This week, Stephen Jones and Ramsey Campbell – two names familiar to anyone interested in horror fiction.

Head on over to our Podcast Page for more details, and to listen to it.

‘It is a showcase of our work, our imagination and our love of the craft of writing,’ says editor-in-chief Daniel Ribot. ‘I hope Alt.Fiction attendees will enjoy, comment and participate with us, perhaps going so far as buying a thirsty editor a well-deserved pint!’

Seventeen writers in all have contributed, their efforts accentuated by the feverishly dazzling handiwork of many genre artists. So that’s twelve - count ‘em – twelve pages of sheer mind-fondling, vision-injected 100% STORY for your delectation, all TOTALLY FREE!

Because we love you, people, really we do. No, really.

In addition, Stephen Volk has just sent in his signed Ghostwatch script for the auction.

This is going to be a great festival! So go get your tickets – they’re running out the door! (Don’t worry – we’ll catch them for you!)

As we move ever closer to Alt.Fiction 2010, we thought we’d post some additional material relating to the festival, and to our guests. (And if you have’t booked your ticket, yet - go do it now, as tickets are selling fast!)

Guy Adams is a writer of fantasy – his Torchwood novel The House that Jack Built and his original fantasy The World House have ben extremely well-received. This interview first appeared at Un:Bound – thanks to Adele for allowing it to be reproduced here.

Un:Bound: Hiya, ok i’m going to launch straight in with this. Your previous books have been tie ins, how different was writing The World House from your previous work? 

Guy Adams: Okay… 

Making the leap to original fiction wasn’t so hard as that’s what most writers are naturally inclined to write. Besides, everything that I’d written ‘for fun’ up until now had been original work. I’d also had a few short books published in the small press. 

Obviously you have a much greater scope when dealing with your own characters and situations. It’s like having the manacles removed. 

The biggest relief though was being able to attack a big fictional project, I’d spent so much time writing non-fiction over the last couple of years that I’d been climbing up the wall. I’m really much, much better as a fiction writer than non-fiction. Earning a living in a medium that doesn’t actually — in my opinion — play to my strengths was quite frustrating. 

UB: Hmm, talking of playing to your strengths, the House itself is an unusual piece of worldbuilding, how did you come to create a world, inside a house, inside a box? 

GA: The book started off in that little phrase quoted by Chester (and paraphrased on the cover). “There is a box. Inside that box is a door and beyond that door…” 

At the time I thought it was probably a kid’s book, that little line just had the feel of children’s fiction about it… maybe it was the memory of Camberwick Green! 

I had just written a Torchwood novel that put a spin on haunted house stories and I think an element of that was still clinging to me too. 

What swung it for me in the end was the idea of approaching elements of standard fantasy stories — shifting environments and the ubiquitous quest — and dumping them all in an enclosed space. That appealed to me hugely, it has a subversive quality that was too good to leave alone. 

I’ve always been a lover of Victorian houses, and the attitudes and affectation that goes with them… opulence draped over something dark and vaguely unsavoury. Deep paint contrasted against white cornices, stained floorboards, thick rugs, the ghosts of smoked cigars and the sweet reek of port. My old flat in the UK was a living shrine to that atmosphere. If it were to be set in a house it had to be that sort of house… 

The image that came first — and guaranteed that the book would be written — was a man waking in a darkened room only to find that the taxidermy had come to life. I then realised that this sort of thing happened all the time, especially at ‘night’ when the gas lamps grew dim. 

That’s all it takes usually, get a strong enough flavour on your tongue and you’re away. 

From there on in it was easy really, just having fun with what you could put in some of the rooms, mountain ranges, oceans, jungles… as long as you never let people forget that it’s still a house, that’s the key I think, otherwise it would lose its charm. Keep showing them the wooden paneling, the ceiling roses and bathroom tiles. 

UB: I don’t think i’m going to be recommending this to any children. It’s difficult to talk about the characters without giving too much away, but was it hard to work with what seemed to me quite a large cast for the setting? 

GA: I think some of the book if lifted and offered out of context — I’m thinking about the scenes in the bathroom on the good ship Intrepid — actually reads like a kid’s book. But then I go and spoil it elsewhere with all the cannibalism and paintings rutting in their canvases. 

I didn’t find the cast tricky really. Because the setting is only small when thought of in our terms of a ‘house’. As you know the book goes on to explain that we have only been following this handful of characters because they are the ones that will wind up important in the narrative (which is always the case in a novel of course, you don’t follow the minor characters around it’s not their story… I just make a plot point of it here rather than taking it as read). There are lots of people trapped in this impossible building… most of whom don’t last past the first day. 

