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Nick Warren

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Member Since: Feb, 2012

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The Seventh Sense.
by Nick Warren   

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Books by Nick Warren
· Dark Trinity.
· There's a Frog in my Tummy.
· Sweet and Sour.
· Come Home Moon.
                >> View all



Publisher:  Nick Warren.

Copyright:  May 2012

Eleven stories of horror and the supernatural. Meet creatures of evil and destruction both human and not. A dark family with a white sheep. An enforcer tracking a deranged killer. Criminals of the future and the present. Abusers and the abused. An old man with an amazing power. A writer on a rich man's quest and one rare young woman with the seventh sense.

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Eleven stories. Eleven journeys along dark paths.

Number Four.

An ex-con returns to his former town supported by his probabtion officer and the manager of a halfway house. He will learn that coming home is not always the wisest choice.


A young boy comes of age in an old and unusual family.


April lives in fear of her boyfriend David. His obsession with serial killers and a long dead girl leads to her escape from his abuses. David wants her back and will do anything to accomplish this, but April, trying to slot back into normal life with her mum and brother, is not the meek woman she was. She is changing. A transformation that will bring them back together for the final time.

The Hand Dryer King.

A homeless man in the early 1990's lives in a world of drink, crime and a struggle for survival. Two strangers come to his town and he finds himself caught between a battle of good and evil. 

The White Glaistig.

A would be writer of non fiction books receives a dream offer from a super rich businessman. He is sent to a remote loch in Scotland to research a local legend. A legend that means more to the businessman than all the money in the world.

Imaginary Solid.

Farrow is a junior solicitor called to the bedside of his firm's most important client. The old man is dying and has one very strange request.

The Yellow Parchment.

A hardened enforcer has lost the love of his life, the daughter of his boss, Jack Waring. He is determined to discover her killer and exact revenge. His bloody investigation leads him to an old colleaugue of Waring's, a child pornographer that Waring has protected for decades.

The Stranger, the Pipe and the Prayer.

An old tale retold how it really happened.

The smallest god.

Cranitch is a low level journalist about to cover the strangest story of his career.

Life Sentence.

In the far future society punishes it's most extreme criminals in the most extreme of ways.

The Seventh Sense.

Lacey is a waitress in a small village tea room. An ordinary girl with little ambition other than to keep out of her nagging mother's way. Her day off, spent doing overtime, sees her meet two very special customers. The kind of customers the village can do without.


My mother’s sister did not like being called Aunt or Auntie so to me she was always Connie. My mother visited her tiny home three or four times a year. Father would only attend on Connie’s birthday and sit in near silence, his long body spider like in one of Connie’s compact chairs.
Connie was younger than my mother who was the first of four. Despite this she looked very much older. Her hair which was thick and always untidy had a smattering of grey. She was stocky and short whereas my mother and the other sisters were slim and tall.
I think I first noticed the difference the time Connie came to stay with us at the wedding of my older brother Carl. She was ushered in and sat in a dark corner. During the ceremony she caught my eye and waved. I returned it and this was seen by father who glowered at me and then her in turn. I could never meet my father’s eye when he was displeased but Connie smiled and stared back until he looked away, disgust all over his face.
She didn’t stay for the wedding breakfast and when I asked mother why she told me to make myself useful looking after my younger cousins.
I was growing and learning as all boys do and day to day life made me forget my aunt for long periods at a time. Only when a visit was announced would I ponder my strange relative.
It was a mild summer evening and mother and I made our way to Connie’s small house. It was secluded, the nearest town twenty miles south. Connie answered straightaway. Her hair was in its usual tangle and she wore a shapeless, colourful dress. I followed her into the living room fascinated by the clumsy way she moved and her noisy progress. Her breathing was loud and her voice quite painful if I got too close. She dropped her full weight into a tired chair and told me to sit and tell her all that had occurred since we’d last met.
I told her about my studies and of the family. She pulled a face when I mentioned father and seemed unaware of mother’s displeasure. I fought amusement and continued.
What delight I made in her with all the trifling detail of my ordinary life! She chuckled and ruffled my hair. She even kissed my cheek, something mother had never done. It left a feverish spot and a great deal of pleasure.
The time to go came speedily and I was sorry to leave. Connie pressed something in my hand as she stood on tip toe to embrace me. We walked down the narrow path and I turned to wave but Connie had already closed the door.
After we had dined I went to my room and took Connie’s gift from the pocket I had deftly hidden it. It was a photograph. An art my father disliked intensely. A younger Connie beamed out. She was slimmer but still plump and her hair was black. Behind her rose a brooding building. My mother opened my door and had the image from my hand with amazing speed. I did not protest but I begged her not to tell father. She closed my door and put a finger to her lips.
“Connie is different but still one of the family. Don’t accept anything from her again. Do you understand?”
I indicated that I did and she left.

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