The Man In The Moss

To archaeologists, the Man in the Moss is one of the most fascinating discoveries of the century. But in the village of Bridelow, his removal from the bog is a sinister sign. In the wild, wet days and nights around Samhain, the Celtic Feast of the Dead, tragedy strikes again and again.

'His deepest foray into Celtic lore and his most effective chiller yet. When the perfectly-preserved body of a Celtic warrior-priest is pulled from a Pennine peat bog, the fortunes of the village it has always protected take a dive... and as Samhain, the Celtic feast of the dead approaches, it appears the villagers of Bridelow are about to make an historic sacrifice.'

Christopher Fowler, Time Out

'Once you've read a lot of supernatural chillers, the Law of Diminishing Returns very definitely comes into play, and it takes a book like The Man in the Moss to rekindle one's interest.'

Barry Forshaw, The Bookseller

'I've just finished The Man in the Moss. Christ....'

Maureen O'Brien

They don't have a name for their bog body, but he's clearly a close relative of Pete Marsh, or Lindow Man, recovered comparatively recently from the black stuff in eastern Cheshire. It was my wife and editor, Carol, who said, 'Can't you do anything with that bog body...?' So I started to look at that whole area of northwest England, where the Peak District meets the Pennines. I talked to the distinguished Celtic scholar Anne Ross, to local historian and investigator of mysteries Tony Ward, to the folklorist David Clarke... and discovered a unique pocket of paganism dating back to the Bronze Age.

This novel also took me back to my own northern roots. The small, formidable Ma Wagstaff, leader of Bridelow's seriously unorthodox Mothers' Union, is partly based on my grandma, the equally small and formidable May Rickman, nee Booth - psychic, herbalist, theosophist... and the person who lent me all those wonderful weird books. She didn't, I'm afraid, live to read any of mine. OK, maybe you won't find Bridelow, but take a look at High Bradfield, west of Sheffield. It doesn't have a peat-bog, but you can imagine one there. And it does have a pub called - would you believe it? - The Old Horns.