I wrote this short story in 2012 while I was working for the Welsh Blood Service, driving around West Wales, sucking the blood of the locals. Is it any wonder that I started writing horror and science fiction? The job was to set up mobile blood donation collection clinics in community buildings. We’d generally be going around the same areas on a six to twelve week cycle. In each area we’d take a blood donation from those unique, generous, and special people who literally give up their life blood to help others. If you are able to give blood, then please do so, as in my next job as nurse I was administering those blood donations to patients and can tell you first hand that giving blood is the easiest way to make a difference to someone’s life.
One place we set up a clinic was in New Quay on the west coast of Wales. The venue was in a hall on Towyn Road, and when we had finished putting all our equipment up it was tea break time before starting the morning session. With my plastic cup of instant economy coffee in hand I went outside for some air, and diagonally opposite the venue was a house that just struck me. A Victorian two storey with a typical symmetrical frontage and what would have been a fancy garden back in the day. Next door was one of the parish churches, so I don’t know if the house was perhaps the vicarage at one time or if it was just a coincidental build.
As I stood there looking at the house I had the idea for the story that became Hannibal House form in my head. There I was looking at this house thinking how cool it was, and how it would be a nice place to live, and I thought to myself: what if you don’t choose the house, the house chooses you?
Now read Part one of Hannibal House.