brady thought would be nice but when he tried to talk to her outside she just ignored him. He yelled and yelled at her but she kept her back turned on him. Ignorant beeatch! All he wanted to do was tell her it was great to see some chicks getting some recognition around this place. She ignored him so he slapped her ass. It was a firm ass. He only did it out of professional interest. Before he could ask her what her glute routine was the big Golem guy stepped in the way and started yelling at him. Way to put a sista’ down, brah! Can’t she talk for herself? Anyway, there was Sophie glaring at him beside her one eyed sista. That eye pierced the soul and shit.  

“This hasn’t been the first time you’ve received notice for breaching the peace,” Doyle was saying to him.  

“I do apologise, Your Honour,” Ronnie was speaking on his behalf. “I can confirm the Brady family did pay for any damages incurred. The stress to Mrs Riley over the bet …”  

Eighty year old Mrs Riley had been quite taken aback at first but Brady knew she was a freak. Once she got over the shock of the bros trying to French her she was all up in that.  

“Love has no age limit, brah!” Brady blurted out.  

Doyle frowned. Sophie narrowed her gaze.  

“Mrs Riley won’t be pressing any charges,” Doyle announced.  

Ronnie nodded. He had a calm, charming smile. He was like a movie actor. He was a dashing bro. You’re a dish Ron! You’re a dish! 

“I hate to be a fusspot …”  

Urgh. There was the dude on Doyle’s other side. He was like a Christmas elf without the charm or the tinsel. You’re smiling, brah, but I’m not really feeling it. It’s not very festive in here. Try some cardio and get in those running shoes. It will save Christmas.  

“Given the amount of previous notices that you have been served I strongly believe in this case an example has to be made.”  

Wolfgang Kutz. Wolfie. The wolf man. Woooooooooooh! The cutter. The bearer of pots of fuss. Oh shit! He’s looking right at me … 

“I admit things may have gotten a little out of hand,” said Brady.  

This was the only statement Ronnie had given him permission to say.  

“I’m no stranger to antics,” said Kutz. “I pledged Theta So myself.”  

Ronnie fired a warning glare at Brady when he heard him snicker.  

Theta So wasn’t a real frat. It was a bunch of other Christmas Elves singing songs and waiting out the long winter in Jole – the country, I should explain, that Kutz came from and his Theta So fraternity.  

“However,” Kutz went on. “We can’t excuse the trauma inflicted on the couple in room 401.”  

“Open the fifth floor,” Rodney Weir had told the receptionist when the Kappa chaos rose to an extent it could not be ignored.  

“Can you remind us of what you said to the receptionist?” Doyle pressed.  

“I admit things may have gotten a little out of hand,” said Brady.  

“Hey fatty boom boom. We need a room room,” Kutz recited. 

Wow Christmas elves have a Helluva memory! It wasn’t Brady’s fault the chick was huge. He had nothing against the big chicks. He didn’t mind flapping those fat folds sometimes. It was just the receptionist looked like Boom Boom, the Brady mascot they used as the before in their before and after ads for their fat burner pills.  

“Your Honour …” Ronnie began his spiel but Brady seemed to have a better idea.  

“Your honourable eye ball …” not a good start. He claimed he had meant that in the most attractive and alluring sense. “My bros and I decided to see just how many of us we could fit in the bathtub of the room. We got to twelve and it became a real tight squeeze. We were so proud of our accomplishment so we started celebrating, naturally. The floor cracked. Weir is a cheap bastard. How were we to know the tub would fall through the floor? How were to know the occupants of the room below us were doing the nasty.” 

“Mrs Wilson’s screams could be heard throughout the hotel.”  

“I told her she had a banging rack.”  

“Mr Wilson received some injuries.”  

“I just tried to high five him.”  

“That was all bad enough but I’m sure the couple didn’t need your tips and suggestions.”  

“I was making polite conversation whilst the rest of my bros climbed out their bathroom.” 

“I’ve heard enough,” said Judge Doyle. Her snapping tone brought an end to the back and forth between Brady and Kutz. “Mr Brady,” she went on. “Since this is not the first time you have been brought before me and given the damage and distress you caused throughout the hotel I am imposing a custodial sentence upon you.”  

“Your Honour?” Ronnie tried to object. “Is that really necessary?”  

“Yes,” Doyle decided. “I believe it is. Mr Brady, I’m hereby sentencing you to four months in the custody of The Boss.”  

‘Daaaaaaaammmmn,’ Brady thought. ‘That’s cold …”  

*** 

“Keep your cell clean. No disrespect or curse words towards our librarian. Observe meal times. No fighting. No contraband. Anything found will be confiscated and you will be put to hard labour. When lights out are called you had better find yourself on the right side of the bars. One last thing … do not fuck with the warden. You’re number is 2069. You are now in servitude.”  

Brady hadn’t given the processing guards any trouble as he was led through the busy hall. Guard Trevor Gould quite enjoyed it when they brought the frat boys in. They were an excitable bunch so it was always a treat to watch The Boss tear them down.  

“Strip,” he ordered. 

When he turned he found Brady was already naked. Gould didn’t have time to question how he had managed to shed his clothes so quickly. Before he called for a cavity search Brady had already bent over and spread his buttocks.  

“Not going to find anything in there, brah,” Brady told him.  

As frustrating as it was, Gould couldn’t exactly take the word of an inmate. The warden, Remar, pressed when he noticed Gould was hesitant.  

“What are you waiting for?” He asked. 

“He’s a …”  

“I’m cooperating, brah. Get that finger right in there and search me good.”  

Remar frowned. It was a long morning and he was already pissed off inmate 4444 had tried to make a break for it. He really didn’t need the frat boy shenanigans. He pulled a pen knife. He reached under and placed the point of the blade at Brady’s testicles.  

“Let the guard do his job or I do it for him and I’ll dig right in there, real deep.”  

‘The warden has no sense of humour,’ thought Brady. He was just trying to be helpful. He guessed Gouldy preferred him to play hard to get so he instead he said, “A cavity search? Is that really necessary?”  

“Get him searched and processed and get him in south where he belongs,” ordered Remar.  

Brady acquiesced but all the fun had been drawn out it by this point. He was fingered, shackled and sent packing and it wasn’t even BDSM night. They called the warden Cerberus after the mythological three headed dog of Hades. Guardian of the underworld. He was a yappy puppy Brady decided. He needed a run at the dog park. He needed to play fetch or something. Maybe he had already had his balls off and that’s what made him cranky. He should ask … 

Along at his new home in South Unit, Brady was met by another guard. He was huge! The guy had biceps upon biceps. It was like he had quads In his arms. He could run a marathon doing a handstand. He could … 

As a fitness enthusiast he became excitable. I had to interrupt Brady in his description of Damon Cosmos codename Hercules as he was inclined to lose focus. Damon was the head guard in south and he had the physique of his mythological namesake. Damon carried a boar club with him which he held across his shoulders with his arms draped.  