They were all suitably different too, speaking in broad strokes you have: the gentleman explorer, the society girl, the middle aged white collar guy, the girl with special needs, the alcoholic piano player/beat poet… There’s a lot of variety there and they’re defined not only by their personalities but also the eras in which they come from. I break them down into three distinct groups, ensuring they have a dynamic together and can riff well off each other (I need that from my characters, I need their dialogue to bounce around) then you have these manageable threads to follow, weaving your way towards a climax. 

I feel I should confess — though you didn’t ask — that I never plan. I think perhaps I should, it would make life easier. But for me half the pleasure is working myself into a corner and seeing what I can creatively come up with in order to work my way back out again. I remember Hustle creator Tony Jordan saying that when he wrote his scripts for the series he didn’t work backwards as most would. He didn’t come up with a method for perpetrating a con and then tell a story about it, he told a story, painted himself in a corner with the team of hustlers pulling off some miraculous stunt and then tried to figure out how the hell they could have done it. I relate to that terribly. Most of the big set pieces in the book are where I’ve thrown everything into chaos and then… screaming in panic… tried to figure out how the hell I can make things work out okay. 

It’s not a sane way to work… 

UB: They are a mixed bunch and very entertaining, I found myself getting particularly fond of the special needs girl Sophie and her unique way of dealing with this impossible situation. Well, since we don’t want to risk spoilers let’s talk about you for a bit. What do you look for in the books you read and what books or authors do you keep coming back to? (feel free to ramble) 

GA: Sophie’s my favourite character too (though you would imagine it would be Miles as he’s a very thinly veiled cipher of myself). Her sections were such fun to write. Her thought patterns hugely addictive. 

What do I look for in the books I read? Hmm… a real mixture really. It’s that elusive spark you get from writers that resonate. My reading’s pretty diverse. I love the wit and ingenuity of Jasper Fforde — a man that throws the most stunning ideas away in a single paragraph, he has so many of them he can afford to be casual about it. Douglas Adams is a genius in that regard too, and a huge hero of mine. 

I love earthy, rolling prose. Stuff like Joe R. Lansdale or Ed Gorman (Ed’s probably the best short story writer in the business, the man’s a bloody genius and not enough people read him). It’s prose that you could fry and eat then wash down with some ice-cold beer. 

Then there’s the writers you go to be thrilled by the scopes of their imagination, for the pleasure of the big canvas or the great idea, people like Michael Marshall Smith, Garry Kilworth (another hugely underrated writer) or Clive Barker. 

Clive Barker was a huge hero when I was in my late teens, his books just blew me away, the breadth of them, the sexiness of them… imaginative literature to. I met him a couple of times at books signings, always so starry-eyed at how lovely he was, how gracious and enthusiastic.  

There are those writers that just write the most beautiful prose. Christopher Fowler’s one, really graceful, pitch perfect stuff. He was kind enough to read The World House in its first draft and I was quaking throughout… knowing how he must be wincing at my sloppy phrasing. He didn’t, lovely, lovely man… 

Then there’s Ramsey Campbell, a man that writes in a language of his very own. Or Conrad Williams… his book London Revenant made me sick. It was too good, the writing too brilliant. It’s an effort not to punch him in the throat whenever we meet. 

Then there’s perhaps the most important group of all: the great storytellers. There’s King of course, but also people like Mark Morris, Stephen Gallagher, Tim Lebbon, John Connolly, Sarah Pinborough… They all share an ability to bury big ideas, disturbing or awe-inspiring, usually both beneath wonderfully simple prose. And I mean ‘simple’ in an extremely complimentary sense… it’s writing that doesn’t try and impress with bells and whistles, just punches the story into you in a manner that creeps up on you wonderfully. Like a little old lady hoisting up her tartan skirt to reveal a suspenders and a strap-on. They can use that on their next cover quote… I hereby give permission. 

We come to books for different things, depending on our mood. Be it humour or poetry of language, bravura scope or just exemplary story telling. I’m a man of moods… I flit between genres and styles all the time. 

UB:I could happily back and forth for hours but no doubt everyone else would have us move on. Since you mentioned it in what ways are you and Miles alike? 

GA: Miles and I share a personality. We both hide behind humour, smoke too much and are no strangers to depression. 

I don’t have a gambling problem though, thankfully. His flat in Stratford-upon-Avon is the same one I used to live in. I didn’t use to own an antiques shop but I did work in one. So on so forth… 

Other than the gambling he’s basically me. 

