Genre Fiction
![C. J. Tudor - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_c_j_tudor.jpg)
A Sliver of Darkness: Stories
The debut short-story collection from the acclaimed author of The Chalk Man, hailed as "Britain's female Stephen King" (Daily Mail), featuring eleven bone-chilling and mind-bending tales
"All hail the queen of scream. A Sliver of Darkness is C. J. Tudor at her spine-tingling, nightmare-inducing best. Read it if you dare."-Chris Whitaker, New York Times bestselling author of We Begin at the End
Time slips. Doomsday scenarios. Killer butterflies. C. J. Tudor's novels are widely acclaimed for their dark, twisty suspense plots, but with A Sliver of Darkness, she pulls us even further into her dizzying imagination.
In "The Lion at the Gate," a strange piece of graffiti leads to a terrifying encounter for four school friends. In "Final Course," the world has descended into darkness, but a group of old friends make time for one last dinner party. In "Runaway Blues," thwarted love, revenge, and something very nasty stowed in a hat box converge. In "Gloria," a strange girl at a service station endears herself to a coldhearted killer, but can a leopard really change its spots? And in "I'm Not Ted," a case of mistaken identity has unforeseen fatal consequences.
Riveting, macabre, and explosively original, A Sliver of Darkness is C. J. Tudor at her most wicked and uninhibited.
"All hail the queen of scream. A Sliver of Darkness is C. J. Tudor at her spine-tingling, nightmare-inducing best. Read it if you dare."-Chris Whitaker, New York Times bestselling author of We Begin at the End
Time slips. Doomsday scenarios. Killer butterflies. C. J. Tudor's novels are widely acclaimed for their dark, twisty suspense plots, but with A Sliver of Darkness, she pulls us even further into her dizzying imagination.
In "The Lion at the Gate," a strange piece of graffiti leads to a terrifying encounter for four school friends. In "Final Course," the world has descended into darkness, but a group of old friends make time for one last dinner party. In "Runaway Blues," thwarted love, revenge, and something very nasty stowed in a hat box converge. In "Gloria," a strange girl at a service station endears herself to a coldhearted killer, but can a leopard really change its spots? And in "I'm Not Ted," a case of mistaken identity has unforeseen fatal consequences.
Riveting, macabre, and explosively original, A Sliver of Darkness is C. J. Tudor at her most wicked and uninhibited.
Editorial Reviews
"Beautifully barbaric, creepy as hell, and crammed with barbed wit . . . Tudor can say more in one short story than many writers can manage in a full-length novel."-John Marrs, internationally bestselling author of The Passengers
"Brilliantly creepy and perfectly executed."-James Oswald, author of the Inspector McLean series
"A decadent and phantasmagorical descent into the dark chasm where I first fell in love with horror fiction. Told with real heart along with demonic savagery, these are stories to luxuriate with in the tenebrous."-Matt Wesolowski, award-winning author of Six Stories
"Tudor . . . provides plenty of subtle chills in this superior collection of eleven stories. . . . Twilight Zone fans will hope for another collection from this gifted writer."-Publishers Weekly
"Brilliantly creepy and perfectly executed."-James Oswald, author of the Inspector McLean series
"A decadent and phantasmagorical descent into the dark chasm where I first fell in love with horror fiction. Told with real heart along with demonic savagery, these are stories to luxuriate with in the tenebrous."-Matt Wesolowski, award-winning author of Six Stories
"Tudor . . . provides plenty of subtle chills in this superior collection of eleven stories. . . . Twilight Zone fans will hope for another collection from this gifted writer."-Publishers Weekly
Readers Top Reviews
Nix
I've become a big fan of CJ Tudor and was really looking forward to reading this. I wasn't disappointed, planned on reading one a day but raced through them all in 2 days. Just like with any collection of short stories, I enjoyed some more than others, however there are no duds, they are all enjoyable and I would recommend them all. Stand outs for me include, the block, the completion, the lion at the gate, final course and butterfly island. Those ones really stuck in my mind and a number of them I would have enjoyed as novels. Another plus is each sorry has a brief introduction about what inspired her to write it which was a really interesting addition. Overall, really recommend this for anyone who enjoys spooky tales and is a great autumn read!
