Still Writing

Notes for a story I'm working on for an exciting charity anthology:

 

"He's a ghost, a whisper, a rumour from the dirty streets. Tall, unbearably thin and deathly pale; a slow-strutting figure dressed in a dusty black suit, his white, slicked-back hair glistening like ice in the moonlight. With rotting clown make-up plastered to his face, he is the embodiment of long-dead laughter in the dark.

He is said to follow in the wake of the broken monsters. Is he their keeper, their hunter, or simply an observer of the brutal acts they commit?

 

The Narrow Man: The ghost that haunts itself."

 

This story will be set in the same fictional universe as There's a Bluebird in My Heart.