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Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

1.4K followers 1.2K following 3K posts

Screenwriter and director: 'Mum & Dad', 'Dead Mine'. Writer of dark fiction. Co-Director of Mayhem Film Festival @mayhemfilmfestival.bsky.social. Nottingham, UK. https://linktr.ee/StevenSheil

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Steven Sheil @scsheil.bsky.social · Oct 12

I've put together a list of links of where to buy, rent, watch or read my work. It's all here: linktr.ee/StevenSheil

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

Tonight's viewing - another Anthony Mann double

The title card for the 1953 Western 'The Naked Spur'

The title card for the 1958 Western 'Man Of The West'

January 29, 2026 at 9:50 PM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

I've written a brand new Adrian Chills story (short horror stories directly inspired by the Guardian columns of Adrian Chiles.)

This is #46 and it's called 'Magic'.

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 19h

#46: Magic

A screenshot of the headline to a Guardian column by Adrian Chiles. It reads: I visited Runcorn for the first time this week and was blown away by its magic

My Dearest Peterson

If you are reading this letter, it means that I have failed and am most likely either dead or consigned to that hellish realm of half-existence for which the Black Mage has appointed himself gaoler. Do not mourn too long for me—I knew that in confronting Professor Deacon in person I was taking a terrible risk, but I had hoped that in applying all that we have learned about the source of his dark powers I might be able to find a way to defeat him. Alas, it seems that I was mistaken.
I write to you from The Prospect Inn, a hostelry in the small town of Runcorn, where I have been residing these past two nights since I departed from our London apartments. Though it pained me immeasurably to leave you, still so wounded and unwell from our last battle with Deacon’s sorcerous acolytes, I knew that I must—word reached me from one of my students that Deacon had moved north and was preparing to carry out a supernatural assault on one of the great industrial cities, a demonstration of his Dark Magics far beyond what either of us have seen before. I knew that this might be our only chance to stop him, a chance which, with all that is at stake, I could not spurn.
The moon is now high in the dark winter sky. I will leave this letter with instructions to the landlord to deliver it to you should I not return by morning. I can already feel the inky tendrils of Deacon’s sorcery reaching out through the night to find me and I fear that in the face of his enormous eldritch power my faith and reason may not be enough to survive. I can only hope to take him unawares and destroy his physical body before he should take possession of my soul.
I hope you will forgive my leaving, and will understand why I take this risk. Know that I am forever your friend. May God be with us both.
A

January 29, 2026 at 12:49 PM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Adrian Chills

@adrianchills.bsky.social

#46: Magic

January 29, 2026 at 12:47 PM

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

I've written a brand new Adrian Chills story (short horror stories directly inspired by the Guardian columns of Adrian Chiles.)

This is #46 and it's called 'Magic'.

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 19h

#46: Magic

January 29, 2026 at 12:49 PM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Darren Jones

@darrenmjones.bsky.social

Both on Channel 4 at the moment if you need some unhinged James Stewart in your life. I do.

Steven Sheil @scsheil.bsky.social · 1d

Tonight's viewing - this absolutely stellar double-bill of James Stewart-on-the-vengeance-trail Anthony Mann Westerns.

The title card for the 1950 Anthony Mann/James Stewart Western Winchester '73.

The title card for the 1965 Anthony Mann/James Stewart Western The Man From Laramie

January 28, 2026 at 10:53 PM

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

Tonight's viewing - this absolutely stellar double-bill of James Stewart-on-the-vengeance-trail Anthony Mann Westerns.

January 28, 2026 at 10:02 PM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Neon Genesis Ewangelion

@ewacat.bsky.social

if they can offer free AI training they could offer free media literacy training too. i know which of those would do more for the public good

January 28, 2026 at 10:19 AM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Weightless Books

@weightlessbooks.bsky.social

The former editor and publisher of Black Static and Interzone has a new magazine of horror short fiction and novellas, REMAINS, beautifully illustrated by Richard Wagner! 3 issues so far, new one forthcoming. Get them here: weightlessbooks.com/category/pub...

Remains 3 cover art by Richard Wagner, featuring a pale, black-eyed girl in a black lacy dress holding what appears to be an evil teddy bear

Remains 2 cover art by Richard Wagner, featuring a deathly pale guy in a black leather jacket leaning against a wall with a halo on it

Remains 1 cover art by Richard Wagner, featuring a deathly pale woman in a trenchcoat holding a glowing orb

January 27, 2026 at 3:38 PM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

I've written a brand new Adrian Chills story (short horror stories directly inspired by the Guardian columns of Adrian Chiles).