“Looking good brah!” Brady called his encouragement. “Body like a God. You are working it.”  

Damon raised his eyebrows. He caught his reflection in the steel of the bars. He nodded. He had to agree.  

Brady set about making himself at home in the South Unit. He greeted his fellow incarcerated bros with the Kappa So handshake. He had a special acquaintance to make. It was as exciting as the thought of meeting Pops Owen. Whilst he was on the inside he was going to be in the presence of true Godballs and Brady was ready for that. He had to stop though. He had to catch his breath. You don’t just go running up to Godballs like that. The shine off those bad boys would burn your eyes out like staring at a solar eclipse or something. He took a breath. He summoned the strength to approach, shielding his eyes a little by raising his arm up.  

“Glorious brother George!” He called. “Am I in the presence of the Glorious Brother George.”  

“I’m brother George,” grinned George Beckingridge, possibly the last person I would describe as glorious. However, he had taken the heat for Buddy Owen so orders from The Cappy himself were the boy was to be treated like the royal bearer of Godballs he was. “This is The Beast,” George shook the chain that was attached to the neck of a creature Brady described as Cajun Cock. The Beast was badly burned, he drooled and he gargled. He used to be an eminent surgeon but thanks to his crimes he was now George’s pet. The Boss doesn’t favour many people but She found quite an interest in the Billionaire Beckingridge Boy from the financial empire.  

“Brady, reporting for duty, sir,” he cried.  

George’s grin widened. Brady tapped the head of the Cecil mouse. Respect was demanded for Cecil too. It used to be a common practice that the bros would kiss Cecil but he was a crusty little animal and infections started to spread so that brought an end to that practice.  

“I hear Jake Fullerton is in here. I want a word with him. Can you go find him?” 

And so Brady didn’t spend much time in his kit before he stripped again, dressed in a towel and made his way to the shower rooms with two completely naked bros.  

“Glorious brother George wants a word, brah,”  

“Brother George can stick his head up my arse. If he looks hard enough he’ll find the last fuck I gave about what he wanted,” had been the construction mogul’s reply.  

‘Damn, brah,’ Brady thought. ‘Cold.’ 

If he knew who George actually was he would probably not be suggesting any ass play. George Beckingridge had the habit of taking these things quite literally. However, they were old acquaintances. When Jake found out who the George they were referring to was he was going to be so surprised.  

*** 

“Fitness And Perseverance. The human body is capable of astounding things but when you FAP with Brady you are FAPPING to a better you. In fact, if you committed to a Brady FAP you’ll tell all your friends you’ve never felt better, guaranteed. Busy mum on the go? Try our quick FAP routine. It easily fits into your schedule. A little morning power FAP will set you up just right and you can FAP before you even start the school run. For our more intensive FAPPERS we have routines that will keep you FAPPING all day. You will FAP so much everybody will notice.  

“Jeez, brah? How much are you FAPPING these days?” 

“My body is carefully carved with Brady fat burners and an hourly power FAP.”  

“Wow, bro. Can I FAP?” 

“Of course you can. With Brady anyone can FAP.” 

Fitness And Perseverance Brady style. This ad was brought to you by Owen Inc.  

“Fitness and Perseverance?” Asked Captain Charles ‘Chick’ Owen asked as he switched off the advert.  

Before we continue in Brady’s servitude allow me to discuss how he became a part of the Kappa So frat legends in the first place.  

The Brady father and son were beaming with pride. Austin Perry was nodding but he was trying his hardest not to laugh. It seemed the euphemism of the word FAP, which to some people can be a connotation of self pleasure had completely washed over the Bradys heads. It had been Chick’s last birthday. The zookeeper had had a few pints too many and when the Brady’s brought their ideas to him he had jumped right on board.  

“That’s a goodun, mate,” he told them. 

Being slightly lower on the Kappa So food chain, the encouragement of the elder was like finding gold dust. It was the highest praise. It was a real honour. When Austin realised they weren’t seeing the innuendos that flooded their advertising strategy that made it even better. He liked the Bradys. He was sure it would get everyone talking about them and that was the purpose of advertising.  

So it came to be that Ozzy allowed some Kappa So funding for the ad and he just couldn’t wait to see the look on Chick Owen’s face. It really was a picture.  

“Ain’t no FAP like a Brady FAP,” the father stated.  

Ozzy chuckled. Really? They didn’t hear that?  

“What do you think Captain?” Carson Brady asked.  

“I think it is most definitely a commercial to be remembered,” he told them.  

“Kinda makes you want to FAP one out right now,” said Brady the son.  

“It will create a huge amount of revenue,” Austin explained. There was method to his madness. “The whole city is going to be FAPPING to Brady.” He was also a frat boy at heart and a Perry which research has shown is one of the wildest kind.  

“So the ad gets your approval?” Asked the Brady father.  

“Bless your heart,” said The Cappy. “You will have your ad. Maybe if everybody is focused on Fitness and Perseverance the boys will stay out of trouble.”  

“FAPPING,” Austin put in.  

“Yes, thank you Oz.”  

“Got your back, brah.”  

“I wish you well,” The Cappy told the Bradys. “It sure is a commercial to remember.”  

Kappa elder, Marshall Cooper, had been surprisingly quiet throughout the whole exchange. Usually his brazen attitude was always to be heard, especially when in the presence of lower level bros. He was probably feeling a little sour because the Brady ads were overtaking his own ones for Copper garages. He was worried more people would want to FAP than ride his fancy cars.  

The Bradys skipped out quite thrilled with meeting, when I say skipped, I mean they showed their FAPPING skills right away.  

“Shiiiiiiit,” Marshall groaned. “That is fucking stupid.”  

Ozzy raised an eyebrow. He really was sour.  

“I liked it,” he said. “I found myself FAPPING in me briefs just this morning.”  

Marshall shook his head. “You are an asshole Oz. You really think it’s a good idea giving the Bradys a platform for anything?”  

“They’re good guys. They’re true bros and when they told me they wanted to get everyone FAPPING I thought, why not? Those advertising boards are about go nuts and there’s nothing the Office of Law Makers can do, the bastards.” 

“It’s fucking stupid,” Marshall continued to grumble.  

The two noticed that Chick seemed to be contemplating something. The last thing he needed was more trouble. He pushed the button for his secretary.  

“Send the Bradys back in for a moment would you?”  

“Yes, Captain.” 

The Bradys returned with expecting expressions.  

“I am pleased to inform you that Marshall here has been so impressed with your advertising prowess he wants to have your Fitness and Perseverance on one of his cars of the next Coldford Circuit races.”  

The Bradys were thrilled to hear that. A Mad Dog racer with some Brady burn it had the makings of a monster movie. Or a disaster one …  

Marshall glowered at Chick but he said nothing.  

