Deliciously Wicked Writing

Dark Writing by P.J. Reed


Festivals and Signings


Just Flotsam

She wandered, through the waves
Flowing with the breeze,
I followed sinking footsteps
Left in a crumbling sand.

Slowly, she turned and smiled at me
Soft eyes glowing in the melting sun,
As one pale hand slipped into mine
And the sea melted away to black.
One salted kiss and then we parted
Just flotsam in a restless sea.

I headed for the land
To a solitary harbour inn
Shedding shades of disrepair,
Herded to that darkened corner

For the lonely and the lost
I shivered in the chilling breeze
A single tear drop fell and crashed
Into my empty glass as silently
I pleaded for my sanity as
She floated through the door.

By P.J.Reed ©2014


P.J. Reed - writer of warlocks and other magical creatures

P.J. Reed is a writer and poet from England. She holds a BAEd from Canterbury Christ Church University,  an MA from Bradford University and has dabbled in psychology with the OU. 

She is an outrageously eclectic writer.

Her work has appeared in a wide variety of online and print magazines, anthologies and collections. In 2015 she was shortlisted for the National Poetry Anthology award.

She has published one collection of dark romantic and Gothic horror poetry entitled The Wicked Come

As a counterbalance to her dark writing, P.J. also writes of the beauty and ethereal nature of the changing countryside in her series of haiku inspired collections. 

P.J. Reed is on Twitter at:

Book Events

50 Word Crime Story

She looked as beautiful as the summer they had met walking along the beachfront in Torquay one summer.  He liked to watch her sleep. She whispered in her sleep and rolled closer to him. He held his breath and hoped she would not hear him - hiding in her wardrobe.

-P.J. Reed

"Where there is no imagination there is no horror." Arthur Conan Doyle, Sr.

Welcome To Lafayette Close - Flash Fiction

Flash fiction from Lafayette Close, Louisiana. An unknown, quiet close, hidden in the old quarter, Outsiders are not welcome...

The children screamed and giggled their way through the cul-de-sac, knocking on the row of gaudy houses. Hundreds of carved pumpkins grinned through the darkness, the smell of burning candles and rotting pumpkin flesh hanging in the oppressive autumn heat. White, linen ghosts beckoned to the children from their porches, waving in the evening heat as orange fairy lights sparkled as a tangerine haze spread across dusk.

Missy Devlin opened her front door and invited the knockers in to meet her old man, twenty-three year old Chase Berthelot, a bartender working on Bourbon Street she met last Mardi Gras. The attraction had been instant and by the end of the carnival season he had given up his job and moved in. The usually gregarious senior Devlin’s were still reeling from this shock and had spent the rest of the season hidden on their sprawling plantation house in Francisville. This situation delighted Missy but confused Chase.

The knockers walked slowly through the darkened house, gripping each other in delicious terror. They reached the living room.  Chase sat with his back to the door in a huge wooden armchair reading last month’s Wall Street Journal. Missy pushed the children forward and they tentatively approached the chair.  The living room door slammed shut. The children jumped and ran to the door, grabbing at the handle in panic, not wanting to spend another minute in the creepy house. Suddenly, Missy Devlin screamed, the children flattened themselves against the wall as they looked in silent terror as Chase’s head toppled from his neck and rolled slowly across the floor towards the door leaving a sticky red trail in its wake. Louis screamed so hard he wet himself, His sister was flung to the floor as the knockers panicked and charged from the house in tears.

The grinning Missy, high fived her latest beau, “We sure scare ’em good!”

“Yeah, you right!” Chase grinned as he grabbed the dummy’s head from the floor and plopped back in place for the next victims, then caught Missy by the waist and pushed her against the wall, next to the mantlepiece.The black and white photograph of Great Grandma Devlin tottered and knocked against the peeling wallpaper, a veil of dust loosened and slid from the ancient photograph.

“Let’s give ’em something else to look at, cher” He smiled smearing the red sauce across her chest and hungrily licking it off.


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Page Visits


The Wicked Come by P.J. Reed

The Wicked Come is an exploration of the darker side of humanity. Each character has their own dark tale to share, their lives unravelling before the reader in minimalistic, deadly verses.

Pretty Wicked Creatures by P.J. Reed

Pretty Wicked Creatures is a selection of Gothic horror/ dark poems regarding the women and she-monsters of urban myth. Beautiful women get away with gruesome murders, you have been warned.

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