UB: So how did you end up moving to Spain? 

GA: My partner and I both needed to move at the same time so we agreed to move in together, the only question became where. I had just gone full time at the writing and she works as a massage therapist so the idea of going somewhere where it might be a bit cheaper to live appealed! 

It was a very spontaneous decision, we just did it really… I imagine that if we’d thought about it particularly we would both have got cold feet and backed out. 

It’s a lovely place to live of course, mountains behind me the sea in front… The irony has been that there’s no other work out here so it’s meant I have to keep getting the writing contracts in as I have nothing else to fall back on. If I had been in England I would have been sorely tempted to get some part-time work (anything, I’m clearly not proud) as nobody relishes the starving author lifestyle… without that though I have been forced to really push hard at anything that comes my way… maybe that’s been a good thing. 

Let you know when I’m not starving any more! 

UB: But surely a starving artist should be stuck in a cold tower not hanging out on the beach? So what have you got lined up next to keep you from starving? 

GA: If I hang out on the beach I might catch a fish, there’s only spiders to eat in a cold tower. 

I’m writing a biography of comic actor Leonard Rossiter which comes out in the Autumn. I’m also writing a little book based on the ‘bar bets’ seen in The Real Hustle — you know the sort of thing, “You can only move the pint glass using two spent matches and your arse…” 

At the moment I’m finishing off the sequel to The World House. A very different book. Obviously it’s a continuation of the first but the gear change between the two is very pronounced. The characters are the same but the structure, the story, the atmosphere of the book… all very different. People will see why it has to be a separate book. 

It’s driving me mad right now, of course, I’m at that point where it’s like nailing soup to a table… trying to get it all to mesh together the way I want it. It’ll get there though, it always does… 

HR: So you’ll be demonstrating the pint glass thing on you tube soon right? And how long are we expecting to wait for book two? 

They’ve actually asked me to fly over and do some of the tricks and cons at a book launch which will be fun… I’ve always been into magic — which this is a bastard cousin of in many ways — just never had the patience to get really good at it. 

Book two comes out in August so not too long… I am more than usually excited to see what people will think of it. Of course by then I’ll be up to my eyes in something else. 

I have plans for two children’s books, both of which are pretty much written, just need beating into shape a little before letting the agent loose on them. I also have a thriller that I want to get back to… it’s all about finding the time to pursue those things you really want to balanced against the things people are already paying you for! 

HR: August, ok I can wait till August, probably. Tell us more about the kids books? 

GA: The kid’s books are very different. The first to go out will be a book called — probably — Ondassa. It’s set here in Spain and is about a sunken town that is still peopled with the townsfolk that lived there before the waves consumed it. Of course they’re a little different now, semi-aquatic, brutal creatures that steal children to work as a labour force. It’s good fun, lots of monsters and action. 

The other is actually a series that I prepared for a publisher that ended up going nowhere as their plans to push into the YA market collapsed. It’s al set in a post-apocalyptic London, a city where reality has taken a nose dive. We follow a handful of kids as they make their way into the city, getting caught up in a lot of nastiness on the way. It’s very routed in the iconic nature of the city so the famed landmarks have become subverted and turned into places of horror. The West End is a gangland of human/cat hybrids and roller-booted thugs, fat worms chase through the underground tunnels where they are milked by Roman deities, monstrous plants grow in the hot house at Kew, time is ever-fluctuating at Greenwich…. That sort of thing. It was originally planned as a long series of short books, I now need to repackage it as a short series of longer books! Basically I was working to a brief that’s now not an issue and it would work better if reshuffled a bit. Very very excited by it though, it works well and I just hope it sells as I can’t wait to get my teeth stuck into it. 

UB: The kids books sound fascinating and creepy, which I guess shouldn’t surprise us. Ok, through you work with Hustle what is your favourite hustle? 

GA: I didn’t know you were there last year! Hope you didn’t see me make an arse of myself interviewing Jasper Fforde, or during the awards, or hosting the version of I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue we did or… well, there were a few opportunities to be honest… 

I don’t really have a favourite Hustle episode. I just love con stories in general, they’re great puzzles, even more so than murder mysteries really. 

It’s always made me sad that I’ve never managed to get a Hustle book off the ground. I wrote an annual for the show last year but the publisher found they’d bitten off a bit more than they could chew I think — I did a Spooks one too — and they’ve been put back to come out this year. It was all new ground for them, annuals designed to appeal to adults as well as kids… the image clearances alone were a nightmare. I had to write both of them in a fortnight… 90,000 words all told… never been so tired! 