“That’s brill Marsh. You won’t be disappointed. I always thought Sunny looked like she FAPPED good.”  

“I heard Marsh gets her started on the routine but she always has to end up finishing with a solo FAP,” said Ozzy.  

“Woah! Brady burn is here to stay!” The father and son were really excited about the elder approval and Chick drew a smile as he watched them exit his office.  

Marshall punched Ozzy’s shoulder.  

“Crikey,” Oz cried with a chuckle. “You got no sense of humour!”  

“Fuck you Oz and fuck you Chick!” Marshall put to them but he was starting to loosen up at the idea.  

“They’re good people the Bradys. Their cornbread ain’t done in the middle but I like their intentions and I like their enthusiasm,” Chick decided.  

“You’re not the one that has to tell Miko she’s going to have FAP on the side of her car.”  

Miko was the driver of the yellow Mad Dog, Sunny. She was a temperamental sort. Maybe she just needed to have a FAP session, courtesy of Brady.  

***  

It was all fun and games and Brady was a frat boy so he was familiar with the fun. He was well acquainted with the games. He was a seasoned professional at it.  

He had made his real mark on a day at the Kingsgate campus where their rivals Sigma So resided. It had been early days and Brady had only just completed his hazing. He was a bonafide bro now so he was called upon by Buddy Owen, their Chapter leader, to show Sigma just what the Kappa bros were made of.  

I’m sure that when Seth Bergman first started to pull the event together for his Alma mater he didn’t realise the mess that would be left to clean up. He was a smart man so you would think that would be exactly what he expected. He had had his experiences with the frat antics. His sister, Elsa, had really done all of the heavy lifting for the event. He was so proud of her achievement as he observed the many expecting faces, the happy families, the excited children running around. The poor unfortunate souls had no idea what was about to befall.  

It was a warm, spring day full of promise on the Kingsgate lawns. The palace of the Chamberlains looked over them with Majesty. The Bergman sponsored afternoon was drawing a crowd and the funds raised for the Verga Bergman foundation was sure to make a difference. What was also sure to make a difference was the bus that had arrived in from Filton.  

“Kappa So!” They could be heard chanting from the open windows.  

Joshua, Anthony and Michael of the Sigma rivals had waited in their own transport. They had arrived early from Cardyne but they insisted on making some kind of entrance too.  

“Can’t let Kappa think they’re going upstage us, playa,” Anthony had told Seth.  

“Just try to keep it friendly,” Seth urged.  

“Oh, I’ll keep it friendly,” Anthony assured. “I’ll keep it real friendly. When me and my boys see those Kappa colours it gets a mother fucker really riled up.”  

Brady was experiencing this too in the bus as Buddy was offering the rousing speech to his troops.  

“Those assholes think they’re better than us because they’re all smart and shit,” he said.  

“Yeah!” The bros replied with passion.  

“They think we’re dumbasses but we’re Kappa So and ain’t nobody gonna think they’re better than us!”  

Chad jumped in with an excitable addition.  

“We’re going to tickle their balls!” He cheered. “Then they’re gonna suck our balls!”  

Brady was so pumped. He was so steamed. He was so up for anything it didn’t really matter what Chad was suggesting.  

The bus shuddered as it hit the lawns. Buddy raised an eyebrow to Dale Cooper, son of Marshall and heir to the Cooper empire.  

“Coops?” He put to him. “Why the fuck are we on this piece of shit bus? We should have Cooper transport.”  

“We did,” Cooper sighed. “We did.”  

Buddy frowned.  

“I don’t remember that.”  

Cooper nodded. “I know. Sorry, Bud.” 

“Yeah, sorry Bud,” added Chad. 

“Sorry, Bud,” added Brady.  

“Sorry, Bud,” before long there was a chorus of repentance for the loss of the only Cooper bus ever made and for Buddy’s memories of the event that took her.  

It might have been a shoddy bus that they had been left with but Cooper managed to donut the big bitch right onto the Kingsgate lawns.  

“Kappa So!” They all cheered.  

Then every window of the bus cracked. Buddy looked among them.  

‘Wow,’ he thought to himself. ‘Sometimes I underestimate the Godballs. They just cracked the windows.’ 

“Oh, it is on!” Anthony cheered as he and the rest of Sigma praised their sonic boom simulator.  

Not to stoke any flames of these fraternity rivals but at least Sigma had aimed their device at their target. If it had been in the hands of Kappa then I suspect every window in Chamberlain Palace would have had to have been replaced.  

Brady and the Kappa So bros filed off what was left of the bus. They made a lot of noise, they called a lot of obscenities to Sigma that they probably shouldn’t have when families were present but the fact was, they had arrived and it was time for the games to begin.  

Most of the day had been a show of who was better and that’s what a great portion of Coldford had come along to see.  

“Are catapults really necessary?” Seth asked Anthony.  

“Damn right, playa,” was Anthony’s response.  

Anthony was the designated competitor for Sigma. Brady had stepped up for Kappa So.  

“You can toss me as far as you like, brah. The further you toss me the better,” he had said to Chad.  

Normally Chad would be the designated one from Kappa to be tossed but he felt it was time for Brady. He had learned so much. He was ready. He was something of a protégé for him they way Cam Brady was for his dad Austin. Chad was so proud as Brady climbed into the catapult ball.  

Sigma fired and Anthony reached tremendous heights. The Bergman siblings showed their admiration. The gathered crowd applauded.  

It was time for Brady and the Kappa bros to show what they were really made of. They might have had their technology, their smarts, their looks, their money, their fancy window cracking guns – I had to stop Brady at this point as he was starting to lose track again. The point was Sigma might have looked impressive firing their catapult but they were up against the skills of a Cooper, the brazen ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to make a point’ of an Owen, the out of the box thinking of a Perry and a seasoned FAPPER ready to prove his worth.  

“You ready, Brady?” Asked Buddy.  

“Fire me up,” Brady urged.  

SNAP!  

The catapult fired. At first the crowd were equally as impressed as they had been with Sigma. Then their eyes started to widen in wonder as Brady was catapulted much higher than Anthony had been. Then shock began to wash over them as he cleared the Kingsgate Lawns. There was no pullback.  

“Only pussies use pull back,” said Buddy.  

Medical staff eventually found Brady on the Chamberlain family’s croquet lawns. Lord John Chamberlain had been trying to practice when the Brady ball landed and tore up the grass.  

“I’m good,” he said with a thumbs up, real credit to Cooper engineering and attention to safety features.  

“Don’t fuck with our shitty bus, beeeatch,” Buddy teased.  

The two frats raced, they fought (with swords from the museum, medieval style), Sigma had Kappa believe they had fallen into an alternative reality, locking them in a simulator. Cooper had to take some time to be brought round. The idea of being trapped in a computer had really freaked him out. When the day came to an end Brady had been appointed the honour of thanking their host.  

