True story: I used to cut up bodies. No, not for fun, you sick bastards – for work. After reaching the age of majority and fleeing the clutches of an overprotective mother, I went to university like a good boy.

More than a decade later and an alphabet soup of letters after my name, I found myself looking down the double-chamber of a microscope at an eyeball. Feeling ironically introspective, I decided that it was time for a change.

Four years and more than fifty best-selling horror and thriller novels later, I’ve found my true calling, one that also includes letters. Hopefully you see something in my catalog that you like, something to feast your eyes on.