For X-mas, we’re giving away MALICE!

Malice

“TALL JAKE, TAKE ME AWAY…”

Everyone’s heard the rumors. Call on Tall Jake and he’ll take you to Malice, a world that exists inside a terrifying comic book. A place most kids never leave.

Seth and Kady think it’s all a silly myth. But then their friend disappears, and suddenly the rumors don’t seem so silly anymore…

Part thriller, part ground-breaking graphic novel … get into this story, and you may never get out!

Ideology of Madness is pleased to partner with the kind folks at Scholastic to bring you the chance to win one of five copies of the beautiful, hardbound MALICE by Chris Woooding.

Chris Wooding is a British writer born in Leicester, England and now living in London. His first book, Crashing, which he wrote at the age of nineteen, was published in 1998 when he was twenty-one. Since then he has written many more, including The Haunting of Alaizabel Cray, which won the Nestlé Smarties Book Prize Silver Award, and Poison, which won the Lancashire Children’s Book of the Year. He is also the author of two different series: Broken Sky, an anime-influenced fantasy serial for children, and Braided Path, a fantasy trilogy for adults.

Malice is part novel, part comic.

I held the book in my hand for a brief moment before shipping it off to Paul for review.  It is stunning.  Really, a beauty of a book.  It killed me to send it off to that rotten, no-good Paul.

What was that I said?  Five chances to win?  Yep!

The Deets:

All you gotta do is tell us about the monster under your bed in the comments below.

One entry per person, please.

Five winners will be chosen at random.

Items will only be shipped within the United States by Big Honcho Media.

Contest ends Friday, December 25, 2009 at 11:59 pm Central time.

6 comments on “For X-mas, we’re giving away MALICE!Add yours →

  1. For many, their monsters are horrific to look upon or are savage beasts with claws that rend and fangs that tear. But for me, my monster is much more subtle and devious. He steps into my mind, transforming the things of dream into the webs of nightmare, taking those pleasant, comforting thoughts and twisting them into the misshapen, malicious beings that no matter what I do, I can never escape them.

  2. Santa Claus is the monster under my bed. This may sound like a good thing, but do you know what it’s like to have a toy-making sweatshop under your bed? 364 days of the year there’s no way to get a decent night’s sleep, and on Christmas morning, I’m constantly woken up early by Santa stumbling through the house, drunk on egg nog and spiked cookies. And let me tell you, Santa is a slave driver. I feel sorry for those elves; Santa’s coat isn’t red from dye, if you catch my meaning.

  3. The underside of my bed is a mirror of the top side of my bed and when I lie down, the monster arrives. He wants his bottom side to be top side and he spends the night trying to flip the bed so he can escape into the real world. He looks like me, talks like me, but eats babies to live forever. Succulent, sauce-covered babies. After his baby feast, his skin whithers, his eyes turn read, and his fingers grow into claws, revealing the true monster within.

  4. I’ve never seen the monster under my bed. It whispers to me as I lay down to sleep and tells me the most horrible stories.

    There was this one time it told me a tale in which a hero made a deal with the devil and gave up his marriage to his smoking hot wife to save the life of his withered, old aunt who was bound to die soon anyway.

    Another time it told me a story of a villain who would rise to power for no good reason but people would accept it. He would reign over the entire world, darkly.

    The scariest times are when this creatures just repeats it’s name over and over again like some hellish Pokemon creature. “Joe Quesada, Joe Quesada, Joe Quesada…”

  5. My under-bed monster is a tall, spindly, spiderish person with extra joints and digits. It’s swathed in robes of shadow that are incredibly long to match its height. It feeds on fear and blood, slicing its victims flesh with its long, point-sharpened fingernails. I hesitate to give it a name because I don’t want it to have that much self-awareness. Then it might be able to find me.

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