Seth was busy assessing the damage that had been done and the cost of the clean up.  

“This is for the repairs,” Brady told him pulling an Owen Inc cheque from the bag he carried. It was a large bag. Seth couldn’t remember him arriving with it.  

Seth accepted the cheque graciously. 

“Thank you.”  

“This is for the dead chick,” Brady said giving him another cheque.  

“You mean my mum?” Seth put to him.  

“That’s the one, brah,” said Brady.  

Seth passed the cheques to Elsa which was just as well because from the bag next Brady removed a gun. Before Seth could react appropriately Brady fired the super soaker, leaving Seth completely sodden. Elsa stood beside her brother gob smacked.  

“That’s from Buddy Owen. He says you’re a wet pussy.”  

He reached into the bag again and when he drew his hand back out he had raised his middle finger.  

“That’s from Coops. He says, ‘sorry bro’”  

Seth was frowning now as one would expect with this charade. Brady dropped the bag on the ground. Whatever he was pulling out for Chad was really heavy and required both hands. Before whatever carnage Chad had cooked up could ensue Brady had caught sight of Anthony charging at him. He took to his heels, leaving the bag of tricks behind.  

“Don’t worry, playa,” said Anthony. “I’m just going to knock a mother fucker down.”  

They could hear Brady cry back over his shoulder.  

“That’s great form, brah. You’re really working it! Do you FAP?” 

“Will I get you a towel?” Elsa asked.  

“Please do,” Seth replied.   

*** 

“With some fitness and a little bit of Perserverance you can overcome anything brah.” 

“Excuse me, Brady,” I had to warn him. “Do you mind if I write my own sum up?” 

“Sure. You’re the reporter dude. You go ahead.”  

I sighed then. It was really quite an interview.  

So, with some fitness and a little bit of perseverance you can overcome anything. Held behind the bars of Coldford Correctional Brady learned that life still goes on. He had the opportunity to make decisions for the future. It was a luxury we shouldn’t take for granted inside The Boss.


Brady has a unique spirit that even The Boss has diffiuclty in breaking. How would you cope? Parts 1 and 2 of The Boss trilogy are available now.

Caution: Contains scenes and themes some may find distressing.

Character Profile: Brady

“I like a bit of the freaky deeky!”

Name: Ryan Brady

Age: Twenties

Occupation: Co founder of Fitness And Perseverance and brother for life.

Features in: THE BOSS

Brady’s natural preppiness and zeal for life can be infectious. The warm energy he brings to a room isn’t easily ignored. He has a natural head for mischief which can be a power used for good or for evil. Mostly it’s just used for mischief for mischief’s sake.

Having founded the Fitness and Perseverance wellness company with his father Carson, there is noone who can FAP like a Brady. They are only too happy to show the masses how they can have a good FAP session.

Brady is a kind spirit among the Kappa So frat. Like his brothers for life he is dedicataed. He can be called upon with trust and he his infectious attitude means he is well received by other fractions in the city, including the Loyalists of Main who have a long standing rivalary with Kappa So. Well, he’s received at least …

He finds himself inside The Boss prison but unlike the other inmates his crimes are … different.


We have murderers, thieves (and Brady). The Boss prison is home to the worst of the worst in the Shady City (and again, Brady).

Lost Souls

A cult is quite often a religion with unorthodox practices. In a world where the court of public opinion is one which holds the most esteem, being swept up in cult like waves becomes easier and easier. When asked why someone would join a cult the most likely answer is that they can find something there that they can’t find anywhere else. Affection, acceptance, understanding, or a mixture of all those things. It isn’t always some sinister group hidden out of the way of civilised society. You can see it in the chanting of songs at football matches. It can be seen in a crowd of teenagers wearing the latest trends. It can be the way we are hooked to social media.  

For the moment allow me to examine the idea of cults in their most natural form. With the help of cult deprogrammer, John Reynolds, I was offered an insight into the depths of these cult groups. Before this interview I would have dismissed the cult idea as foolish people being brain washed. Reynolds helped me understand it better and it was more than that. It was more about a power struggle rather than brain wash. I am reporter, Sam Crusow, and I invite you to join me as we step inside the cults of Coldford.  

*** 

As I sat in my usual booth at Bobby’s lunchbox looking across to John Reynolds the first thing that became apparent to me was the brightness in his persona. When I had been told I would be meeting with a cult deprogrammer I must admit my mind went to a stereotypical assumption. I expected a brooding character. I expected a troubled soul. When he bounded into Bobby’s Lunchbox with a cheery, “I’m super stoked for the interview, Sam,” my presumptions were completely off.  

We took a seat and I began to record.  

“For legal reasons I understand that most of your cases are classified,” I began. “I’m not looking to press you. I don’t want to put anyone in a difficult position but I would love to hear your insight.”  

Reynolds smiled. “I’ve been doing this for a long time. I guess it’s about time I talked about it. Get a load off, you know?”  

I nodded. “I am agreed that nothing will go to print without your say so so feel free to talk openly. Consider this entire thing off the record.”  

“What do you want to know?” Reynolds asked.  

“Why don’t you start with some of the cases that shaped who you are.”  

“Funny you should ask,” he said. “The first one that comes to mind, you reported on.”  

John took a sip of his water. Although he seemed calm I could see a little tension shake him just below his skin. Giving account of some of his experiences seemed to be taking a toll on him. I pushed stop on the recorder.  

“We can take five, if you like,” I asked. “This is your story to tell. It’s up to you how you wish to tell it or how far you want to go.” 

I was going to remind him that his story deserved to be told as a way of urging him to open up but it seemed I didn’t need to. He had already decided that for himself.  

“No,” he said. “It’s fine. I’ll go on.” 

I pushed recorded again.  

“You may remember a gnarly story In the Express some time back. It was about a girl named Eileen in her late teens. She had found herself in trouble. She was pregnant by her step father. Her mother was a drug user who accused her of seducing him. She was only a young girl and the step father was a real shitty dude,” John explained. 

It was a typical tale of abuse, if you find yourself desensitised to such things.  

Eileen was forced to leave. She didn’t have enough money to buy a plane ticket. She didn’t have enough money to pay for a hotel room for the foreseeable future. She found herself on the docks of Swantin. A lot of unfortunate souls found themselves there. Their bodies were the last marketable product they had at their disposal so it stood as the best chance of survival. She had been real close to a small vessel called the ‘Lily Ann’. It was no ordinary boat. It was a floating brothel. She had been almost been at the point of climbing on board when she heard the ferry man calling, 

“The 6:15 Hathfield Bay! All about the 6:15 to Hathfield Bay.” 

Eileen approached the man. 

“Excuse me, sir,” she interrupted. “How much for a ticket to the island?”  

