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    The Goodreads Killer 2: The Goodreads Killer, #2
    The Goodreads Killer 2: The Goodreads Killer, #2
    The Goodreads Killer 2: The Goodreads Killer, #2
    Ebook80 pages1 hour

    The Goodreads Killer 2: The Goodreads Killer, #2

    By Dave Franklin

    5/5

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    About this ebook

    The Goodreads Killer, adored by every reader from God downward, has a sequel.

     

    Thomas Ultorem - writer, madman and critic-slayer - is back!

     

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBaby Ice Dog Press
    Release dateMay 18, 2014
    ISBN9781498978675
    The Goodreads Killer 2: The Goodreads Killer, #2
    Author

    Dave Franklin

    Dave Franklin is a Brit who lives Down Under. He has also written ten novels ranging from dark comedy and horror to crime and hardcore porn. His naughty work includes Looking for Sarah Jane Smith (2001), Begin the Madness: The Straitjacket Blues Trilogy (2014), The Muslim Zombies (2018) & Welcome to Wales, Girls: A Violent Odyssey of Pornographic Filth (2018).

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      Book preview

      The Goodreads Killer 2 - Dave Franklin

      Dear reader,

      Are you one of them? You know who I mean. One of the new breed. A snarling bad ass who loves nothing better than to let rip. For if a piece of art needs a good kicking then you’ve got just the right pair of steel-capped boots. Hey, your adoring followers expect no less. They thrill to your daring acts of cyber-vandalism almost as much as you.

      And if one of those special little snowflakes happens to object to their hard work being trashed? Well, your defence is both simple and robust: your reviews are honest. ‘What’s the big deal?’ you say. ‘I’m just being honest. If artists can’t handle honest criticism, then they shouldn’t put their work out there. And what’s more, I have the right to say whatever I want.’

      There’s certainly nothing defensive about that, especially as the dictionary defines honesty as telling the truth. After all, we’re taught from a young age not to lie. Honesty’s obviously a good thing and only a jerk would argue otherwise. Furthermore, in your deft hands it has become a thing of cold beauty, a glittering razor capable of terrorising those wannabes who stumble across your path with their half-assed efforts and deluded dreams. In this glorious new world of digital Darwinism, in which your much-needed honesty slashes the lame and deformed, good art shall rise and the bad shall be buried.

      Oh yeah, you’ll have a piece of that.

      Now I know you’re gonna pooh-pooh whatever feeble objections I have, but just humour me for a moment. The thing is, the smooth functioning of society sort of depends on people not being honest. In fact, I’d go so far to say that things would pretty much fall apart overnight if we all went round telling the truth. Not convinced? Let me give you an example. Imagine popping along to see a couple of mates in a band at their unimpressive debut gig and afterwards telling them: ‘You’re gonna sink faster than whale shit. DEAL WITH IT.’

      How long do you think you’d stay friends?

      The social order, you see, partly operates on restraint. Language must be couched in a certain way. In short, a little diplomacy is required. And so when it comes to the people around us it’s often best to gloss over an honest response and instead offer the odd white lie, some constructive criticism or, God forbid, a bit of encouragement. There’s a range of options, you know? This is just one of the many unwritten rules that help us avoid fisticuffs.

      But online... aah, online so many forget about the need to occasionally keep mum. It’s almost as if the internet is making people a tad uncouth. Armed with a computer and perhaps the cloak of anonymity, some critics big themselves up, firing off broadsides they wouldn’t dare launch in real life. And for a handful – perhaps like your good self – such aggression has morphed into a drug, a liberating rush that atones for all those other times during which you have to bite your tongue or trot out an insipid response.

      Soon you’re intoxicated. Not only are you providing a service, ensuring your followers avoid such groan-inducing crap, but your opinion is becoming definitive, a shining beacon of honesty in a murky online world. With every rip-roaring outburst, you take another step toward convincing yourself you stand for something, that your honesty is built on a bedrock of integrity, and that artists must be told in the most brutal manner possible of their failure to meet your high standards.

      And let’s be clear about one thing: these sneering putdowns and vicious dismissals are not about giving into your worst impulses. Oh, no. They have nothing to do with spite, jealousy or insecurity. The mere suggestion raises your hackles. You will not water down your opinions or be cowed. Fuck that censorship shit. You are going to continue saying what needs to be said as you grow ever taller perched atop that pile of squashed dreams beneath your feet.

      Until the day comes, dear reader, when your precious honesty catches the eye of someone like me.

      Toodle pip for now.

      ‘I AM A CREATOR OF WORLDS, worlds that are borne from the liquid rock of my glorious, limitless imagination. These worlds do not exist and yet, as I grab you by the hand and lead you trembling within, rejoice at their painstaking construction and astonishing vitality. Invisible and omnipotent, I take whatever form I please, oozing from every atom as I play with time and breathe life into the impossible. Have no doubt that I am your master, a God-like magician with mercurial fingers and an iron fist. And you? You are maggots, kept alive solely for my amusement. Grovel before my indomitable will – crawl on your soft, worthless bellies – for nothing is beyond my power. Nothing!’

      Thomas Ultorem stopped pacing and spun on his heel to glare at the neat rows of fresh-faced children sitting cross-legged before him in the primary school assembly hall. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, they followed his every move.

      ‘And don’t you forget,’ he said, stabbing a finger at them, ‘that in this volatile universe, in which I control everything from the stars in the sky to the very ground beneath your feet, your ass is mine. You have no rights, the rules are all of my making and sometimes you will be awed by my thunderous rage!’

      Thomas dashed to the edge of the stage and stamped, causing a handful of youngsters to flinch and shoot glances at their teacher, Miss Jones. She pushed herself off the wall and unfolded her arms.

      ‘It’s OK, children,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing to be worried about.’ She turned to Thomas, a little awkwardly. ‘Is there?’

      ‘Of course not.’ He flashed a thin smile and began pacing again. Then he halted, delved into a jacket pocket and pulled out a heart.

      Everyone stared as he held the organ aloft.

      He gave the faintest of smirks before squeezing it rapidly and causing it to squeak. Laughter broke out, forcing him to hold up both hands to get his juvenile audience to settle down again.

      ‘Now, can anyone tell me what this is?’

      ‘A heart,’ a freckled

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