I pitched a series of fiction books once — with Mark Morris and Sarah Pinborough onboard as two of the writers! — but we couldn’t find a publisher. Great shame… the books were designed to be stored in a box set that looked like a wad of cash… great stuff. 

One day of course I’d like to write an episode… If I had the time I’d camp outside Tony Jordan’s house until he either caved in or called the police. 

UB: Do you have any secret talents you could share in public? 

GA: Super powers? … erm… Nothing I can share over an internet connection! I used to tour comedy sketches which might count. I made people laugh in Swanage and that’s bloody amazing. I eat a whole packet of Fisherman’s Friends in a single mouthful once… that was quiet awe-inspiring… I can fire breathe! How brilliant is that? I’ll cook Devereux’s namby pamby meal using my mouth!! 

Sod all use via email though… 

UB: Ok I think making people in Swanage laugh and fire breathing are pretty cool super powers. Just to wrap it up then, if you could be any fictional character who would you choose to be? 

GA: Any fictional character… hmm… I actually find questions like that really really difficult. I’m pretty comfortable in my own skin, you see — as ridiculous as it clearly is. But… if I have to choose… 

(and this question’s taken me the longest to answer of all of them, how silly is that?) 

When I was an actor there were three parts I really wanted to play: Ebeneezer Scrooge, Sherlock Holmes and The Doctor… I managed the first two (which was a surprise as I was far too young and fat for either) and we can safely say I’ll never manage the last so I guess I’ll go for it here. Who wouldn’t want that lifestyle? The universe open to you, any time and place at your fingertips and all the time in the world. 

UB: honestly? I think i’d prefer to be The Doctor’s assistant. Les angst and responsibility. Thanks for joining us and best of luck with The World House.

• * Rare copy of Stephen Volk’s Ghostwatch script (signed by Stephen and the director), donated by Stephen
• * Limited edition of a Tim Lebbon book, donated by Tim
• * Signed US set of Tony Ballantyne’s Recursion trilogy, donated by Tony
• * Copy of Stories edited by Neil Gaiman, donated by Headline
• * Signed Andy Remic manuscript, donated by Andy
• * Signed copy of Unwritten trade edition plus script, donated by Mike Carey
• * Signed copy of Hellbound Hearts, donated by Paul Kane and Marie O’rRegan
• * Signed copies of RED, Peripheral Visions and The Gemini Factor, donated by Paul Kane
• * Signed edition of a Conrad Williams novel, donated by Conrad
• * Signed Advance Review Copy of Triumff: Her Majesty’s Hero signed by Dan Abnett (very rare), donated by Angry Robot
• * First eight issues of Murky Depths, donated by Terry Martin of Murky Depths
• * Mid-level manuscript crit by the editorial staff at Angry Robot, donated by same
• * Signed copies of Mark Morris’ The Immaculate, Fiddleback and Torchwood: Bay of the Dead, donated by Mark
• * Signed copies of Sam Stone’s Killing Kiss and Futile Flame, donated by Sam

Further books donated by Kim Lakin-Smith, Sarah Pinborough, Peter Crowther, The Write Fantastic, Colin Harvey, Headline, Gav Thorpe, Graham Joyce, Liam Sharp.

Writing East Midlands and Alt.Fiction would like to thank all the parties listed for their kind donations to the auction.

That day, I did something brave. So nervous I could hardly swallow, I approached Storm Constantine and asked for advice on becoming a published writer. In return, Storm asked me to sit down and listened to me babble. Inside the hour, Storm asked me to submit my manuscript to her publishing house, Immanion Press. Inside the week, I got a phone call saying that she loved my book and wanted to publish it. The rest, as they say, is history.

My husband Del and I have attended many conventions over the last few years, but Alt Fiction remains our favourite. If I could offer any advice to aspiring writers attending the event, it would be to swallow hard, do that one thing a day that scares you, and go and speak to the authors, the agents and publishers in attendance. I promise it’s virtually painless. And you never know where it might lead you.

Daniel Ribot is a speculative fiction writer living in the city of Leicester in the United Kingdom. His first novel, A Martian Eye For An Earthling Guy, is currently looking for a good home.

He has a number of writing credits to his name, most of which are non-fiction. They include chapters in the Rough Guide To Mexico guidebook, academic articles, numerous translations and work for the Avatar webzine of StarBase Leicester (including short stories). He is also an active member of Leicester Writing School and The Speculators writing group. Daniel currently has a number of ideas that are in need of developing.  Vampsov is just one of them, a novel nearing completion of its first draft. An extract taken from the first chapter is reproduced below.

