Sep 23, 2026 · 36 min · 11 segments
In this NBN episode, host Hollay Ghadery speaks with Ed Seaward about his thrilling novel, London Gothic (Dark Winter Press, 2026). In 1975, John…
Ed SeawardGuest
Hollay GhaderyHost
The white pebble bounced soft off the bridge of her nose and settled in the middle of her forehead.

The tiny stone glinted in the moonlight, and in the face of everything that had happened, it nearly made him laugh, knowing how angry she would be at him, as if he had placed it on her forehead as some joke.

Any sense of laughter vanished, and his knees weakened, and he became so lightheaded that he shoved the tip of the shovel hard in the pile of dirt to steady himself.

The man who'd done all the digging without complaint, without asking for assistance.

Only after they'd rolled her out of the brown and orange bedspread and in the grave had he handed Ricky the shovel.

He shoveled up the dirt and tossed it in the hole and continued without stopping, always careful to avoid her face, not wanting to disturb the white pebble that adored her like a jewel.

Dirt covered her body, filled the hole around her head, and when at last he tossed a shovel full onto her face, it landed lightly, and he thought it covered the pebble in such a way
as to keep it in place.

When he finished, the 19-year-old stepped out of the way, and his father scattered rocks with his hands and his feet and stomped back and forth, and then he took the shovel from Ricky's hands and dug two small holes and planted shrubs he'd dug up from inside of the wooded area on the far side of the gravel road when they'd first arrived.

John Kane kicked more dirt and more rocks and stomped his heavy work boots back and forth around the shrubs to complete the job as thoroughly as he completed any job he had ever started.

Ricky waited until his father took the shovel and bedspread to the trunk of Mom's baby blue Chevy coupe, and then he stepped to the tree at the head of the grave and fell to his knees and withdrew his hunting knife from his belt.

Ricky climbed to his feet and slid the knife into his belt with the knowledge that in the next day or two, he'd come back in darkness alone and completely carving of a cross.

The white pebble bounced soft off the bridge of her nose and settled in the middle of her forehead.

The tiny stone glinted in the moonlight, and in the face of everything that had happened, it nearly made him laugh, knowing how angry she would be at him, as if he had placed it on her forehead as some joke.

Any sense of laughter vanished, and his knees weakened, and he became so lightheaded that he shoved the tip of the shovel hard in the pile of dirt to steady himself.

The man who'd done all the digging without complaint, without asking for assistance.

Only after they'd rolled her out of the brown and orange bedspread and in the grave had he handed Ricky the shovel.

He shoveled up the dirt and tossed it in the hole and continued without stopping, always careful to avoid her face, not wanting to disturb the white pebble that adored her like a jewel.

Dirt covered her body, filled the hole around her head, and when at last he tossed a shovel full onto her face, it landed lightly, and he thought it covered the pebble in such a way
as to keep it in place.

When he finished, the 19-year-old stepped out of the way, and his father scattered rocks with his hands and his feet and stomped back and forth, and then he took the shovel from Ricky's hands and dug two small holes and planted shrubs he'd dug up from inside of the wooded area on the far side of the gravel road when they'd first arrived.

John Kane kicked more dirt and more rocks and stomped his heavy work boots back and forth around the shrubs to complete the job as thoroughly as he completed any job he had ever started.

Ricky waited until his father took the shovel and bedspread to the trunk of Mom's baby blue Chevy coupe, and then he stepped to the tree at the head of the grave and fell to his knees and withdrew his hunting knife from his belt.

Ricky climbed to his feet and slid the knife into his belt with the knowledge that in the next day or two, he'd come back in darkness alone and completely carving of a cross.
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