It’s still a work in progress, but most of it is live now. Head along to www.invisiblefiends.com if you want to check it out for yourself.

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Provided you count Friday as a weekend day. Which I do. So there.

On Friday 13th of August – yes, FRIDAY 13th – I appeared at Eden Court theatre as part of the Inverness Book Festival. This was my first ever festival appearance, and I was really pleased that it was at my ‘local’ festival up in the Highlands. As well as my usual trick of rambling on for an hour talking rubbish, I incorportated a new bit into my event. A poor, unwitting soul was selected from the audience, then dressed up as Caddie, the villain of my second Invisible Fiends book, Raggy Maggie. Then, after the ‘volunteer’ (and I use that term loosely) was revealed in all her full horrific horror, she helped me with the reading, by being the voice of Caddie in the story.

Here’s the Inverness Caddie – the lovely Rachel – in her costume and make-up, which was hastily applied by her mum:

On Saturday, I made the trip to Edinburgh, where I was taken out for dinner by the lovely people at HarperCollins Children’s Books. At the dinner I met Garth Nix, Darren Shan and his partner, Bas, and Louise Rennison, none of whom I’d met before. It was a great night, and the meal was flippin’ lovely, too.

The following day, I made my first appearance at the Edinburgh International Book Festival. It was all a bit nerve-wracking, but it went quite well (I think!). This time, I didn’t just get someone dressed up as Caddie. I went one better than that…

Here we have Maria as Mr Mumbles, and Henry as Caddie. Both of them were great sports, and their performances really made the audience laugh. Or maybe they were so terrified they were hysterical. Either way, they were making a lot of noise.

So, that’s what I’ve been up to lately. Now the festivals are over (until Fife next month, at least) I should have more time to blog here. I’ll also soon be offering you the chance to bag yourself a sticker like the one below. More details soooooon…

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Had to break the silence to show you this little beauty, though. It’s a rather fantastic review of Invisible Fiends: Raggy Maggie at The Book Zone. This sentence in particular made me wee myself just a little with excitement:

In my opinion Caddie is one of the greatest ever creations in children’s horror literature.

Want more? Click the link above and go check it out. In the meantime, I’ll be loading up a van and moving all my family’s belongings to the other side of the country, in preparation for the BIG MOVE on Saturday. More info, including photos, next week.

Oh, and don’t forget I’ll be at the Inverness Book Festival and the Edinburgh Book Festival on Friday 13th and Sunday 15th respectively. If you’re in the area, swing by and say hello.

*This is a lie. It’s an emu hunt.

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I’m off to check my WH Smith. Will report back later if I find her lurking in there.

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This evening, though, I was involved in a call which could mean a movie is at least a step closer. It’s all top secret, hush-hush stuff, and I can say nothing else about it right now, other than that the call went very well, and that I’m really rather excited about the whole thing.

The whole thing got me thinking – if there was a movie, who would play the characters? My son, Kyle, wants to play his namesake, the hero of the book. Fiona wants Johnny Depp to play Kyle’s dad (but I don’t think she was referring to the movie there, she meant in real life).

I’ve got no idea who’d make a good Mr Mumbles, though. Anyone think of any actors who might be able to play old stitchface?

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For those of you who don’t know, Raggy Maggie is a creepy, porcelain-faced doll who belongs to an even creepier little girl called Caddie. Utterly unhinged and incredibly dangerous, Caddie is the villain of the book, torturing and maiming everyone she meets under the ever-watchful eye of her dolly.

Over the last few weeks I’ve spotted a few creepy-looking dolls on my travels. I’ve snapped some photographs of some of them on my phone, and thought I’d post them here for you to see. If you have any creepy dolls in your house, take a photo and send it to me at barry@barryhutchison.com and I’ll post the pictures here on the site.

Anyway, here are a few to get us started.

