Mister Jones thought that he was finished with the world of the paranormal: but the paranormal world had not finished with him… When Sheila finds herself compelled to buy a genuine antique in a strange little shop, she didn’t bargain for what came with the statuette - and Mister Jones finds himself once again drawn into the dangerous world of the paranormal : this time via the house next door. An ancient evil has found a way to break from his enchanted prison and the only one who is going to stand in his way is the unfortunate Mister Jones, who seems destined to live in interesting times. The House Next Door is the third in the highly regarded ‘Mister Jones’ collection of paranormal mysteries What reviewers have said about the first two books: The Showing & Portrait of A Girl ‘An old-fashioned Dennis Wheatley feel’ ‘A mad rush into danger that classic Horror lovers will adore’ ‘The further I read, the more difficulty I had putting it down’ ‘Entertaining, well-written, with a chilling ending!’ The Wishing Shelf Awards said: Chillingly written with plenty of twists and turns. The author knows how to keep the reader on tenterhooks. |
Cover image by Hazel Butler
This page is for the immediate sequel to Portrait Of a Girl. Here is a taster: A moment later there was another solid knock on my door. “Don’t answer that!” said Sheila, holding me more tightly still. “But?” I started to ask. “If you value your life, do NOT open that door!” Sheila said. “Who is it?” I asked. “It is my cleaner, Maria.” “Well, why shouldn’t I answer it then?” “Because she is dead,” replied Sheila dramatically. I stepped backwards, away from the door as the heavy knock came again. Since she was holding me so tightly, Sheila naturally followed and then wanted to keep going. Slowly I walked backwards into the living room, her head pressed against my chest and her arms tight around me. “Dead?” I asked slowly. “How do you know?” “I put her body in my cellar,” replied Sheila, somewhat hysterically. I tried to pull away a little at that remark, but Sheila kept her grip on me. “Now I’m trying to get away, and they are coming for me!” she said, somewhat hysterically. The word ‘they’ I found a little disturbing. The sound of knocking at the front door stopped, and Sheila relaxed a little. I became considerably more tense as I could see the cleaner clearly through the front window, staring at us as we stood beside the fireplace. I tried to prise Sheila’s hands from my back, but failed. I stared at the cleaner, who looked impassively at us through the window. “Are all your doors locked?” asked Sheila. “Not the back door, no. But this is my home, Sheila.” “So?” she asked. “So nothing can come in here without my express invitation.” Now Sheila let go of me, and straightened up. “How can you be sure?” I took her hands. “Trust me on this. It might surprise you, but I have a little experience and knowledge here.” Sheila dropped my left hand, her right hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes opened wide in horror. “You are not involved with - them - with him - are you?” “No. Whoever you are talking about, I can assure you that I am not.” “Mister Jones, we are still in danger then. You see…” her voice trailed away. “What? I asked urgently. “The bedroom I used here, with the hole in the wall…” “What?” “I invited - him - through into that room.” Her head turned to look at the ceiling. “That’s of no consequence,” I told her. “I’ve stopped up that hole. I haven’t repaired it properly, but I have blocked it.” There was a knock on the front door again. Moments later there came another knock on the back door, and Sheila started shaking again. “Have you got any windows open?” she asked. I shook my head reassuringly. “The evening air was getting a chill, so I closed them before the news came on the TV.” Sheila relaxed again. “Who is at the back door?” I asked her. “Probably a policewoman,” she replied. I was startled. “Surely I should answer that then?” “Not unless you want to kill us both,” she told me. |
A Review of The House Next Door on www.litworldinterviews.com said:
The opening chapters of the book build nicely into what is coming up. They gripped me and I was soon engrossed in what was going on. What I really did like was the way MacMillan Jones jumped ahead in the story from the point of view of the characters before going back again to pick up why certain characters found themselves where they were. It’s clever writing which I admire very much and he did it in such a way that I never once lost my way in any of the story plots.
For some reason, I was expecting a lot of gore in this book, but there was little of it. Don’t be put off by the front cover if you don’t usually read paranormal. It may look frightening, but I wasn’t frightened once by what was going on inside the book. The story is told well in wanting to make the reader know what is going to happen next and, like all great authors, MacMillan Jones ends some of the chapters with some great cliffhangers. I find this is always a guarantee in making the reader read on instead of putting the book down and perhaps never coming back to it.
The opening chapters of the book build nicely into what is coming up. They gripped me and I was soon engrossed in what was going on. What I really did like was the way MacMillan Jones jumped ahead in the story from the point of view of the characters before going back again to pick up why certain characters found themselves where they were. It’s clever writing which I admire very much and he did it in such a way that I never once lost my way in any of the story plots.
For some reason, I was expecting a lot of gore in this book, but there was little of it. Don’t be put off by the front cover if you don’t usually read paranormal. It may look frightening, but I wasn’t frightened once by what was going on inside the book. The story is told well in wanting to make the reader know what is going to happen next and, like all great authors, MacMillan Jones ends some of the chapters with some great cliffhangers. I find this is always a guarantee in making the reader read on instead of putting the book down and perhaps never coming back to it.