halcyonbearKarla
I've read all of CJ Tudor's novels to date and have thoroughly enjoyed them. They're usually read in a few sittings. When I saw an anthology of short stories was available I had to buy it. I have to say, I prefer her full length novels. Some stories in the anthology are undeniably better than others but one thing is evident; even those that aren't as good as the others are better by far than some other writers' output. I'd love to see some of the shorter tales expanded into longer ones. If you're already familiar with Tudor's work, you shouldn't pass up on this anthology.
The Cookster @ Revi
Rating: 4.0/5 I have become a huge admirer of C.J. Tudor over the past few years. I loved her debut novel, "The Chalk Man" and the three novels she has had published since then have been getting better and better. I was looking forward to reading her fifth novel this year, which was going to be called "The Sixth" and was disappointed when I heard that the project had been shelved. The author sheds some light on the background behind this decision in her opening notes to this collection of short stories - and it was very moving reading her account. The good news is that not only will there now be a different novel number five ("The Drift") being published in 2023, but there there is also the bonus of this volume of eleven short stories under the title, "A Sliver of Darkness" in the meantime. Short story collections seem to have gone out of fashion in recent times, which is something of a pity. There is an art to writing a successful short story and I have great admiration for any author who can construct a properly rounded tale within the confines of such a short format. I am pleased to say that "A Sliver of Darkness" is a fine example of such a collection. There is a danger when producing a collection of stories from the same writer, rather than from a variety of authors, that it could become a bit samey. That is certainly not the case here. Yes, of course, there is the C.J Tudor DNA that runs throughout, but there is also genuine variety in this compilation. There are varying lengths of story to fit the amount of time you may have available to read one in its entirety, but the moods and themes also display a range of influences that had an effect on the writer during her life. There are disturbingly dark elements, but there are also lighter more tongue-in-cheek aspects too. As you would expect from C.J. Tudor there are hints of Stephen King, but I also sensed influences from the likes of Doctor Who, Kafka, Alex Garland, Roald Dahl, Jules Verne and H.G. Wells. Each story is introduced by a little background note by the author, which is a lovely touch. It also put me in mind of the scene-setting introduction that Alfred Hitchcock used to provide in "Alfred Hitchcock presents" television series. This is a wonderfully enjoyable book and, although everyone will have their favourite stories, there are none that are included purely as fillers. Easy to recommend and I will now be looking forward to reading "The Drift" as soon as I can.
Spicewalker
Well.. I started reading this book with every intention of reading one story a day. Didn’t work out like that. Once I started reading I found I moved quickly from one story to the next and I was so lost in the fabulous worlds that CJ Tudor created, a few hours later I reached the end of the whole book. If you like short stories, this is a collection I can highly recommend. Part mystery but with a sometimes horror themed twist, each offering brings us something slightly different. From the possible links to other dimensions, to stories of the apocalypse, some strange and somewhat terrifying graffiti, and a quick catch up with a name from the past (easily recognisable if you have read the author’s back catalogue), CJ Tudor delivers with each story. From spine-tingling tales, to ones that will bring a twisted smile to your face, there are one or two you just might not want to read with the lights turned off. What I really liked it that each story featured an introduction from the author giving us insight into what inspired the tale. It does set us up, to a degree, for what is still to come, but not so much as to spoil any surprises. I ate them all up, in fact you could say consumed them. I was Hungry for more. Amongst my favourites were The Block, The Lion at the Gate, Final Course, Dust and Butterfly Island, although in fairness I could happily recommend them all. Each has a little something that tickles the tastebuds, proper tales of the unexpected, and each with that recognisable CJ Tudor vibe. It you like the author’s work you will love this collection. Definitely recommended for a nice Halloween-esque read. Why not treat yourself?
