My Books

Night Service

A tale of travel and terror from the Scaeth Mythos

Night Service John F Leonard

It’s been a great night, but it’s getting late. You need to make tracks and cash isn’t king.
No worries …all aboard the Night Service. It could be the last bus you ever catch.

Every journey is a journey into the unknown, but this trip is an eye-opener, unlike anything that Luke and Jessica have ever experienced. They’re going to learn a few important lessons. Being young and in love doesn’t grant immunity from the everyday awful …or the less ordinary evil that lurks in the shadows.
There’s no inoculation from the horror of the world – it’s real and it’s waiting to touch you.

All the night owls out there need to take care, buses after midnight are decidedly dodgy affairs. Unreliable and loaded with the potential for unpleasant.
That said, life doesn’t always leave you with very much choice. Love them or loathe them, sometimes you just have to climb aboard and hope for the best.
Just jump on and enjoy! Time to shut up and let someone else drive. You’re not in control when you travel in lowlife style.
No standing, there’s room on top.
No smoking and don’t distract the driver.
Don’t scream and don’t cuss.
Just get on the bus.

Night service is a wild ride. One you’ll never forget. It’s going to take you to places you’ve never been before.
Oh, one thing. Don’t expect to get off alive. And don’t expect to see another sunrise if you do. Happy endings can be elusive little devils.

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A Post-Apocalyptic Horror Story from the Scaeth Mythos

Congeal John F Leonard

It starts with reports on the news of an inland lake turning semi-solid.
A spot not far from a strange little town called Bledbrooke.
Surely, a media joke, some lame April Fool’s prank?
The before and after pictures are vaguely ludicrous and oddly disturbing, the contrast stark and strange.
First, darkly rippling water that hints at hidden depths. Slightly spooky and perfectly normal. Next, a putrid blotch of clotted sludge which bears little resemblance to anything aquatic.

Congeal is a short tale of apocalyptic horror. How the world ends may not be how you expect. Nuclear Armageddon or a zombie apocalypse could get beaten to the punch.
Our apocalypse may come from below.
An ancient, cosmic entity bubbling up to the surface in search of food.
It’s also the story of one individual and her fight to stay afloat in a sea of despair.

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The Bledbrooke Works

A Cosmic Horror Story from the Scaeth Mythos

The Bledbrooke Works John F Leonard

Ever notice how some places don’t feel right? No rhyme or reason, they’re just unsettling, without you being able to pinpoint the cause.
The vaguely suspicious demeanour of the locals. The pewtered quality of light. The old and indefinably alien smell that blows on the breeze …difficult to say for sure, but there’s definitely something.
Bledbrooke is one of those places. It’s always been different to other towns.

The Bledbrooke Works is a tale of everyday unpleasantness and cosmic horror. A short novella of subterranean terror seen through the eyes of an ageing engineer and a young hoodlum.

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A Horror Story from the Dead Boxes Archive


Ah, the perils of writing …it can bring out the worst in you.

Anthony’s world has fallen apart. The good times have gone, the things he treasures have been torn away. Life in tatters, he needs to press the reset button and begin again. And that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

He’s going to pursue his dream of becoming a writer.

Trouble is, some dreams turn into nightmares.

Beautiful wife, successful business, plenty of cash. He had the lot. Until he didn’t have very much at all. It’s taken a while, but Anthony has finally discovered life is full of bastards and betrayal. Weary and washed out, a change of direction is just what the doctor ordered.

He wants to be a horror writer.

Write, and in the writing, redefine himself.

And again, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. He’s about to discover real horrors. The like of which are beyond comprehension. He could well get lost in his own stories.

Because some stories aren’t right. They aren’t just make-believe ink marks on a page.

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A Tale of Toy Dogs and Dark Deeds


All the kids adore Doggem, the class cuddly toy.

They each get to take him home. Hug him and love him and show him their world outside of school. All they have to do in return is write his diary. It’s George Gould’s turn and he’s going to introduce Doggem to a rather unusual family.

It’s worth noting, both the stuffed toy and little boy are far from ordinary.

Doggem is no longer your run-of-the-mill snuggle doggy. Designed to fall apart after a few years. Perfect for squishing and squashing into a comfort blanket. He’s a million miles from that now. Doggem has just become a living creature. Thinking and reasoning. Trying to make sense of an unexpected existence. And George?

Well, George is descended from decidedly dicey stock. There are folk in delightful George’s lineage who have indulged in practices of a somewhat shadowy nature. The ramifications of which aren’t ready to be consigned to history. They want to spill out of the past and have their say in the future.

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A Horror Story from the Dead Boxes Archive


Vincent likes nothing more than rootling round second-hand shops in search of the interesting and unusual. Items that are lost and forgotten.

Why not? He needs the diversion. Time on his hands and money to burn. His life is affluent and empty. Little on the horizon and memories tinged bittersweet.

That’s all about to change. He’s about to find something that is perhaps better left unfound.

CALL DROPS is a darkly swirling mix of horror and mystery that will stay with you long after the reading is done. It’ll maybe make you think twice about impulse buying, those moments when you simply must have something, even though you don’t need it.

It might cause you to look again at the apparently mundane and everyday …and possibly, just possibly, wonder at what twisted marvels lurk within your mobile phone.

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This title is also available on SmashWords, iBooks, Google, Barnes & Noble and Kobo


A Supernatural Horror Novel (The Scaeth Mythos)


Seeing a stranger die is the worst thing that Chris has ever witnessed. Picking up the dead man’s wallet is a mistake, a moment of weakness.

That’s all it takes, one impulsive act, for reality to unravel.

Because pocketing the wallet is only the beginning.

Dark forces swim below the surface of the world…

They change their shape but never go away…

They find a way through…

Chris Carlisle experiences an everyday horror. A morning starts out bad and gets worse.

Wrong place at the wrong time and life takes a wrong turn.

But even the blackest clouds have silver linings. He gets a little slice of luck to balance out the horror.

Just goes to show, bad often comes bundled with good.

Sometimes, they bleed into each other until you can’t tell them apart.

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An Apocalyptic Horror Novella


An untold story from the world first visited in COLLAPSE.

City Flu sweeps the globe. Swift, virulent, devastating.

Beneath Whitehall, a few of the immune gather in a government bunker.

Something worse than pandemic is taking place above their heads.

Two men are sent to investigate…

Pearcey is a veteran. Cynical and smart. Fear is an old friend. Horror is nothing new.

But this is fear and horror of a different order.

It may well be an apocalyptic event. The Apocalypse. Right here, right now. In London, across the country, across the globe.

Ageing and tired, his biggest weakness may be the creeping compassion that threatens to undermine his cynicism…

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An Apocalyptic Horror Novel


The sweeping sickness, a global pandemic.

Billions lie fallen, gripped by an unknown affliction.

Hope is all the few survivors have. Hope that the collapsed will recover and wake again.

But waking is when the real nightmare begins…

A mystery illness sweeps the globe. Swifter and more virulent than anything ever recorded, enfolding the earth like a savage hand snatching a child’s marble. The City Flu in Britain.

The Sweeping Sickness in America.

Misnomers, semantics, swirls of the matador’s cloak, the names don’t matter. There isn’t time for that. Normal life is slipping its gears, sliding into unknown territory. The illness is never properly classified, identified or studied. The descent into disaster is too fast, the effects so debilitating that the impact is already catastrophic.

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