The Harbour Master eyed her suspiciously. She had no bag with her, the leather of her shoes was bursting and she had a look in her eyes that suggested she would be drugged and whored before the night was out. 

“I have been kicked out of my home and I have nowhere to go,” she went on to explain. 

He passed her a ticket.  

“I’ll let you on,” he said. “You look like you need a break and I’d be honoured to be the one to give you that chance.”  

Eileen looked at her ticket.  

FERRY WAY LINE. 

CHAMBERLAIN DOCKS, COLDFORD – HATHFIELD BAY ISLAND: ROYCE PORT. 

She could see the Royal Chamberlain crest on the side.  

“Why are you doing this for me?” She asked. She wasn’t much used to generosity or kindness from strangers.  

“I said you look like you need a break. The Wigan commune is over there. If you go to them they will give you shelter. They’ll look after you. They don’t have much but they are welcoming.”  

Eileen had taken note of the Wigan pin the man displayed proudly, now it held a lot more interest.  

“Thank you,” she said.  

“Wigan bless you,” was his response.  

She had heard of the Church of St Wigan. She didn’t personally know any members but if they could offer her some shelter and sanctuary it was her best bet.  Better off in the hands of a religious commune than a brothel, right? Perhaps.  

*** 

The travel across the sea was freeing. The waves that lashed against the side of the ferry liner were like her problems being washed away. By the time she arrived on the island she was smiling again. Although the thin rain had soaked the clothes she arrived in. When she reached the entrance of the commune she was feeling a little feverish. Pulled the purple tasseled bell. She could hear the deep knelling ring. Before long she was a greeted by a woman not much older than herself.  

“I have nowhere to go,” Eileen said. “Please can you help me? I’m pregnant. I’m with child.”  

The girl looked at her blankly at first. Then she smiled. It brightened her freckled face. Her smile was natural and soft. Her hair was long and tangled. She had purple ribbons tied into her braid.  

“Wigan embraces all,” she said in response. Her island accent bouncy and warm. “What’s yer name?”  

“Eileen,” the young woman said.  

The Wigan girl introduced herself. “My name is River. Come in and rest. You are safe now.”  

Eileen entered the commune and the door closed behind her.  

*** 

The first days in the commune were quite pleasant actually. Eileen had no regrets in accepting the Harbour Master’s passage. She had been given clothes. They were real basic but they were warm and comfortable. They even had some elderly women check on her baby. They gave her a lot of old wives tales about the tell tale signs of it being a girl that she carried but they seemed to know what they was doing and according to them the baby was healthy and its heart was beating strong. The real world seemed so far away. Wandering onto the bay at the rear of the commune where she could hear nothing but the waves was her most favourite activity. On this particular day I now detail she had looked up at the sky first. The clouds were thick and grey. The rain wasn’t far off. There was a man sat on the sand, looking out onto the sea. He had drawn his knees up to his chest and was embracing his surroundings like he was seeing them all for the first time. He turned when he heard her.  

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she apologised.  

The man smiled. He had an engaging stare. She could feel herself smiling too. There was some white in his dark hair, despite his youth, just a streak. He reached his arm out beside him.  

“Ye might as well sit with me,” he said. “It would be nice to have the company.”  

Eileen took a seat, delicately at his side. He kept his attention focused out onto the sea.  
“So you must be the city dweller they call Eileen.”  

Eileen agreed. “Yes, that’s me. I came for sanctuary and I have been given that. I will always be grateful.”  

The man nodded. “That’s good to know. I’m glad.”  

“Have you been here long?” She asked him.  

The man chuckled. “My whole life,” he said.  

Eileen was fascinated. “It must have been quite different from the city.” 

“They say not much could go on on a little island but you’d be surprised. You really would,” he explained.  

“My life was shit over in the city. My mum was a drunk. My step dad forced himself on me. The baby I carry is his. My mum blamed me and the Harbour Master took pity on me. Now I’m here.” 

The man turned to her. “Fear not,” he said. “You’re safe here. We are like a big family. We’d love for you to be part of our family.”  

“I’m not really a religious person,” Eileen was ashamed to admit. She felt ungrateful given how accepting they had been of her, no questions asked.  

“Maybe now’s the time to start,” the man suggested. “Ye can find out quite a bit about yerself.”  

Eileen made a vow to try. She really did want to show how appreciative she was. 

“What’s your name?” She asked.  

“Dominick,” the man returned.  

“Your Eminence!?” Came a cry from the commune. There was a monk standing by the entrance in robes.  

Dominick looked back. He nodded to the monk who went back inside.  

“Your Eminence?” Eileen questioned.  

Dominick stood. He reached his hand out and helped her onto her feet.  

“I’ve been blessed with the leadership of our church,” he explained. “We always welcome new members.”  

Eileen took a vow that very day. She vowed to learn what she could about her new family. Before the baby was born she took a bonafide vow.  

*** 

Reynolds had been based in City Main at the time. He was working out of the offices of CPD. He had been brought onboard when the Office of Law Makers brought their attention to the rise in missing person’s cases in the Coldford. Reynold’s specialty was people who weren’t necessarily missing. They just didn’t want to come home.  

It had taken a few months before Eileen’s mother began to show concern. The deadbeat step father had done the same thing with a neighbour so she threw his ass to the kerb and decided she wanted to reconnect with her daughter. A hand written letter had come to the mother with the stamp of the bay. In this letter it told of Eileen’s indoctrination so far. She was pleased to be where she was. She was turning her hand to all kinds of positive things. She was embracing a religion and it was bringing out the best in her.  What she made abundantly clear was the fact that she had absolutely no intentions of coming home sans step father or not. That ship had sailed and it had sailed off to Hathfield Bay carrying Eileen’s mother’s only daughter with it.  

Eileen’s mother, whom records had named as Lorna P, made an appointment with our investigator.  

“I want my daughter back,” she had plead.  

She was preaching to the converted in this scenario because Reynolds wanted the girl back too. The issue was as he looked at her she looked real spaced out. She said she had given up the drinking but she had been rad with it very recently. All the signs were there. Her bulbous nose was red with burst vessels. Her breath was putrid. She had made an effort to dress herself but the clothes had a smell of dampness about them. If this girl was to come back, what exactly would she be coming back to? For better? For worse? It wasn’t Reynolds’ decision to make but he had to make sure she understood.  

“I will do what I can to bring her back but you gotta level with me. Are you going to be there for her.”  

Lorna scowled. She looked as though she was about to give the usual, ‘are you telling me what to do with my own kid?’ speech but she retracted her statement before it was aired. She knew she had treated her daughter like shit. She should have stood by her daughter. She would be heavily pregnant by now if she hadn’t lost the child. The letter never mentioned either way.  

“I want to do better. I want to put the past behind us,” was her claim. “I got a job. I’m cleaning at the Lunch Box.” 

