Hi, and welcome to my website. My name, as you might have guessed, is Daniel MacKillican and I’m a British indie author. I’ve written numerous short stories, usually in the horror or science fiction genre, although I do occasionally dabble in other areas too. I also write down my thoughts in the form of poems. The subject matter for my poetry is as eclectic as my tales, from happy musings to dark and twisted verse, and sometimes I just pen the lyrical nonsense that leaps from my brain. All of the poems and short stories I add to my website are accompanied by audio narration, so you can delight in my dulcet tones. I've also added the ebook and audiobook versions of Ama (my first self-published novel) to this website. As well as trying to be creative in this reality, I also enjoy experiencing hypnagogic and hypnopompic hallucinations and travelling into the realm of fantastical dreams which, sometimes, I manage to control with God-like powers (lucid dreams).

Since this website is all about my writing and I want my creations to look good on all devices, I've tried to keep the layout as simple as possible to navigate and to read. There are no annoying adverts or frustrating paywalls here, but if you find my work interesting and want to show your appreciation, you can either buy a copy of my novel or leave a tip, both of which will be greatly appreciated. Anyway, take a look around and enjoy.

Tale (with audio narration)

The crowd is moving away now. I don’t like it when they all gather like that; they make such a noise. I’ll just watch and wait, soon it will be all quiet again. Apart from the wriggler, that is.

Why do they hang them from the trees like that? Oh, I’m not complaining, but it makes no sense to me at all. I can understand hanging the old ones, and maybe some of the rotten ones too, but this one looks quite young and healthy. He will taste good, I’m sure of that. The last one they hung up was a young one too. I enjoyed picking at that one for weeks, and fed ’till the bones fell with the leaves.


Poem (with audio narration)

If the bones could speak,

they would talk of Mr. Meek.

A man who takes pride in his work.

A devious soul who in the shadows does lurk.


I’m a passenger in a fighter jet racing at incredible speed towards the stratosphere. I look out through the domed glass canopy of the plane and watch with excited eyes as the Earth falls away and the majesty of the vast sparkling void grows across my field of view. Within seconds my weight is like that of a feather.