Here’s another taster of my latest mystery thriller novel, Death Nest. This excerpt is taken from chapter 7; a flashback chapter in which the protagonist, Nick, meets the enigmatic Tanith, in his early teens. The excerpt begins as Nick is looking after his younger brother Jason, playing a game with him.

For the best part of an hour, we rushed along the stream, following the dusty footpath away from the village green to the south, running a little way uphill, parallel to farmland and clusters of tall hedges and spinneys. Along the way, Jason and I selected our usual weapons of choice from the various sticks that lay around, all the better to shoot the marauding malevolent aliens on the strange planet where we had crash landed. I threw myself more vigorously than usual into the pew-pew of shooting, and we would often take cover together behind rocks, trees, and bushes, looking ahead into the distance and blasting alien threats from afar. Sometimes we would attack. Other times we would be on the run. For Jason, it was exhilarating and fun. I enjoyed it too.

  Ultimately, our game petered out, but we decided to keep walking. I knew eventually we’d reach a small cluster of cottages on our left that lay on the southern border of the Darkfire Forest. The stream continued south to its source somewhere in the woods, skewing right with the building site of Wally’s Wonderland in the distance, further up the hill. I decided this was where we would halt and head home for lunch.

  More than ever, reality seemed heightened. The stillness, sweaty heat, glimmering sunshine dancing through branches, bouncing off the stream… It all fused together, slowing time down into a kind of meandering trance. Jason and I had enjoyed a boisterous time together, but now we ambled along the stream path in silence, as the cottages at the foot of Darkfire Forest came into view. They lay on the opposite side of the path, their thatched roofs and well-tended vegetable gardens gradually revealed as the path wound to the right. Absorbed in the hazy tranquillity, I halted.

  That’s when I first heard the singing.

  The high, clear, beautiful voice of a girl rang out across the stream.

  At first, I couldn’t see her, but her song carried through the still air like a magic spell. I tried to locate the source of the music. My eyes wandered across the water, through a patch of reed and tussock, to the foot of a great oak tree. A young teenage girl emerged from behind the trunk, still singing. She wore a bright summer dress and held a marigold. I couldn’t see her face properly, as her long auburn hair hid her features. Almost ritualistically, she took the marigold to the edge of the stream and began to pluck at the petals, throwing them into the water one at a time. I watched in fascination, listening to catch the words of her song.

It’s over again, no longer together.

But dry your tears, they’re not forever.

Another comes, to take the rein.

The cycle begins again.

Earth, air, water, flame.

The cycle begins again.

  We watched for a while, before Jason got bored, wandered to a nearby willow tree, and started to climb. I remained transfixed, staring at the girl beneath the oak tree, plucking the petals and throwing them into the stream. After about a minute, she turned and caught my eye. Bright blue eyes shone across the water, captivating me in their gaze. For the briefest of seconds, she appeared startled, but the flicker of surprise passed from her face almost immediately. She smiled, as though she were expecting me. A strange dizziness came upon me, and I stumbled where I stood.

  The girl resumed her singing, continuing until she had finished plucking the petals. She discarded the stalk with the final note, staring across the water towards me. I remained arrested in the dreamlike stillness, sensing something had taken place between us, though I didn’t know what.

  ‘I’m Tanith,’ the girl said.

  ‘Nick,’ I replied. I indicated my brother, who was busy climbing the willow tree. ‘That’s Jason.’

  Tanith’s eyes made a brief dart in Jason’s direction, before snapping back to me.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Fourteen. How old are you?’

  ‘Fifteen. Come over here a moment.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to ask you something, but I want to whisper.’

  Too intrigued to refuse, I made my way down the bank to a rocky place in the stream. The crossing was easy enough, but I took more care than usual, not wanting to trip and fall in the water, thus embarrassing myself in front of Tanith.

  Whilst climbing the bank on the other side, I again became acutely aware of the bubbling stream, still air, hazy heat, distant birdsong… It all blended like a peculiar enchantment. I couldn’t take my eyes off Tanith and wondered at how she drew me in like a fish on a hook. Suddenly self-conscious, I turned away, staring determinedly at the grass, the reeds, and back across to Jason, busy having fun in the willow tree.

  ‘Look at me,’ Tanith said.

  Her tone was commanding, but beguiling. She appraised me, and I felt uncomfortable, as though I were standing before her naked.

  Presently, she nodded. ‘Scruffy, a bit smelly, but you’ve got kind eyes. I think you’re safe.’

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘I can tell straight away if people are safe. It’s a gift. My grandma taught me how to do it. Look into a person’s eyes and see inside their soul.’

  Tanith was certainly beautiful, but all this weirdness started to annoy me. ‘Look, what did you drag me across here for?’

  ‘I wanted to ask you a question.’

  ‘What question?’

  Tanith leaned closer. My heart began to speed up, and once again I felt dizzy. For one thrilling, terrifying second, I thought she was going to kiss me. But then she placed her mouth close to my ear and whispered.