Reynolds leaned back in his chair.  

“It could get real rad,” he warned. “You need to be ready for that. If she does come back you need to be there for her. The process could take a long time.” 

Lorna P nodded. “I’m ready for that,” she assured.  

Rule number 88 of a Cult Deprogrammer: First contact with the lost soul could make or break a case. That first contact had to be made. 

*** 

The meeting had been set for four pm. The location was Bobby’s Lunch Box. With Reynolds’ consultation Lorna P had composed a letter of apology to Eileen. She wished her well. She was not to ask her to come home. She was not to make any demands of her. All the letter was to do was to let her know that the mother was open to meeting should the daughter accept invitation. No mention was to be made of the baby.  

In response to this letter Eileen accepted the invitation. She too said nothing of the baby. 

Lorna P was keeping an eye out for her daughter. The young woman who had come in her place was not her daughter, at least in everything but the physical sense.  She looked nothing like the way she had when she left. She had let her hair grow long. She wore a long, grey dress made from thick fabric. It spilled over her ankles. She had a purple ribbon tied around her neck and a Wigan pin on her breast.  

“Who are you?” She asked Reynolds at first.  

“I’m pleased to meet you, Eileen,” he said. “I’m John Reynolds. I was asked along by your mum. I was hoping we could have a chat.” 

Eileen eyed him suspiciously but she took a seat at the diner booth.  

“I don’t go by Eileen anymore,” she said. “I shed my city dweller name. They call me Heather now.”  

“Heather?” Asked the mother. “Why Heather?”  

Reynolds had encouraged her to ask questions as long as they weren’t asked in a challenging tone.  

“It’s my favourite plant. You would know that if you knew anything about me,” the girl responded.  

“We’re just here because we’re wanting to reconnect,” said Reynolds.  

Heather, formally known as Eileen, scowled at him. She turned back to her mother.  

“Been off the booze?” She asked her. “For how long this time?” 

“For good,” she said. “I promise.”  

Reynolds directed the conversation. “We’re stoked that you came,” he said. “There’s no pressure on you. Your mum told me about your letter. You seemed really thrilled over on the island.”  

“I am,” said Heather ney Eileen. She was beginning to wonder who this John Reynolds was. Why would he be associated with her mum? Surely he wasn’t a boyfriend. Although he looked like he was a bit of a boozer too so maybe that was how they were connected. Was he her sponsor? 

“When you left you were pregnant,” said Reynolds. “Would you like to share what happened? Are you well?”  

Eileen started to soften a little. No, not Eileen, her name was Heather now.  

“I had a little girl. I named her Ivy.”  

“Pretty name,” said Reynolds. “Your mum is glad to be a grandmother.”  

“She couldn’t be a mother. What chance does she have of being a grandmother? Did she tell you who fucking knocked me up?” 

“Wigan opens his arms to the sinners. You cannot be saved. Your baby cannot be saved. Your ma most definitely cannot be saved,” Dominick had said to her.  

“I want to try, Eileen,” said Lorna P.  

“My name is not Eileen! It’s Heather.” The girl shrieked. “I am a child of Wigan and he accepts me for all of my sins. You cast me out and he found me.”  

Lorna P made to say something but Reynolds stopped her.  

“So you took the oath,” he said with a casual calmness that eased the tension. “Who was your sponsor?” 

Eileen was quite taken aback by Reynolds’ knowledge of it. Wait. No. Her name was Heather. She was Heather and she was a daughter of Wigan, not some drunk who let her step dad impregnate her.  

“You’re a Wigan?” She asked. He had no tell tale signs. He had no pin. His mannerisms were far too mellow for someone who had taken the oath.  

“I’m not,” Reynolds replied. “I am familiar with them though. Have you been to McIvor’s Ice Cream parlour over on the bay yet?”  

“I have,” she admitted. “I go there quite often.”  

“Do you have a favourite flavour?” He asked.  

“Strawberry,” she replied.  

“She always loved strawberry,” said Lorna P with some measure of pride.  

“Some days it was all you gave me to eat,” responded the daughter.  

“Family is more than blood. We are bound here stronger than any mother and child, any father and son, any brother and sister. We are the family of Wigan and we’re all here for each other,” said His Eminence.  

It was the family that Heather needed. When she took the oath she felt complete. It was fate that the Harbour Master gave her that ticket. It was fate that she fell in love with His Eminence.  

“The weather over there can be a little temperamental,” Reynolds said matter of factly.  

Heather smiled. “These clothes keep me dry. These clothes keep me warm.”  

The commune keeps you safe. The commune keeps you fed. 

“I’m going to call you Eileen,” said Reynolds. “It’s not to upset you. If you have shed that name then that is your decision but your mum wants some closure before you return to the commune and it’s the name she recognises. It could be her chance to shed it too if it is what you really want.” 

Lorna looked to Reynolds with some surprise. They hadn’t discussed the possibility of her never returning. That wasn’t part of the deal. She kept her mouth shut though. Reynolds seemed to have a handle on the situation.  

“I have nothing left to say,” she said. “You can call me what you like. I know what my name is.”  

LET THEM BE CONSUMED BY FIRE!  

Coming back the city was not going to be easy. She had seen way too much. Her life had changed.  

“If could just sit and maybe hear what your mum wants to say?” Reynolds urged.  

Heather, no Eileen, was held in her place.  

The smell of the burning flesh was stomach churning. At least it was at first.  

Dominick had been screaming, “you cannot be saved!”  

He was crazed but in that moment but as she watched him she could only think of how passionate he was and how much he loved his Wigan family. He was leading them into a future with furious fire. She had been so swept up she helped with the torches. The city dwellers screamed in pain but their cries for mercy were drowned out as the congregates began to sing.  

‘Eileen. I’m going to call you Eileen. That is your name. You are not Heather. Heather was a bayside lunatic who watched four city dwellers burn. Heather gave birth to a little girl named Ivy. Heather danced with the strangely named River, Autumn and April whilst Ivy was blessed into the Wigan faith. Eileen was still on the docks contemplating becoming a prostitute.  

You cannot be saved Eileen.  

“Yes you can,” John Reynolds reminded her.  

*** 

I pondered the question first before I voiced it. 

“Did she come home?”  

“It was one of those deals where you gotta count your blessings,” Reynolds said. “She was coming home. She had gotten as far as a little fishing boat she planned on rowing herself all the way over from the bay. She had Ivy with her.”  

“Then what happened?” I asked. 

“She disappeared.”  

“Did she return to the commune?” I questioned.  

“I don’t think so. She had made the resolve to leave. Rule number 36 of a cult deprogrammer: when the victim attempts to leave, the cult will use any force necessary to keep them.”  