Short Excerpt Teaser
End of the Liner
Introduction
In 2021 my family and I went on a cruise for the very first time.
This was during the pandemic, so it was a "staycation cruise." It only lasted four days, and the ship never left British waters. But it was fun and very family friendly. It was bound to be. It was organized by the major operator in the family entertainment market. (Think mouse).
One day, while Betty was in the pool and Neil and I were on deck, sipping iced cocktails, conversation turned to the pandemic, space programs and the apocalypse (as it does). We stared out over the expanse of water, and I remember Neil saying: "If a virus really obliterated the world, you wouldn't need to send people into space. Just stick them all on giant cruise ships."
The comment and the idea stuck.
One of the reasons I love theme parks is because they tread a fine line between magical and creepy. Especially if they are abandoned or run-down. Anyone who has seen Donnie Darko will know that there's something quite sinister about someone dressed up in a big furry animal costume. And while everything being shiny and magical is nice for a week or two, would you really want to live like that for the rest of your life? Wouldn't it perhaps feel a tad authoritarian? Especially if you were in the middle of the ocean with no way to escape.
It was with those ideas in mind that I sat down to write "End of the Liner."
I hope you enjoy the magic. All aboard now.
She often dreamed of drowning.
In the empty hours between midnight and dawn, she lay in her narrow bunk and imagined the waves taking her. It would be cold. And if she was lucky, the freezing temperatures would claim her before the dark water invaded her mouth and lungs. Or, if she was even luckier, perhaps a Sea God would be merciful.
She wondered if she could request a winter ceremony.
She wondered how it had been for the others.
And when it would be her turn.
Not today. Today she had a packed schedule of breakfast, followed by aqua aerobics on the main deck. Then, an hour or so in the shade, reading. Perhaps she might stroll around the ship before lunch. In the afternoon, the crew often tried to provide entertainment, although the theaters were looking a little tired these days; no amount of clever lighting could disguise the fact that the paint on the elaborate sets was peeling and the velvet upholstery on the seats was faded and patched. People tried not to notice, and for many, it had been that way for all their lives.
But she remembered. And occasionally she felt a yearning for the old days. For a time when this existence was a privileged luxury rather than a slow torture. She glanced at the photographs she kept on her tiny dresser. One of her and Nick when they boarded with her parents. She looked so young, with her new husband-and they were young, she supposed. She was twenty-five and Nick was only two years older. They had hardly lived, really. Barely built up a bank of experiences before they boarded the ship and their lives shrank to these decks and corridors.
The other picture she looked at less often, because even a short glance drew fresh pain. Sometimes, she wondered why she kept it at all. Certainly, it did her no favors with the Creators. Those who were "lost" were never spoken of, nor commemorated. Keeping mementos was frowned upon. But it was the one thing Leila couldn't let go of.
Her daughter, Addison.
This was the last photo ever taken of her little girl. On the verge of becoming a young woman. Celebrating her eighteenth birthday. Dark hair falling over her face, a wide grin, blue eyes glinting with mischief-and rebellion. Too much rebellion, perhaps.
Maybe Leila should have been sterner. Maybe she should have encouraged her willfulness less. When Nick had tried to cajole Addison into partaking in traditional female pursuits such as sewing and cookery, perhaps she should have backed him up rather than supporting Addison's decision to enroll in maintenance and engineering.
Regrets. Mistakes. No life lived long is short of them.
Leila turned away from the photograph. She couldn't be late for breakfast. The Creators liked routine, and any small aberration meant that questions might be asked. She faced herself in the mirror. Unlike many of the older passengers, whose skin had weathered like leather from the abrasive winds and unforgiving eye of the sun, Leila had always protected herself from the elements. Her skin remained pale and soft, criss-crossed with a myriad of fine lines. Her blue eyes were clear-no cataracts yet, although she needed glasses for reading-and her long, thick hair was pure white, secured into a...