This is #44 and it's called 'Queue'.

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 8d

#44: Queue

A screengrab of a headline to a Guardian column by Adrian Chiles. The headline reads: 'I had an eye-opening experience in the queue for a pub toilet.'

When my headlights flashed upon the sign for The Exham Arms, on that freezing early January night, I felt a huge wave of relief pass over me. The journey to my late father’s house was a long and tedious one, and I badly needed a break before continuing my lonesome trek; more pressing than that, I required, as a matter of the utmost urgency, to find a lavatory.
I found the place close to empty—one ancient sunken-eyed barman, gave an near-imperceptible nod as I entered. I passed a few other lone drinkers on my way privy-wards; all men, all sallow-skinned and all, I noted with some surprise, with the same sunken-eyed countenance as the barman. Each man looked as though he were seeing in his pint glass the very image of his own demise.
When I neared the Men’s Bathroom there was a short queue for entry. One man stood before me, a short fellow clad in layers of wool and tweed. With my bladder crying out in rebellion, I took my place in the line behind him.
As I stood there, my discomfort growing by the second, I heard a faint sound from nearby, like the screeching of a bird. At the same time my eye was drawn to a hole in the wall beside the lavatory door, beyond which seemed to cavort a kind of purplish light. Excusing myself to the man in front, I stepped out from the queue and found myself placing a single eye to the hole.
A thousand acoustic perversions assaulted my hearing, sounds beyond the ability of any man to conjure. Simultaneously, in front of my eyes I beheld a grotesque and blasphemous landscape, populated by ghastly phantasies and presided over by an immense and awful visage, the countenance of some being, both ancient and malevolent, its very image a psychic assault I could not withstand.
My pint glass now sits before me and within it I see all the horror of this world, and those beyond. My father’s house is forgotten. All that remains, burned onto my retinas, for now and forever, is the inhuman face of that unbelievable, unthinkable, unmentionable thing.

January 21, 2026 at 5:09 PM

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

I feel that one flaw in the format of The Traitors is that the endgame tends towards being made up of Traitors and the Faithful who are the least good at finding Traitors, because anyone who is a threat gets murdered or the Traitors seek to get them banished.

January 24, 2026 at 11:05 AM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Jason Bailey

@jasondashbailey.com

Randolph Scott was born on this day in 1898, so here's a little something I wrote for @crooked-marquee.bsky.social about his justly celebrated collaborations with Budd Boetticher.

Classic Corner: The Ranown Westerns — Crooked Marquee

In six masterful late ‘50s Westerns, director Budd Boetticher and star Randolph Scott brilliantly reimagined the Western and its hero.

crookedmarquee.com

January 22, 2026 at 4:26 PM

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

Example of a cheapo MfP charity shop album that's actually a reissue of something quite interesting: Eartha's 1970 LP Sentimental Eartha, her attempt at a contemporary rock sound which bombed in the UK, and didn't get a US release. Includes three Donovan covers and is well worth checking out.

An album in a charity shop display - Not so old-fashioned by Eartha Kitt. The cover features a photo of Eartha mid-singing, looking a bit distracted.

The album Sentimental Eartha. This features a photo of Eartha reclining in amongst a forest of brown leaves. She's werating a long leopardskin dress, and rests her arm on a zebra-striped hat box. She's wearing a wide-brimmed black hat and looking imperious.

January 22, 2026 at 4:28 PM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Adrian Chills

@adrianchills.bsky.social

#44: Queue

January 21, 2026 at 5:07 PM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Andrew (Arfur) Clarke

@apcrft.bsky.social

I could be convinced that Adrian Chiles and/or the Guardian subs are deliberately providing prompts for these excellent stories

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 8d

#44: Queue

January 22, 2026 at 1:45 PM

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

I've written a brand new Adrian Chills story (short horror stories inspired by the Guardian columns of Adrian Chiles).

It's #45 and it's called 'Learning'.

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 7d

#45: Learning

A screenshot of a Guardian headline to a column by Adrian Chiles. It reads: 'I went back to school for a day - and discovered some very unsettling facts about learning.'

