Hi, my name is Bradley.
I was born in Kent, England, in 1984, the eldest of five children — three brothers and one sister, including two sets of twins. I now have three children of my own and, without any apology for being completely biased, the most beautiful granddaughter in the world.
Family has always been a huge part of who I am.
Growing up, much of my mum’s side of the family lived along the same road. Cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents were never far away. It was brilliant. There was always somebody around, always somewhere to go and always family close by.
The only problem was that you couldn’t get away with anything.
Usually, before you’d even worked out what trouble you were going to get into, somebody in the family already knew about it.
I was an active kid. I loved football, sport, working out and anything that involved hard graft or made you sweat. Football was my real passion, particularly the World Cup and all those stories of impossible victories, heartbreak and glory.
But there was another side of me too.
I loved typewriters.
When I was young, I would borrow my cousin’s typewriter from across the road and sit there writing my own little books. A lot of them were about football, World Cups, sport and glory. I didn’t know anything about publishing or what becoming an author really meant. I just knew there was something magical about putting words onto a page and creating something that hadn’t existed before.
Then I discovered horror.
My dad had a copy of Stephen King’s The Stand. I remember being fascinated by the sheer size of the book before I’d even properly understood what was inside it. Then I discovered this enormous story about good and evil, survival, fear and humanity.
It stayed with me.
Stephen King’s horror fascinated me, but more importantly, his books showed me what a novel could do. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a dream began: one day, I wanted to write a book of my own.
Then life happened.
I grew older. I worked. I raised my family. Responsibilities came first, as they often do, and the dream of writing gradually disappeared into the background.
I never completely stopped imagining stories. I never stopped having ideas. I would talk about them, particularly with my cousin Glen. But writing the books themselves became something I would do “one day.”
Then my life changed.
I suffered an accident that badly injured my back. What followed were multiple spinal operations. The base of my spine was fused. Later, my neck was fused as well. I was also diagnosed with degenerative spinal disease, something I continue to live with as it progresses over the years.
Suddenly, the person who had always loved movement, sport, physical work and pushing himself was living with chronic pain and physical limitations.
And it affected far more than my body.
I fell into depression.
There are injuries people can see, and there are injuries they can’t. For a long time, I struggled with both.
But somebody refused to let me disappear into them.
My cousin Glen has always been more than a cousin to me. He’s the older brother I never had — my brother from another mother — and over the years he had listened to countless ideas for stories that existed only inside my head.
When I was struggling, he reminded me of them.
More importantly, he reminded me of the person who had once sat at a borrowed typewriter dreaming about writing books.
Eventually the conversation became very simple:
Why are we still talking about doing it?
So we started.
We took all those years of ideas, imagination, conversations and unfinished dreams and finally put them into action. We began creating stories together — working hard, arguing, laughing, clashing heads, challenging each other and combining two very different creative minds to make the novels you will find on this website.
And somewhere along the way, something unexpected happened.
I found peace in writing.
The pain didn’t magically disappear. My spine wasn’t suddenly repaired. Life didn’t become easy.
But I had something to get up for again.
The same imagination that had followed me since childhood finally had somewhere to go. Instead of allowing everything that had happened to define what the rest of my life would become, I began building something from it.
Page by page, story by story, I began fighting my way out of the depression.
Writing gave me purpose again.
And for that, I will always owe Glen more than I can properly put into words. When I was slowly losing a part of myself, he reminded me that there was still another part waiting to be used.
Horror became the natural place for us to begin.
I’ve experienced difficult things from childhood into adult life, and later discovered a very different kind of horror through injury, pain, operations and depression. I know that fear doesn’t always arrive as a monster in the darkness. Sometimes it’s waking up and wondering whether the person you used to be is ever coming back.
But I also learned something else.
Sometimes you don’t get the old person back.
Sometimes you build someone new.
Today, I put everything I can into my writing and into creating these books. What began as a childhood dream has become a new chapter of my life — one I very nearly never started.
And I haven’t forgotten the people or places that helped me reach it.
As this journey grows, I want to give something back: to the community and area where I grew up, and to the hospital and medical professionals who helped put me back together when my body failed me.
If our books succeed, I don’t want that success to end with us.
So if you’ve picked up one of our novels, visited this website, recommended a story or simply spent a few minutes reading about the person behind the books, thank you.
I genuinely mean that.
We’ve got a lot of stories still to tell.
Hopefully you’ll stick around for them, and we can find out where this journey takes us together.
Much love,
Bradley