Introduction
In 2021 my family and I went on a cruise for the very first time.
This was during the pandemic, so it was a "staycation cruise." It only lasted four days, and the ship never left British waters. But it was fun and very family friendly. It was bound to be. It was organized by the major operator in the family entertainment market. (Think mouse).
One day, while Betty was in the pool and Neil and I were on deck, sipping iced cocktails, conversation turned to the pandemic, space programs and the apocalypse (as it does). We stared out over the expanse of water, and I remember Neil saying: "If a virus really obliterated the world, you wouldn't need to send people into space. Just stick them all on giant cruise ships."
The comment and the idea stuck.
One of the reasons I love theme parks is because they tread a fine line between magical and creepy. Especially if they are abandoned or run-down. Anyone who has seen Donnie Darko will know that there's something quite sinister about someone dressed up in a big furry animal costume. And while everything being shiny and magical is nice for a week or two, would you really want to live like that for the rest of your life? Wouldn't it perhaps feel a tad authoritarian? Especially if you were in the middle of the ocean with no way to escape.
It was with those ideas in mind that I sat down to write "End of the Liner."
I hope you enjoy the magic. All aboard now.
She often dreamed of drowning.
In the empty hours between midnight and dawn, she lay in her narrow bunk and imagined the waves taking her. It would be cold. And if she was lucky, the freezing temperatures would claim her before the dark water invaded her mouth and lungs. Or, if she was even luckier, perhaps a Sea God would be merciful.
She wondered if she could request a winter ceremony.
She wondered how it had been for the others.
And when it would be her turn.
Not today. Today she had a packed schedule of breakfast, followed by aqua aerobics on the main deck. Then, an hour or so in the shade, reading. Perhaps she might stroll around the ship before lunch. In the afternoon, the crew often tried to provide entertainment, although the theaters were looking a little tired these days; no amount of clever lighting could disguise the fact that the paint on the elaborate sets was peeling and the velvet upholstery on the seats was faded and patched. People tried not to notice, and for many, it had been that way for all their lives.
But she remembered. And occasionally she felt a yearning for the old days. For a time when this existence was a privileged luxury rather than a slow torture. She glanced at the photographs she kept on her tiny dresser. One of her and Nick when they boarded with her parents. She looked so young, with her new husband-and they were young, she supposed. She was twenty-five and Nick was only two years older. They had hardly lived, really. Barely built up a bank of experiences before they boarded the ship and their lives shrank to these decks and corridors.
The other picture she looked at less often, because even a short glance drew fresh pain. Sometimes, she wondered why she kept it at all. Certainly, it did her no favors with the Creators. Those who were "lost" were never spoken of, nor commemorated. Keeping mementos was frowned upon. But it was the one thing Leila couldn't let go of.
Her daughter, Addison.
This was the last photo ever taken of her little girl. On the verge of becoming a young woman. Celebrating her eighteenth birthday. Dark hair falling over her face, a wide grin, blue eyes glinting with mischief-and rebellion. Too much rebellion, perhaps.
Maybe Leila should have been sterner. Maybe she should have encouraged her willfulness less. When Nick had tried to cajole Addison into partaking in traditional female pursuits such as sewing and cookery, perhaps she should have backed him up rather than supporting Addison's decision to enroll in maintenance and engineering.
Regrets. Mistakes. No life lived long is short of them.
Leila turned away from the photograph. She couldn't be late for breakfast. The Creators liked routine, and any small aberration meant that questions might be asked. She faced herself in the mirror. Unlike many of the older passengers, whose skin had weathered like leather from the abrasive winds and unforgiving eye of the sun, Leila had always protected herself from the elements. Her skin remained pale and soft, criss-crossed with a myriad of fine lines. Her blue eyes were clear-no cataracts yet, although she needed glasses for reading-and her long, thick hair was pure white, secured into a...
