The opening line alone will tell you whether you can handle what follows.

A baby held over the railing of a pier in the dead of night, its cries swallowed by the waves below. That's where Hutson starts. What follows across fourteen stories is relentless — and he has absolutely no interest in making it comfortable for you.

Fourteen stories. No filler. Every single one engineered to hit a different nerve.

Monsters in train tunnels. A psychotic virtual assistant that turns a family home into a chamber of horrors. A village "welcoming game" that new residents really should have asked more questions about. Hitchhikers you should never, ever have stopped for.

This is Hutson at his most unrestrained — short, sharp, and ruthless. The kind of fiction that reminds you why you fell in love with horror in the first place.

The opening line alone will tell you whether you can handle what follows.

A baby held over the railing of a pier in the dead of night, its cries swallowed by the waves below. That's where Hutson starts. What follows across fourteen stories is relentless — and he has absolutely no interest in making it comfortable for you.

Fourteen stories. No filler. Every single one engineered to hit a different nerve.

Monsters in train tunnels. A psychotic virtual assistant that turns a family home into a chamber of horrors. A village "welcoming game" that new residents really should have asked more questions about. Hitchhikers you should never, ever have stopped for.

This is Hutson at his most unrestrained — short, sharp, and ruthless. The kind of fiction that reminds you why you fell in love with horror in the first place.