I bought this one in a toy shop today after my 11 month old daughter, Mia, took a shine to it. The photo doesn’t actually do it justice – in real life its expression is bordering on the demonic, but every time I tried to take a picture I failed to capture its true evil nature.

The label on the box just said “Bath Doll”, presumably because any right-minded person would instinctively want to drown the thing at the first possible opportunity.

Right, now on to the really creepy ones. Apologies for the quality of these pictures. My hands were shaking too much to get good ones.

This picture was taken at the Callander Toy Museum, just outside Stirling in Scotland. They’re all pretty creepy, but its these two who really went out of their way to scare the living crap out of me:

Action Man used to have moveable eyes that allowed him to look left and right. The big fella at the back there can see into your very soul! I mean… Jesus Christ, look at him! You can’t say you’d be surprised if he started moving, can you? Horrified, yes, but not in the least bit surprised.

And I can’t help but think that the girl on the left looks like a young Margaret Thatcher. If that doesn’t send a shiver down your spine, nothing will.

At the same museum, I took this photo. It’s a bit blurry because I couldn’t even bring myself to look at this lot while snapping the picture.

Brace yourself.

I mean, where do you start with this crowd? The big lass in the middle is an obvious contender for Creepiest Thing in the Room, but the taller one with the red dress and the face like a bulldog chewing a wasp looks like she hates every living creature on Earth.

And what about the sailor, with that cheeky little smirk? I can imagine him whispering “I been a vewy naughty boy” as he repeatedly plunged a knife into your neck. In fact, every doll in the picture looks capable of cold-blooded murder. It’s not a glass case they should be in, it’s a lead box. Buried deep underground. And doused in Holy Water.

So there you have it, a few of the creepy dolls I’ve come across lately. None of them are anywhere near as disturbing as Raggy Maggie, but you’ll have to read the book when it comes out to find out why.

Remember, if you have any creepy dolls in your house, take a photo and email it to me and you could see it up in a gallery on this very site, along with your name. The scariest doll might even win a prize.

Maybe.

But no promises.

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Now, don’t freak out, but I’m you, writing this letter to you from the futu–

Hey, I said don’t freak out! You’re always freaking out, kid. The first thing you have to learn is that the world isn’t out to get you. It might feel like it right now, but it isn’t. The world hates everyone equally, it isn’t picking on you in particular. It’s just the way the world works.

So, stop freaking out for five minutes, sit back, and read this letter from your future self. Trust me, you won’t be nearly as panicky by the end.

Because let’s face it, you panic a lot. You’re scared of most things, 10-year-old me. Scared of things other kids your age don’t seem bothered by.

Oh, sure, a lot of it is normal stuff. You’re scared of big dogs. You’re scared of wasps. You’re scared of squirrels. The usual. But you’re scared of other things, too. Like goldfish. And kettles. And Sesame Street.

Yes, I know all about your fear of Sesame Street. It was my fear once, too, remember? It’s not all of Sesame Street, of course – that would be mental. It’s one particular aspect of the show that frightens you. It’s just one detail.

It’s the fact that only Big Bird can see Mr Snuffleupagus.

You were fine until that episode when Big Bird started doubting himself. When he started thinking that maybe Maria and Gordon were right – maybe Mr Snuffleupagus didn’t exist. That’s when you started worrying that, if Big Bird was crazy, that meant you were crazy, too, because you could see Snuffy as clear as day. Every time Snuffleupagus appeared on screen after that, you’d turn away, convinced that by looking at Big Bird’s imaginary friend, you were sending yourself deeper and deeper into a psychosis from which you could never hope to recover.

But listen, it’s fine. By the time you’re twelve, everyone on Sesame Street will be able to see Snuffy. Big Bird isn’t mad, which means neither are you. Although that whole being afraid of imaginary friends thing… you might want to hold on to that.

The residents of Sesame Street being able to see a large brown elephant isn’t the only positive thing that’ll happen in your life over the next few years, though. There are other things. Even better things. And that’s why I’m writing to you now.

