All Write

The Moya Green Collection

The Apotheosis of Jabez Pigstock

Unencumbered by talent, our hero rises from mediocrity to celebrity, in a world run by plutocrats, spooks and (possibly) cats. All Jabez wants is a quiet life, with plenty of cash and no responsibilities, but that changes when he becomes trapped in a wardrobe at the annual Company Garden Party. The events of that afternoon propel him into the midst of a titanic struggle between a reclusive multi-billionaire with ambitions for world domination, and a shadowy quasi-governmental Department determined to thwart them. Soon he is beset on all sides, as he tries to evade matrimony, save the world and achieve his own ambition as a Reality TV star (the modern equivalent of a god). Or will he be thrown to the wolves?

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The Little Snakes Of Silver Throat

The Little Snakes of Silver Throat: Tales of the Uncanny

A dozen stories to chill the blood and shiver the spine, ranging from uncanny intrusions into the everyday world, to a classical ghost tale: two children meet in an abandoned garden, a girl disappears from a holiday cottage, a cat knows who will die ... and a man brings his young wife back to his ancestral home, with tragic results.


Dogsbody and other strange tales
a collection of humourous and fantastical short stories

What if you die and go to heaven, and find you don’t like it there? Do cats really rule the earth? Suppose, at the Battle of Hastings, that arrow had missed King Harold? These and other burning questions are answered in this collection of fantastical, funny and some downright silly stories. Meet the kipper which grants wishes, hear the blackbirds’ take on that pie, discover the ultimate hair restorer  . . . 

Now available from   £6.99
also from Amazon and Barnes & Noble

Midnight Call



             I climbed out of a deep pit of nightmare to find waking was worse. Thick night closed around me, smothering. The darkness was absolute. Only that ghastly cry resounded in my ears. Had it been part of my dream?

            I dreamt I escaped across burning sands, the colour and consistency of congealing custard. The very air had seemed to solidify around me. I heard the scrabbling feet of the pursuing demons, felt their hot breath on the back of my neck . . .

            As my eyes grew used to the darkness I could see the pale square of the window, clouds scudding across a gibbous moon. Slowly my breathing calmed, my pounding heartbeat quietened. I listened till my ears ached. All was silent.

            There it came again! The hideous, wailing cry, of a soul wracked beyond endurance. The hair stirred on my head as I sat up, clutching the blankets around me. It had sounded so near, almost as if it was in the same house. I shuddered, fearing the infernal entities had escaped from my dreams to walk the earth. Perhaps one was even now approaching up the stairs.

            Then I heard it. A soft, surreptitious scratching at my bedroom door. For a moment terror held me paralyzed, but I could not help myself. Some external force seemed to propel me from my bed and across the floor. I had to see.

            My hand shook as I opened the door. It was there, its eyes blazing into mine, a headless corpse at its feet. I screamed.

            Bloody hell, Shagpile. I know you mean well and youre a brilliant hunter but - I dont want your mouse!

            Only he looked so disappointed I ate it anyway.

An excerpt from


It was on the night of the great thunderstorm that George finally decided to become a dog.

He was used to sharing the marital bed with Topsy the poodle and Flopsy the Clumber spaniel; but when, frightened by the thunder, Mopsy the old English sheepdog joined them as well it all became too much of a crowd and George was summarily ejected onto the bedroom floor.

'That's it,' George thought as he curled up in Mopsy's basket. ‘I've had enough. I'll make an appointment first thing in the morning.'

The doctor, when George eventually got to see him, was dubious. ‘It's a major procedure, a species-change operation. Have you discussed this with your wife?’

‘Of course,’ lied George, suppressing a smile. One did not discuss things like that with Beryl. Or anything else for that matter. No, it would be a nice surprise for her. He

hoped she would like him better as a dog. Certainly she did not have much use for him as a man.

            ‘I'll get you an appointment with the specialist,’ said the doctor, ‘but it might take a while. And you do realize they are not doing this sort of thing on the NHS any more? You would have to have it done privately.’