London, the 1880s, a city torn between burgeoning affluence and abject poverty. Fear stalks the streets in the form of Jack the Ripper, the slums are suffering an epidemic of crime and depravity, and the population is a seething mass of undesirables and ne’er-do-wells. London, nay, England, needs a saviour!
Many in the capital know of the legendary detective, Sherlock Homes, but not as well known is that further up the staircase from his abode at 221B Baker Street is 221C, home to another notable mind in the world of sleuthery.
Offensive, obstinate, devious and depraved, Crust brings an unparalleled cynicism to the world of paranormal investigations, aided by the fact he believes in nothing which doesn’t come in a pint bottle. With the true values of a Victorian gentleman, he sets out to do the thing he loves most: making easy money!
Unfit for Human Consumption is a 12-story collection which serves as a tasting menu for Peter Caffrey’s twisted world. An insight into his Mondo Perverso, many of the stories are new and previously unpublished, while some are from less well-read periodicals or anthologies.
The tales cover a wide gamut of styles and content, and include the strange and demented, the darkest of dark humour, and a dose of utterly unhinged absurdity!
“The book which made the Pope’s sphincter tighten and his testes retract into his body.”
The story of Easter is well known, but the church is more tight-lipped about the second son of God, one who was created as a back-up plan to the more notorious Jesus Christ. While the birth of the Plan B messiah should have been terminated once the first-choice conception went ahead, an administrative cock-up in heaven resulted in the boy being born in Bethlehem, close to a somewhat more infamous stable.
The two sons of God lived separate lives. Despite this, in a cruel irony, the second son of God was also crucified on Good Friday, much like his more famous sibling, but in vastly different circumstances.
Peter Caffrey and Lindsay Crook, who happen to be theological historians as well as writers of filthy tales, join forces to reveal the harrowing story of the man referred to by the Vatican, in its most secret records, as Bastard Jesus.
When David Miller returns home from his family holiday, what appears to be a routine security check at the airport very quickly spirals out of control and takes on a darkness he cannot fathom.
When the bald man gets involved, the mental torture increases, and without any relief from the constantly increasing horrors, David’s grip on reality begins to crumble.
His only hope is that someone, somewhere, will step in and stop the abhorrent torments bleak miseries he’s being forced to endure. But is he clutching at straws?
Dog Food is the frightening tale of one man’s descent into the abyss…
‘Funny, frightening, surreal and speckled with grossness…’ Sean Hawker, Author of The Captive Dwarf
Cock-A-Voodoo-Doo and Other Twisted Love Stories is a collection of three novelettes: Cock-A-Voodoo-Doo, Dolls’ House Diabolic, and The Perils of Dating Celine.
Cock-A-Voodoo-Doo
Based on a true story which took place during 1970, in an Irish Catholic household in North London. Never discussed after the sorry shambles unfolded, and only referred to by the family involved as ‘the Christmas incident’, the events of that time had a profound impact on a young and innocent boy whose interests were previously limited to football, fishing and building box carts out of spare planks and pram wheels!
Now, Peter Caffrey lifts the lid on his own personal Pandora’s box and tells the full story of Marlene, Pastor Reginald, and the ungodly incidents which warped his young and innocent mind.
No names have been changed, because there are no innocent parties.
The story includes an in-depth Author’s Note to help set the scene for the children of the modern age, who believe the world has always been filled with shoe shops, on-demand streaming content, and gluten-free muffins.
Dolls’ House Diabolic
Dave loved Susan. He really loved Susan. Nothing made him happier than when she agreed to marry him. As he set off to Bangkok on his stag party, he promised her one thing: he’d avoid the go-go bars. However, when the other stags insisted on visiting a pussy show, Dave ended up being dragged to the Dolls’ House.
Dolls’ House Diabolic is the story of one man’s battle with the biggest demons: his own guilt and shame. Will Dave and Susan live happily ever after, or will one random act of fate forever condemn their future?
The Perils of Dating Celine
After watching a TV Chef’s hour-long special on all things pasta, the urge to purchase a pasta machine becomes all encompassing for Terry. After tracking down a second-hand one on-line, he makes the purchase, and when the machine arrives it includes a note from the mysterious Celine.
There’s something about her note which he finds intriguing, and after fantasising about contacting her, he bites the bullet and makes the call. When they finally meet, all he knows about Celine is that she loves pasta, and she has a mysterious disfigurement.
The Perils of Dating Celine is a modern-day love story; a glimpse into what could happen if people put aside concerns about random interactions with strangers, and simply followed their hearts.
When I was a boy, there was a tramp who lived in a derelict factory near our house. On the way to school, we’d often see him, standing at the side of the road, staring at the spot where the train tunnel ended and the tracks emerged into the outside world. As the trains thundered from the darkness into the morning light, he’d launch into a tirade of nonsensical babble, shouting curses and abominations.
I understood him. Not his words, not his shouts and curses, but his purpose. I too shared a need to expunge the detritus which built up in my head. I required a cathartic expulsion of the madness and chaos which festered in my thoughts.
This collection is just that: a medley of insane and inane shouts and screams, a collage of verbal ticks, a cornucopia of inky doodlings. Some are random ideas which sneak into my brain, others are heart-felt and personal reflections, and a few are just humorous cul-de-sacs. Some are the germs from which stories or novels have grown, but most went no further than the form in which they are replicated in this dosshouse of words.
A few of you might find something which amuses, and others won’t. Whichever group you fall into, I want to thank you, because you are my train, thundering out from the darkness of the tunnel, and I’m just a random tramp, screaming abuse at you.