I know you want to be a writer. I also know you haven’t told many people, because you’re worried they’ll laugh at you. Trust me, just go ahead and tell everyone you can. Go on, do it now. I’ll wait here.

…

Done it? Good. I probably should’ve said that yes, most of them will laugh at you. Sorry. That doesn’t change much, either, over the years, it’s just that people get more subtle about it. At ten, they’ll laugh to your face. When you’re seventeen and tell people you want to be a writer, they’ll laugh about it behind your back, instead. Don’t worry about it – even when that English teacher makes fun of you in front of the whole class in secondary school. He’s just bitter. And he dies of a massive heart attack just a few years later, anyway, so the last laugh’s on him.

There will be those who do support you. A few friends. Your family. But mostly people will try to shoot you down, and make you believe that your dream isn’t possible. Don’t listen to those people. Never listen to those people.

Because you will get there. It will take a while, and you’ll have to sacrifice a lot along the way, but you will get there. It’ll take years of working at jobs you have no interest in, just to pay the bills. You’ll hate every moment. You’ll feel like you’re getting nowhere. And then your first child comes along.

Yes, I said “child”. And yes, I said “first”.

Because, although you’ll never lose your dream of becoming a writer, you’ll have other dreams, too. You’ll fall in love, have children, and in them you’ll find new hopes. When your first child – a son – is born you’ll feel it’s time to set aside your own dream and find a real job you can stick to for more than a few months. You’ll take a job in a call centre, and you’ll think that this is how you’ll be spending the rest of your life. And you’ll die a little bit inside every day.

By the time your second child – a daughter – comes along, you’ll be a published author.

I mentioned sacrifices, and there will be many. For years, you’ll struggle to get by financially, often barely scraping by. You’ll have to borrow and beg just to keep your head above water. You’ll live on – sometimes well below – the breadline, never quite sure where your next pay cheque is coming from. The week that a publisher makes an offer for your first book series, you will have spent living on one packet of supermarket own-brand noodles a day. You’ll celebrate by treating yourself to some cheese. It’s quite tasty, but a bit dry.

But that’s the moment everything changes. When you get the offer, I mean – not when you eat the cheese. Don’t get excited, you don’t become rich overnight. It’s been a few years now since that happened and I – you – are still not rich. But you’re happy. You’re getting to do what you’ve always dreamed of, and you’re enjoying every minute, and you’re surrounded by people who don’t laugh at your dream – who’ve never laughed at your dream – and you love them all even more than you love writing books.

We’re 32 now, when I write this letter. I don’t know what’ll happen next month, or next year, or ten years after that. But I do know one thing. You’re not scared any more. Not of spiders. Not of Sesame Street. And not of people laughing when you tell them you want to write stories.

Still quite scared of squirrels, though, if I’m completely honest, but I’m sure you’ll learn to cope with that.

So, 10-year-old me, I hope you’re not freaking out any more. I hope this letter helps you overcome the near-crippling anxiety you’ve felt on a daily basis for as long as you can remember. And I hope you’ll pick up a pen and write a story right now. You’re good at it, no matter what anyone else might say.

See you in 22 years.

You, aged 32.

PS – If, when you’re 15, you’re standing by the side of the road and you see a bus coming towards you with very wide wing mirrors, for God’s sake, duck.

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If you’re around Inverness on Friday 13th August and find yourself at a loose end, you might want to consider coming to see me at the Inverness Book Festival. I’ll be at the La Scala Cinema in Eden Court from 1pm to 2pm, talking about the Invisible Fiends series. There’ll be plenty of opportunity to ask questions, and I’ll be available to sign books afterwards.

For more information, check out the festival website.

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Now, if that’s got you salivating at the thought of some good clean horrific fun, you might want to download and read this free sample chapter from the beginning of the book. Don’t say I’m not good to you.

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