Matthew Batham
Bio
I’m a horror movie lover and a writer. My stories have been published in numerous magazines and on websites in both the UK and the US.
I’ve written several books including the story collection Terrifying Tales to Read on a Dark Night
Achievements (1)
Stories (22)
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Death in the Morning
Hugo had hoped to spend the morning in bed reading another PG Wodehouse novel, but this morning his neighbour had decided to make as much noise as possible. Since about 8am there had been a constant cacophony of clangs and bangs, as if she – he thought it was a she who lived in the flat next door – were wrestling with the Saucepan Man from Enid Blyton’s Faraway Tree books. Several times he had settled back again the purposefully plumped pile of pillows, propped the book on his knees, which were drawn up towards his chest, but still under the plum coloured quilt, and read the first line.
By Matthew Batham11 days ago in Fiction
Sage
I discovered Camden Town through my sister, Tasha, who moved there when she was twenty. She was studying art at some red brick university and the room she rented above a kebab shop doubled as a studio. To me, her work was just senseless globs of paint. I could never understand how a tutor could grade anything so abstract.
By Matthew Batham13 days ago in Fiction
The Invisible Boy
It didn’t take Jason long to figure out he’d turned invisible overnight. When his mother walked through his bedroom that morning to open the window – as she did every morning, just to let him know he stank now that he was a teenager – she didn’t even look at him. She did look in his direction once, but her gaze went right through him, as if she was admiring the poster of Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas on the wall behind the bed. He even said ‘morning, mum,’ as she walked back across the room, which he never did. And she just kept going through the door, which she didn’t bother to close - it’s not like an invisible boy needs privacy to get dressed.
By Matthew Batham13 days ago in Fiction
We Need To Talk About the Spare Room. Runner-Up in Mismatch Challenge.
George couldn’t remember coming downstairs, but now he was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching his wife, Vera, prepare some kind of stew. He had something important to tell her about the spare room. It took a few moments for him to piece everything together in his head, and after he did, he thought he must have it wrong because it sounded too far-fetched.
By Matthew Batham2 months ago in Fiction
Destiny Fails
He was leaning over the freezer cabinet, fondling what looked, from her safe vantage point, like a pack of frozen peas. He had no arse – just a sagging denim flap, like a diseased internal organ, stained with, Sally hoped, mud; his hair was matted and shiny with grease, like a teenager’s, although he was the same age he always was when they first met – late twenties. She couldn’t actually see from her position behind the gondola end, but she knew the shoulders of his denim jacket – yes he was wearing double denim – would be littered with dandruff.
By Matthew Batham2 months ago in Fiction