I. Six Smokes

Moscow, November 1938: Commissar Voloshinov lit two tiny, filterless cigarettes. As the smell of tobacco began to fill the room, he leaned across the desk and handed one to me. As I took it, he smiled. He turned, sat back down and spoke –rather he proclaimed in the manner of a Politburo spokesman– how pleased he was to see me again.

“Ludmilla Vatinashkaya, please be welcome. It is highly agreeable for us, here at the GUGB, to meet people whose party discipline is as steadfast as yours.”

“Thank you for your words of encouragement, Commissar Voloshinov.”

“Not at all, not at all. Your record is exemplary, it deserves to be the subject of praise. It is for this reason, Ludmilla Vatinashkaya, that we have chosen you for a very special assignment. It is of this matter that I wish to speak.”

“I’m listening.”

“Excellent, excellent. We need leaders, comrade Vatinashkaya, in order to spearhead our fight against the enemies of Socialism. As you know, the motherland faces many threats, some internal, others from outside. It is in the nature of Capitalism to seek out these threats and exploit them. To use any weakness in our fabric against the people themselves and against the party, their only protector and guarantor.”
“We must remain ever vigilant to counter such threats.” I smoothed my skirt with both my hands. I was impatient. I wondered when Voloshinov would get to the point. Someone had once joked that even Voloshinov’s shortest meeting could last for three cigarettes. Like many GUGB senior ranks, he refused to have a clock put in his office so that time spent there had to be calculated with tobacco.
“Of course, of course. It is why exceptional leaders are required to cover all possible fronts. It is for this reason that the the Central Committee of the Supreme Soviet has enacted an emergency statute, covering both the GUGB and the People’s Army, to set up a specialist unit to deal with a particular threat. The general feeling is that you are the ideal candidate to command this unit. It is an unusual unit that will be wholly covert and staffed purely by specialists. But before we reveal more details, I have to ask you if you are aware of the demands made on a leader of a covert unit. It is a lonely task, one where recognition will be scarce and you will be keeping secrets even from friends and family. Are you ready for such a challenge?”
“I have always prided myself on my strength of purpose and love of the people. I would be glad to make that sacrifice for the good of the party, the motherland and Socialism.”
“Good, good. I expected no less from you, Ludmilla Vatinashkaya. It would be apposite at this juncture, therefore, to inform you as to the nature of the unit we wish you to lead. Its purpose, methodology, structure and guiding principles. But before we begin, would you like another cigarette?”
***
The Lubyanka Square headquarters stood out against November’s endless snowstorms; the dark, brooding presence of the building casting a pall over the surrounding Moscow streets. This was not the cheery multicoloured extravaganza of St Basil’s or the Kremlin, or the wide open spaces of Red Square. Proving the thesis that function defines character, this former insurance company office now oozed intimidation. The fear it generated was almost palpable. Even the trees on the street outside failed to take root and died young. This, the party faithful claimed, was a good thing. A citizen should fear the state as a child fears a stern but benevolent parent. Progress could only come from unity, strength would be lost through division. It is why the party, reluctantly, has had to use fear to guide the people along the path to progress. Having said that, however, the fear that the GUGB fostered in the citizen was as nothing compared to the real terror it provoked in the true enemies of the state; the fascist traitors, bourgeois capitalists, foreign infiltrators and the other forces of reaction and counter-revolution. There were many enemies that a liberated proletariat had to face. The GUGB did its utmost to protect them. In his office, in the western corner of the fourth floor of GUGB HQ, Commissar Voloshinov lit another two cigarettes.
“… The nature of the threat your unit is designed to combat is, according to current intelligence assessments, one of the most degenerate and abject features of the forces of reaction. Its character is rooted in the feudal ideology that preceded modern capitalism and is therefore difficult to assimilate by the modern, progressive mind. It is supported and legitimized by the pockets of fascist recidivism present within our borders and in neighbouring states. Their aim is a return to a feudal status quo and the restitution of the monarchy and serfdom. These are dangerous people, Ludmilla Vatinashkaya, they suffer from ideological manias, they follow decrepit and obsolete forms of religious observance, they are obsessed by concepts of hierarchy, blood, family, racial purity and soil, they use murder and terror as weapons to maintain their autocratic rule. In short, they are true enemies of the proletarian class …”