Death nest, Simon dillon, 2023.

Want know what Tanith whispered to Nick? Check out Death Nest, which is out now in paperback or on Kindle from Amazon (click here for the UK, and here for the US). It’s also available from Smashwords and their various outlets.

Here’s a taster of my new novel Death Nest, taken from the beginning of chapter 1.

  This is the third time in as many weeks I’ve been called into school to speak to Ben’s teacher. Only last week, Mrs Trench complained of him swearing in class. The week before he got into a scuffle with another child. This time, the incident is serious enough to involve the head teacher, Mr Brown – a scrawny young man in his late twenties. From behind his desk, he addresses me in condescending tones.

‘Mr Unwin, we’re concerned about Ben. Deeply concerned. As you know, he’s been swearing at teachers, getting into fights…’

  ‘He got into one fight, and that was self-defence,’ I cut in.

  ‘He really ought to have found a teacher, and resolved the matter that way,’ says Mrs Trench, a thin, wraithlike figure sitting to my left.

  I shrug. ‘And that teaches him what, exactly? Do you think crying to HR is going to help him when he gets treated unfairly in the workplace? People have to fight their own battles. Ben didn’t start that fight, but he finished it fairly and proportionately. The fact that he’s learned that at his age is reason to be proud of him, not to punish him.’

  Mr Brown sighs. ‘We’re not here to discuss that, or the swearing.’

  ‘I really don’t see why you were so shocked by the swearing.’

  ‘We were concerned about what he might be watching on television,’ Mrs Trench says.

  I laugh. ‘Children pick up swear words at school and often don’t know what they mean. He’s seven, for God’s sake! He wasn’t trying to be aggressive.’

  Mr Brown passes me an open exercise book. ‘Ben wrote this, as part of an English exercise to write a story about taking a walk in the woods. We expected the children to write about trees, blackberry bushes, acorns, conkers, animals they might have glimpsed, and so on. However, Ben’s story is… somewhat different.’

  I scan the story. Ben’s handwriting is excellent, and his word usage articulate and vivid. I get that familiar surge of pride. He’s a very bright child.

  As the story progresses, my pride turns to unease.

  I took Sebastian into the woods to kill him. He didn’t know, and I didn’t want to tell him, because I knew how much killing him would hurt. Sebastian doesn’t understand, but there’s bad inside him, and the only way to get the bad out of him, is for him to die. So I took him deep into the trees, where we were all alone, and no one would hear him screaming. Then I stabbed him with a dagger I’d secretly brought with me. There was a lot of blood. He cried and kept asking me to stop. But I didn’t stop. I had to get rid of the bad inside him.

  At the end of the story is a gruesome illustration featuring a stick figure next to a tree with a dagger in his hand, standing over another stick figure on the ground, who appears to be bleeding out. Mr Brown and Mrs Trench scrutinise me as I look up from the picture. It is understandable why they found Ben’s story alarming. But I suppress my own creeping fears and shrug.

  ‘Yes, it’s a disturbing story, but lots of children write about dark things to express morbid fascination and macabre curiosity about violence and death. Typically, they grow out of this later in life, and don’t become killers.’

  ‘Do you know who this Sebastian might be?’ Mr Brown asks.

  I shake my head. ‘We don’t know a Sebastian, unless there’s someone called Sebastian that Ben knows in school. Is there?’

  ‘There are no Sebastians in the school,’ Mrs Trench says.

  ‘Look, obviously he’s just made him up, like the rest of the story. He doesn’t actually want to kill anyone.’

  ‘What do you make of this bit where he talks about killing Sebastian, to get rid of the bad inside him?’ Mr Brown asks.

  ‘I couldn’t say.’

  ‘We think it might be advisable to seek counselling for Ben. Between the fights, the swearing, and now this violent story, the opinion of a professional…’

  ‘The incidents are unrelated,’ I interrupt. ‘Yes, this is a peculiar story, but I really think it’s nothing to be concerned about. As I said, children often express themselves in unsettling ways that have a rawness, curiosity, and honesty to them, that perhaps…’

  ‘Mr Unwin, please remind me what it is that you do for a living?’

  ‘I help design computer games, but I don’t see how that’s relevant.’

  ‘My point is you are not medically qualified to make judgements about Ben’s mental wellbeing.’

  ‘As his father, I think I am exceptionally qualified. There is nothing wrong with my son.’ I glare at Mr Brown and Mrs Trench, trying to remain calm.

  Mrs Trench exchanges glances with Mr Brown and addresses me with a horrible expression of phoney pity. ‘Forgive me for asking Mr Unwin, but how long has it been since your wife passed?’   I stand, fuming inwardly. ‘I’m finished here. Thank you for your concern.’

Death nest, Simon dillon, 2023.

Death Nest is out now, in paperback or on Kindle from Amazon (click here for the UK, and here for the US). It’s also available from Smashwords and their various outlets.