Damien Mckeating was born and a short time after that he developed a love of fantasy and the supernatural. After studying screenwriting at university, he worked for a time as a radio copywriter, before becoming a teacher for children with special educational needs. He has written for radio, comics, film, prose, and worked as a lyricist and bass player for a peculiar folk band. He has short stories included in different anthologies, ranging from modern takes on Irish mythology to SF adventures for young readers. He is fond of corvids, writes daily, and is currently the oldest he has ever been.
T herewas a chance they had grown wings and flown away. Enid stood on her doorstep and looked at the footprints in the snow. It was deep, powdery snow, and although it wasn’t snowing now the gusts of wind sent ghostly billows swirling.
The footprints came up to her front door and then stopped. There were no footprints going back the other way.
Enid had noticed them from the bedroom window and almost ignored them, imagining the postman had