The truth of the matter was the little fishing boat had been found, beached just a little while along the coast. The blanket she had wrapped Ivy in was discarded, wet and sandy. Ivy was carried by River back to the commune. The seasons changed and the little girl grew beyond infancy. She didn’t know her mother. She didn’t know Heather. She most definitely would never have recognised Eileen. The Wigan life was what she came to know. Praise Wigan!  

*** 

Discussing this case gave me a lot of food for thought. We can all find ourselves swept up in an ideology. It’s like an unstoppable force which in the hands of those who wield it well can be destructive. It takes people like John Reynolds to combat that kind of thinking. As he would say, ‘you can be saved. You can succeed. You can come back.’  

How far must someone fall though before they are merely a sandy, soggy blanket on a discarded boat? Or a victim of a complete stranger’s anger?  

John Reynolds will keep fighting on though until everything is groovy again.  


When cult deprogrammer, John Reynolds, has someone close to him leave to join the Wigan cult on Hathfield Bay island he must put every skill he has learned to the test to bring them home.

The Kingdom of Ashes

There once was a king, mighty and bold.

He was a beloved sovereign in a kingdom of gold.

He kept a watchful eye. He was fierce and fair.

But a monster with ill intentions was cruel enough to dare.

The king had three prince sons, brave and strong.

But their cries were the monster’s favourite song.

He snatched them, seperated them and inflicted pain.

The triplets with crowns would never be the same.

Of the three there was one wise beyond his years.

There was another with strengh, who ignored his fears.

The third was free spirited and refused to break.

Together they fought for their kingdom’s sake.

The King was put to death but the sons did survive.

Whilst the princes remained, the kingdom could still thrive.

The monster was defeated, showing its true horrific form.

From the ashes the kingdom was reborn.


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The triplet princes of City Main found themselves in the clutches of the most Hellish prison imaginable. Dare you take a look behind teh bars of Coldford Correctional, aka The Boss?

The Boss Part 2 : Servitude (extract)

The Prayer Room is located in the Herod Halls of the castle, just off the overpass. It’s an original part of the building where St Wigan, when he was in residence, would lock himself away seemingly with no food or water for days. He emerged when God had delivered his message. Normally this meant someone was burned, hanged or buried alive in Gregor Court. God could be a nasty bastard if Noah Wigan was to be believed and Francesca Chamberlain made the perfect nasty vessel to operate through. However, that’s another grisly tale for another grisly day. For now, our story focuses on the Prayer Room in more recent times. The room has no plumbing. It doesn’t have a bowl or sink on offer. You eat and drink very little whilst you’re in there so you find yourself with little to excrete anyway.  

As the famed monk said, “God provides the nourishment.”  

He may have been able to get a fat soul with conversations with a figment in sky but for our inmates it drained what little will they had left. There are no windows.  You are completely engulfed in darkness. You are left alone with only time to think and to say your prayers.  

Jake tried to keep himself awake for as long as possible. He didn’t know how long he would be left to rot. He had no means of counting the hours. He could only try and keep himself awake for as long as possible – not that he would find much of a cosy bed. It was a moss covered, granite floor. In fact, the dampness within the Prayer Room really attacked the lungs. It was common in the prison to hear the cough of an inmate that had spent some time in solitary.  

Jake had to keep himself awake. He wanted to stay alert should some of the ghoul guards come for him. That was what the inmates were calling the guards who lost their minds. Jake didn’t pray. He never was the praying sort but the voice inside his head was ringing loud. He tried to keep it ringing as his eyes started to feel heavy. He was slumped on the floor. His issue trousers were damp from the moss. He was in the most discomfort he had ever felt but he couldn’t resist sleep. Those Beta brain waves were crying out to him.  

“Come on, Jakey. Just close your eyes. Sleep it away. Sleep. Sleep …”  

He was jerked awake by a sharp pain. Something had bitten him. He could hear a squeak and a draw of a long, worm-like tail across his hand. He pulled it away and as he did so he caught the feel of matted fur.  

“Fucking rat,” he grumbled to himself.  

There was another sharp bite on his lower leg where the trousers of his kit had slipped up. There was another one there. He could hear the hungry rodents squeak at each other. Then there was another bite at his hand. This one was harder than the others. The broken rat teeth must have pierced skin.  

Jake tried to kick his leg out to make them scurry away but they were brave and they were hungry so they took another bite. One ran across his chest, the worm tail drawing underneath his chin. Jake was on his feet by then trying to shake them off. They finally did scurry away when the doorway was opened.  

“2011?” The voice of the warden came through the dark. “What’s the story?”  

“My daughter,” Jake began. His voice sounded hoarse having not spoken in some time. “My sisters. My cousin.”  

“I’m sorry about your family,” Remar told him sincerely.  

He had put in a call to Fullerton Villa to find out what he could. 

“Lucy’s with her mum, from what I’m told,” Remar said. “She’ll be fine. Lionel received a shot to his shoulder and to chest but from what i hear he’ll be fine.  I’ll let you have a call and catch up a little later but if you get out of here you don’t bring me any trouble are we understood?”  

Jake nodded. He cleared his throat. “Of course.”  

Cerberus held 2011 in his searching gaze. There was something going wrong with the guards and he needed people among the inmates he could rely on should the worst happen. 


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The Prayer Room

It’s damp and it’s cold.

It was a dungeon of old.

Many men have wept on Her floors, even the bold.

When the door closes you are absorbed in the dark.

At least you’ll no longer hear the dog’s bark.

You are all alone with only the company of rats.

Spending your time pondering over this or that.

It’s too late now for any sorrowful regret.

Your time has come. It’s all been set.

What you deserve is what you’ll get.

Just pray it’s not yet.


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Character Profile: Seth Bergman

“A lovely boy is Seth. A lovely boy!”

Name: Seth Bergman

Occupation: Diamond Merchant

Features in: PURPLE RIBBON ; KNOCK KNOCK

As the son and heir of the Bergman Diamond Parade, Seth is known to carry himself with dignity and charm. He is much beloved in the community in which he lives and like his father, Howard, he enjoys a sterling reputation. Once head boy at the notable Kingsgate School where royals are taught, Seth has been preparing for most of his life to take his father’s place at the head of his family business.

Seth is intelligent, kind and has a talent for his work. However, diamonds require the sharpest tools to cut and Seth has a razor wit and a temper that certain things can provoke. Despite his naturally pleasant demeanour he can be temperamental when his family are in danger. His kindness is often mistaken for weakness. Seth may not be the most physically intimidating figure in the Shady City but should circumstances require he can be fearless and dare I say a little ruthless too.

His pacifistic father, Howard, has raised him to stay clear of the corruption and violence that is common in the Shady City but as things close in on them Seth believes they can’t avoid it forever. Being lifelong friends with the infamous Penn triplets, Seth could very easily slip into a way of life he is just not cut out for!


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Dinner for Four

It’s an age old question that seems to be important to a lot of people. You most likely would have been asked it in your life in some shape or form and that question is, ’if you were to invite anyone in the world (living or deceased) to a dinner party who would those guests be?’