I interrupted him as he stopped to draw breath. “Who are these enemies of the state, comrade, do they have a name?”
He smiled. “Of course, of course. You have to know this. These creatures have many names. In legend, they are even plentiful. Although such accounts are conflicting and lack even the most rudimentary elements of rigorous scientific detachment. I read somewhere that Propp, now discredited as a Formalist of course, was of the opinion that…”
I sighed audibly. Why couldn’t he just get on with it?
“Now, now. Do not be impatient. If you want a name, I will tell you of their leader. You will know who they are just by this name. He is a traitor, a member of a crumbling, discredited oligarchy, a cheerleader for the forces of reaction. He is a counterrevolutionary and a bloodsucking parasite. His name is Vlad Alexandreu Dracula.”
“What?”
“Yes, yes! I knew you’d be familiar with the name. He is the leader of the sect known as the vampires. The unit you will command has been specifically constructed to eliminate this menace, both physically and from the records of history.”
“Vampires?”
“There, there”, he said, stubbing out the remainder of his cigarette into a green, glass ashtray, “I can see you are shocked, Ludmilla Vatinashkaya, it is to be expected. You probably think of vampires as something from the realm of fairy tales or children’s stories. These stories have always been a favourite of the people. Even my son’s Red Pioneer brigade had a book of such stories for the younger readers. It was later withdrawn, of course. Totally unsuitable for forming young minds. I wonder who ended up keeping it? The one I liked best was always Baba Yaga’s Hut. You know, I sometimes think of the proletariat that I watch over as also children. Don’t you?”
I was incandescent. “Is this a test, Commissar Voloshinov? How is a true patriot supposed to react when informed that the GUGB is training a unit to fight vampires? I have served the party with unquestioning loyalty for over fifteen years. It is the air that I breathe and the hope in the eyes of my child. I have striven to be an exemplary soldier, a model citizen and to serve the people with my every thought and action. Am I to be made sport of now, with tales of ghosts and goblins? Are you that displeased with me, Commissar Voloshinov? Have I committed any crime? Do you require me to undergo further self criticism? Do you doubt my loyalty or my professionalism?”
Voloshinov sat back and grabbed the fast-emptying cigarette packet from his desk. Expertly he took two out and lit them. “Ludmilla, Ludmilla. Do not be so angry with me. I only follow procedure and take orders. There is a protocol, from a very senior source, that orders me to set up this unit. I am authorized to show you this.” He leaned over his desk again, this time with a buff-coloured folder. Once I had grasped it, he handed over another stick of vile, Russian tobacco.
The document held within the folder was indeed surprising, not least because of the signature of authorization. I had seen the signature before, of course, on my army certificates and commendations that my mother kept so proudly, framed upon the dining-room wall. My anger was dissolving into puzzlement. Could this madness possibly be true? Perhaps I failed to grasp the importance of this threat because I have never been predisposed to whimsy. Having four brothers and with a number of unsuitable, drunken suitors littering my past (and what woman hasn’t had those?). I had seen more than enough foolishness and stupidity to last me a lifetime. Was any of this even happening to me? I had to ask.
“And… this is really General Secretary Stalin’s signature?”
“It is, it is. You will also see General Commissar Beria’s underneath. So you see, Ludmilla Vatinashkaya, everything I said to you was true. Relax. Nobody is making fun of you. You have no need for self criticism. Unless, of course, you have something you need to tell me?”
“Please accept my apologies, Commissar Voloshinov, for my intemperate outburst.”
“Never mind, never mind. Oh, and please do not spill ash upon the chair. The upholstery is old.”
A wave of guilt swept over me. Why had I doubted Voloshinov? I had been taught to follow orders without question and had instructed others, on many occasions, to do the same. Yet here I was, in front of an order from Stalin himself, behaving like a petulant schoolgirl. I felt myself begin to blush. “When do you wish me to start, Commissar Voloshinov?”
“Excellent, excellent. You can start tomorrow. Today you will have to present your resignation to Field Marshal Khavalidze and put your affairs in order. At nine AM tomorrow you see my secretary here. She will give you your orientation documents and other necessary materials. I am also happy to inform you that this assignment carries with it a temporary promotion to Major, a notable salary increase and a stipendiary payment. Welcome to the Supreme Soviet Specialist Vampire Eradication Unit. We call it Vampsov for convenience. I look forward to our collaboration.”
We shook hands. With my head still spinning from this change in my circumstances, I headed out of the building and into the swirling November snowstorms.

Daniel’s blog can be found here.