I had not set foot on the grounds of Oakland Academy for five years, and walking through the gates I felt a shudder of apprehension. My days as a History teacher at the school had been fraught and, ultimately, debilitating; the children that attended Oakland were a rowdy, rebellious and often violent lot and my mental health had suffered terribly as a result, leading to me taking an extended temporary leave of absence which over time became permanent.
The call a week ago from my friend and former colleague Alan—Maths teacher and now Deputy Head of the school—had however piqued my interest. He told me that the school had been taken over by a new Academy Trust and the environment had, as a result, undergone a radical change, especially in terms of behaviour.
“I think there’s a role for you here,” he had said.
As Alan led me cheerily through the familiar corridors, I could only marvel at the difference to my time there. Students walked silently, in neat lines from classroom to classroom; there were no smartphones, no talking back to teachers.The same was true for the classrooms themselves; each pupil sat fully to attention, listening to the teacher, fully absorbed in the lesson.
We walked on. “How is it done?” I asked, “How do you make them so receptive?”
“It’s quite simple really,” said Alan, “The boffins who run the Trust discovered that if you want to create model pupils out of feral children, you simply have to find a way to indulge their wild side too. It’s give and take.”
“Indulge their wild side?”
“Allow them a little violence as a regular treat.” He turned a corner, opened the door to a classroom to allow me to enter.
I walked in, and Alan closed the door behind me. I heard the lock click.
Too late I saw who populated the room—30 children, cricket bats and bricks in hand, their faces flush with anticipation at the sight of me, their mouths curling in untamed savagery.
“Better out than in,” I heard Alan shout as he walked away and the children set upon me.

January 22, 2026 at 12:59 PM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Brendel

@brendelbored.bsky.social

I once again must salute the account on here who takes headlines from the weird British guy and writes short horror fiction based on them

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 8d

#44: Queue

January 21, 2026 at 5:09 PM

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

I've written a brand new Adrian Chills story (short horror stories directly inspired by the Guardian columns of Adrian Chiles).

This is #44 and it's called 'Queue'.

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 8d

#44: Queue

January 21, 2026 at 5:09 PM

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

Today’s reading:

A 1960s paperback; Death Of A Sardine by Joan Fleming. The cover features an illustration of a skeletal arm emerging from a cactus patch, holding a fish between two of its fingers.

January 17, 2026 at 2:15 PM

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

My last four watched: A kaleidoscopic Eurospy homage, a messed-up Dennis Hopper mermaid romance, Barbara Stanwyck bossing a Sam Fuller Western and Alain Delon as an ice-cool contract killer.

A screengrab of a Letterboxed last four watched: Reflection In A Dead Diamond, Night Tide, Forty Guns and Le Samourai.

January 16, 2026 at 2:43 PM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Adrian Chills

@adrianchills.bsky.social

#43: Specs

A screengrab of a headline to a Guardian column by Adrian Chiles. It reads: 'After all these years, I still hate wearing specs'

When the alien ships first landed back in ‘26, their vast spaceships shimmering into view above London on a cold Autumn morning, it became quickly apparent that their plans for invasion, colonisation and enslavement of the entire human race had hit a snag.
Something about the appearance of the aliens was so repulsive to our human eyes that it caused every one of us to instantly spew our guts up at the sight of them, a state which persisted as long as they were in our vision. As it is impossible to properly command a permanently vomiting slave army to carry out your will, a quick and effective solution had to be found. And so, with the assistance of a team of human scientists—who had their eyes first torn out in preparation, and were forced to help on pain of death—the first Spex were invented.
When donned, the Spex—wraparound glasses which fill every part of a wearer’s vision—create a visual overlay which gives each alien a new, more human appearance. Typically, this takes the form of a friendly-looking, slightly balding guy in his 40s in a short-sleeved shirt—the kind of man who might be your father’s best friend. Harmless, reliable, sound.
Quickly rolled out and made mandatory wearing worldwide, the Spex ushered in the state of being that has been with us these last ten years. The aliens now arrange and manage their human workforce with relative ease and without the fear of being vomited on. Put to work in their vast warpshipyards, constructing vessels to aid in the next round of planet-conquering, we are kept fed and housed and healthy, but with every other freedom curtailed. It makes no difference that the boot that pushes our necks to the ground belongs to a guy who looks like he would be a good laugh on a stag do; oppression is still oppression, no matter what its face.
And so we plan our revolution—developing in secret the powerful antiemetics which allow us, one day soon, to rip off our hated Spex and fight our enemy, face to loathsome, sickening face.

January 16, 2026 at 10:49 AM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

I've written a brand new Adrian Chills story (short horror stories directly inspired by the Guardian columns of Adrian Chiles).

This one is called 'Dog Poo'.

bsky.app/profile/adri...

