It's 29th September 2018, I'm sat in a industrial unit somewhere in Kent. I'm on my knees, the floor covered in protective plastic and blood is spilling from my head. It pours into my eyes, making them sting and causes me to wince.

 'That's right,' a voice screams above me, 'I want to see the pain.'

 A hand grips my face and pulls my head back, leaving me exposed as my attacker holds the remains of a battered keyboard aloft, ready to strike down. A woman is knelt beside me. She leans in and I can sense her terror, the warmth of her staccato breaths shortened from fear.

 I feel the blood ooze down my cheek and roll into my mouth. As it hits my tongue I'm surprised by the sweet taste.

 'I feel like a doughnut!' I shout and everybody creases with laughter.

 For a moment we allow ourselves to break character then we settle back down, Rick knelt in front of me with his camera ordering Matt Shaw to pose with brutal intent. I'm not sure if he's actually acting this bit, but I know it's all good fun. Matt asked me a while back if I'd like to take part in a photo session for his 2019 calendar, and already today we've posed in Bay Watch outfits, and stood half naked on step ladders, holding hands, ready to be turned into homo-erotic centaurs by the magic of Rick's photoshop wizardry.

 One of my favourite motos is a quote from The Hitch-Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy's Zaphod Beeblebrox 'Anything for a weird life', and of late my life has certainly been weird.

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It wasn't always like this.

 Five years ago from that day I am sat in my parent's house, my heart is broken - no not broken - my heart is obliterated; completely destroyed. 2013 had seen me reach some incredible highs, but love can be fleeting, and through circumstances that were partly my own devising, I was left alone and completely rung out.

 And so I'm sat at my parent's dining table, Jonsi and Alex playing in my ears, and I turn to the safety of a childhood comfort: 'horror.'

 Now that might seem like an odd choice for some people, but since I was a child I was fascinated with horror; with the delight of monsters, the unknown, the rush of fear. My first ever known written story from primary school is a reinterpretation of Michael Jackson's Thriller, featuring werewolves, zombies and mummies. And the calling never left me, despite the strange looks I'd get from friends that couldn't understand what I sought for entertainment.

 So in my bleakest nadir I took to embracing this mental comfort blanket, reaching back into my mind and pulling out some ideas I'd been toying with idly for years.

 And that afternoon I wrote.

 I sat with my laptop and planned the entirety of the book that would later be called 'Terror Byte'. Like a stream of consciousness I threw in dialogue here, character description there; place settings and pacing notes butted up against theme references and elaborate death set-pieces. For six hours I was glued to my screen, crafting this story in detailed note form. By the time I'd finished I had a working map; I was all set to write the book properly, and the joy I got that day was almost as exhilarating as the day I held my first ever proof copy. For those six hours I was completely lost in a different world. Time had dissolved - it held no concept where I'd just been. The characters I'd created had wandered through a world in my head, and now I had a plan to put them in a place where everyone else could see them.

 That was the moment I knew I could start and finish an entire  book.

 That was the moment I knew I could become a writer.

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I was excited, ready to craft the stories I'd been itching to tell. And for a year I didn't worry about the job I was doing and the lack of a partner in my life. Each day spent alone was a blessing where I could continue to create and hone my stories. One after the other I worked on them, feeling myself develop further and further. Within that first year, before I even had a single book out I had written Terror Byte, Punch, Upon Waking and the first half of The Exchange. All of them written in stolen evenings after work, or quiet weekends when I had time to myself.

 What I didn't realise then was what a thriving community the horror world was. Driven underground by the lack of commercial attention given to the genre from high-street book sellers and mainstream publishers, the scene had blossomed with the methods of 'print on demand' giving an easier ability for independent publishing imprints to appear.

 These imprints were, and still are, a hotbed of creativity. Books produced for the love of the art, with the brazen courage to experiment and take a chance on new and different forms.

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As I blindly wandered into this world with my two buddies (and Sinister Horror co-founders) Duncan P Bradshaw & Daniel Marc Chant, I was turned on to so many different sub genres and writers I wouldn't have come across: Duncan Ralston, Thomas S Flowers, Rich Hawkins, Kayleigh Marie Edwards and of course Matt Shaw.

 But it wasn't just the authors, it was the readers, reviewers and bloggers too. They were (and are) the linchpin of the entire scene. Sites like Ginger Nuts Of Horror, DLS Reviews, Grim Reader Reviews and This Is Horror to name but a few, keep us all informed of what's new, what's making waves and what, quite frankly, needs to sink without a trace.

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As I began to make friends with these people, I was struck by their passion for horror fiction (a passion I thought only I had) and I loved talking to them about it. What I didn't expect was how important these people would become. When I look at who I count as friends, it's strange that over half of them I'd never met five years ago and have come from the horror scene. I've gone climbing with Matt Shaw, been to an opera with Kayleigh Marie Edwards, watched metal gigs with Chris Hall, been on an Edinburgh pub crawl with Jim Mcleod, held owls with Tracy Fahey and beaten an escape room with Andrew Freudenberg, Penny Jones & Steve Shaw. These names, may or may not mean anything to you, but they are all writers, reviewers and publishers that I would not have known without being part of the horror world, and they are all people I class as really good friends.

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Of course these aren't the only ones, the list of names is much longer, and will continue to grow. The support, the love, the common interest and the inspiration. And most importantly, just being there for each other.

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All of this because five years ago, with my whole life laid to waste in front of me I decided to follow my dreams and write that stupid story that was in my head.

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Thank you horror.

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Thank you for not so much saving my life, as giving me a new one.

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Justin Park 

26th October 2018

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