by Niall Griffiths
Three stragglers, sleepless after a party, on top of a mountain in mid Wales. They see a shape in the sky. They come down off the mountain. The ‘vision’, if that’s what it was, remains with them, in unutterable ways, and offers them ways and methods of living which they try, with increasing desperation, to follow. Eventually they’ll have to go back up the mountain…
The novel is called Broken Ghost, and this is an extract.
A finish me Twix on-a bridge, the old stone one, like, where, surprise sur-fuckin-prise, it’s not blowin-a gale; gunner be a nice day, this. A look over-a side an up the river to the other bridge an see a few blokes on it in white overalls an two of em in hard-hats. A watch these two sit in ese sling things, ese kind-a harnesses that ey tie around themselves, an en ey climb over-a railings an swing down underneath-a bridge. Like monkeys or somethin. No, spiders, great big horrible fuckin spiders under-a bridge in eyr webs. What is it that lives under bridges? Trolls, that’s it. That’s what aye are – trolls. Waitin for-a Billy Goats Gruff.Sign in to read more