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 14d

#42: Dog Poo

A screenshot of a headline to a Guardian column by Adrian Chiles. The headline reads: 'I've been thinking a lot about dog poo'

If anyone should find these writings please know that I did what I did to escape my weird predicament out of pure, unadulterated desperation.
We entered the laboratory six days ago—myself, Hammond and his pet terrier Matheson—our search to perfect the miniaturization process having entered its crucial final stage. Hammond was like a man possessed; the quest to seek the means by which to shrink organic matter had become an obsession for him, blinding him to all the attendant risks of our experiments. So it should not have come as a surprise to me when, in the midst of stress-testing the latest example of our formula, corners were cut. One moment I was watching my tablet screen to monitor our progress, and the next an explosion rocked the room and I was rendered unconscious.
When I awoke, hours later, the very world around me had changed. Pulling myself up to stand, I found that the chair on which I had been sitting now towered over me like a skyscraper. I quickly calculated that my height was now less than four inches. The formula had worked—but at what cost?
On the other side of the room lay the body of Hammond—killed by the explosion. Next to him, tied by his lead to the radiator pipe was Matheson, who now appeared to me like some kind of Godzilla or Kong, a monstrous giant. My first thought was to alert the authorities, to find an escape.
I have spent the past six days in pursuit of this same end.
I am shrinking more every day, becoming smaller, lighter, more vulnerable. The only way out of this room that I can see is the heating vent that sits on the wall, too high now for me to reach unaided. Three hours ago Matheson desposited a large pile of excrement directly below this vent.
If my calculations are right, I should now be light enough in bodyweight to climb this faecal Everest and make my way to the outside world and find help. If I am wrong, the implications do not bear thinking about.
Let these words stand as my epitaph: I dared to try.

January 15, 2026 at 11:01 AM

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

I've written a brand new Adrian Chills story (short horror stories inspired by the Guardian columns of Adrian Chiles.)

This is #43, and it's called 'Specs'.

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 13d

#43: Specs

January 16, 2026 at 10:50 AM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Ray Newman

@raynewman.bsky.social

An excellent project.

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 15d

#41: Shame

A screenshot of a headline from a Guardian column by Adrian Chiles. It reads: 'Standing in my boxers, blindfolded and full of shame, I remembered why I hate getting dressed up.'

I had been passing by a local charity shop when the trousers caught my eye. They were a thick brown corduroy, easy on the thigh, but narrow on the calves, just the way I like them. When I first got them home and tried them on, it was like meeting an old friend - as though they had been made for me.
The first blackout happened later that night. I woke with a start, finding myself clad only in my underwear, surrounded by blood and battered bodies in a room I had never visited before. The trousers hung from the doorknob, pristine. Fearful for what I had done, I grabbed them and ran.
What followed was weeks of the same nightmare; I would step out for the night in my fine brown corduroys only to enter some kind of fugue state, awakening hours later in some strange and bloody room, having clearly, in the interim, carried out acts of unspeakable violence and depravity. Each time I would see the trousers hanging somewhere apart from me, their zipper fly leering at me like a satyr, the black button above a single voyeur’s eye.
I knew I should rid myself of the garment, that continuing to wear the trousers would only lead me into ever darker acts, but I could not bring myself to do it. The desire to feel the warm corduroy against my skin outweighed all shame. I was like an addict, and they were my drug.
I tried what I could to mitigate the problem; each night, after putting on the trousers I donned a blindfold, and handcuffed myself to a chair, reasoning that if I could neither move nor see, the trousers could not pilot me to their preferred destination. At first it seemed to work, I would rouse from my blackout state and find myself still at home. I thought I had found my solution.
Until tonight. I stand now in a room whose smells and sounds tell of disembowelments and decapitations. My naked legs are spattered with warm blood. When I remove my blindfold I know I will see that same jagged-tooth grin and button eye looking back at me. I hate myself for what I have become.

January 15, 2026 at 6:58 AM

Reposted by Steven Sheil

Adrian Chills

@adrianchills.bsky.social

#42: Dog Poo

January 15, 2026 at 11:00 AM

Steven Sheil

@scsheil.bsky.social

I've written a brand new Adrian Chills story (short horror stories directly inspired by the Guardian columns of Adrian Chiles).

This one is called 'Dog Poo'.

bsky.app/profile/adri...

Adrian Chills @adrianchills.bsky.social · 14d

#42: Dog Poo

January 15, 2026 at 11:01 AM

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