I like this question because to me it highlights the human want to connect with others, no matter the barriers. It shows we like to connect in an intellectual way. The purpose of this exercise is to show who you would like have around your table for the purposes of hearing what they have to say. A dinner party, by nature, is a way of sharing discussion and opening up. Those you would chose to sit around your table says a lot about your personality. So for the purposes of this discussion, my pick of dinner party guests would be as follows:

Charles Dickens

Not only is he one of my most favourite authors and a huge inspiration of mine, he was also a critic of the moral evil that was present in Victorian London. He used satirical writing to bring attention to these injustices and he was effective in doing so. This undoubtedly influenced writers who came after him to approach their work with the same boldness. I know that certainly was the case for me. From what is told he was a kind hearted, intelligent man who paid close attention to what was going on around him and for that reason having a chat with him would be an opportunity I would hate to miss.

Harry Houdini

Escape artist, circus performer and spiritualist debunker. Houdini is already an admired figure of mine so he would naturally make for an exciting presence at my table. I would love to ask him all about his escape acts and his performances. His thrill seeking presence would keep things lively and I’m naturally engrossed by people who have a performance flare. He spent a lot of his later career debunking spiritualists. Discussing this could make for a lively debate. Also, after some wine has flowed and bellies were filled he could grace us with a demonstration of one of his tricks.

Anne Frank

If there is ever a girl with a story to share at a dinner table it would be this one. She lived through great adversity and it was of no fault of her own. She was just a young girl who had no control over the devastation that was arising around her. She already had a fascinating story to tell as is evident in her famous diaries. Learning about this young girl’s remarkable experiences from her own mouth would have the discussions going on well into the small hours.

Those are just some examples of the fascinating figures I would invite to my dinner party. Given the opportunity to reach out to anyone, who would you choose? Funny? Inspirational? Intruiging? What would you look for in your dinner party guests.


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Character Profile: Freddy Stoker

“Step right up for a freaky, sneaky and full in your face creepy show. I’m Freddy Stoker and welcome to Stoker Circus!”

Name: Frederick Stoker

Age: Early twenties

Occupation: Circus performer.

Features in: PURPLE RIBBON ; KNOCK KNOCK ; THE BOSS

From the family of circus performers who hailed from the country of Levinkrantz, Freddy is the grandson of the legendary escape artist Adrien Stoker. Of the three Stoker tents (the red, blue and striped BigTop) Freddy leads the freak show from the red. He is a natural performer, learning from his ringmaster father, Irvine. Drawn to the macabre, Freddy enjoys making his audience squirm as he presents the most freakish sights.

Like the rest of his large family he will always be willing to perform on demand if the right person throws some coin into his ring. On the off season he acts as a crime scene cleaner. He is incredibly thorough in his observations which means cleaning up your messes is no sweat. His gymnastic skills and performance flair also see him well equipped to carry out home invasion robberies. He is a despicable little monster among but hey that’s show business!

The Stoker family contain the good, the bad and the downright fiendish. Freddy is of the latter. So if you have the stomach and the morbid curiosity then come on down whilst the circus is in town.


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Buzz, buzz, buzz!

Some lives are lived to excess. Some lives are lived well. Some lives are zapped right out of the good for nothing so and so which brings me back to the most shocking resident of this castle. Buzzkill is the end of the line for most of our inmates. His strap-like tentacles are one size fits all. When his three sister switches – past, present and future – are flicked, and Buzzkill begins to shake the life from his prey it causes the lights to flicker deep down here in the lowest depths right up to the dizzying heights.  

They say Buzzkill is humane. I ask you, would you find it humane to park your rear in his grasp? As his long arms tighten around you I defy anyone to think to themselves, ‘what a delightful way to go.’ 

As guards lead in Buzzkill’s next meal, inmate 2000 (incidentally the amount of voltz he’s about have fired through him) we can see from the expression on his face he’s not feeling like it’s all very humane.  .  

His name was Elder McEery on the outside. He was raised on Hathfield Bay island. He spent his time frolicking in the sands, playing in the sea and bashing the heads of tourists in on behalf of the Church of St Wigan. They were vengeful types and not the hippy, loving, religious sorts they would seem. St Wigan was all about the righteousness and he had Elder believe he was just in dispatching heathens. The High Court of Coldford strongly disagreed. Death was his sentence and a seat on Buzzkill’s lap was the method.  

“Do you have anything you wish to say before sentence is carried out?” Inmate 2000 was asked.  

Elder sniffed. He would swear he could already feel the electricity firing through his body. The switches hadn’t been pulled yet. It was just the ice cold shards of nerves.  

Looking upon Buzzkill’s layer is the viewing room separated by a thick glass partition which Christie and her grief counsellors gathered behind earlier in our tale. Some gather there to bear witness to the end of someone who did them wrong. Others might want to be the last thing the victim sees before that almighty bolt is thrown at them.  

The viewing room is rather empty and somber for Elder. There is a woman dressed in modest clothes. She isn’t looking at him. She has her eyes closed. She is praying, clutching a purple ribbon in her hand. A filthy braid with more ribbons tangled in it flows down her back. There is another man there too. He’s a peculiar looking fellow who seems to have a mischievous grin about him even though he isn’t smiling. Mr Kutz has been tasked with assuring Elder is sent on his one-way trip to ask St Wigan himself it the dead tourists were necessary. They can all meet up in Hell and think, ‘well this is embarrassing.’  

“For the heathens do not repent,” Wigan had said.  

It is tough to repent when you have just watched your baby being crushed under rocks and know you’re going to be next.  

“Do you have anything to say?” the inmate was asked again.  

Elder could barely breathe. Buzzkill embraced him so tightly.  

“Praise Wigan!” he gasped.  

Praise him indeed.  

The knowing grin of Kutz spread into an actual smile.  

“Faithful to the end,” he said. “I suppose that is somewhat admirable.”  

The first switch was pulled. 

Buzzzzz.  

It began as a gentle tremor as Elder’s past caught up with him.  

The second switch was pulled  

Buzz. Buzzzzzzz.  

Elder shook a little harder. He was locked in the present. He was locked in Buzzkill’s layer.  

Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzzz. 

The future lit up as the third switch was pulled. The future for Elder was one of eternal torment which is ironic considering the all knowing Wigan had him believe that was what he was saving himself from. I’m sure he can take that up with the manager when the ferryman ushers him to his final destination.  

Buzzkill gnashed and Elder shuddered violently in his jaws. The lights flickered. The Wigan girl had interrupted her prayer to observe.  

“No need for alarm,” he said in a way that was pleasant but not all reassuring. “That’s to be expected.”  

“Gentlemen, for your crimes you are now in servitude to The Boss.”

Available on Kindle April 15th 2022


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