Chris McAuley is a writer who specializes in the horror, science fiction, fantasy, Western and crime genres. He has been the lead writer in novels, comics, audio dramas and games. He is the co-creator of the popular StokerVerse, along with Bram Stoker’s great-grandnephew Dacre Stoker. He has also created a science fiction and fantasy franchise with Babylon 5’s Claudia Christian called Dark Legacies. Chris has worked on The Terminator series and also franchises such as Doctor Who.



My fingers trace the cold black sigils which are raised from the walls.
They feel cool against my touch.
Dark shapes which interweave and connected into patterns.
My mind fights to understand the stories embedded within their shapes.
As my captors move me to my final resting place.

Strapped onto a tilted platform, my eyes are attracted to the creatures’ faces.
Their bulbous heads, twisted maws, slitted reptilian amber eyes.
Their chitinous claws work quickly, thick material immobilizing my body.
A fog partially lifts in my mind.
Memories resurface and I struggle against my impending fate.

These are the sleeping chambers.
Soon I will close my eyes and the dreams shall begin again.
I will live in a home, have a wife, children.
No longer a number who processes the feeding tubes.
I shall have a name. I will live again.

This constructed world begins as a blessing and ends as a curse.
As our masters teach us the cruelties of time.
We will lose it all, mother, father, the dearest friends of our kind.
Then to return, broken on a wheel crafted from lies.
To accept that this mechanized hell is our true home.


A biomechanical terror.
A two-legged fiend
Stitched together with cables and circuitry.
This is the demon which invades my dream.
It warps and shifts as I gaze at it.
Trying to make sense of the visage which it displays.
As the neuromancer plays havoc
With all my functions telepathic.
This is the New Order of man.
A perpetual veneration of deities written in code and steeped in fear.
All hope for existential life is gone.
As we become the machine Gods pawn.


There is a movement in the cold city streets.
A shadow which unfurls from the deeper darkness.
It stalks the pavement, longing to seduce, whispering lies of eternal love to those who will listen.
The creature's teeth come close to the man's neck.
Hot breath caresses the delicate hairs bringing shivers of anticipation to the victim.
Before the teeth pierce flesh, secrets are whispered.
A moan of dark lust borne of blood.
A love letter in scarlet splatters across the wall.
His presence is the ultimate promise from the world of night.
Forsake your divine soul and walk with him.
His blood union will bring you back to life again.
Opening your eyes to the darkness like a new-born.
See him now as his smile drips burgundy.
His teeth catching the gas light, sharp and white.