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178 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1983


perhaps I was expecting too much from this novel. An ok read but not a book that will cause me any nightmares.
In the grayness of the fading light, it had the sheen and pallor not of flesh so much as of bone itself. Earlier, when I had looked at her, although admittedly it had been scarcely more than a swift glance each time, I had not noticed any particular expression on her ravaged face, but then I had, after all, been entirely taken with the look of extreme illness. Now, however, as I stared at her, stared until my eyes ached in their sockets, stared in surprise and bewilderment at her presence, now I saw that face did wear an expression. It was one of what I can only describe—and the words seem hopelessly inadequate to express what I saw—as a desperate, yearning malevolence; it was as though she were searching for something she wanted, needed—must have, more than life itself, and which had been taken from her.


For the combination of the peculiar, isolated place and the sudden appearance of the woman and the dreadfulness of her expression began to fill me with fear. Indeed, I had never in my life been so possessed by it, never known my knees to tremble and my flesh to creep, and then to turn cold as stone, never known my heart to give a great lurch, as if it would almost leap up into my dry mouth and then begin pounding in my chest like a hammer on an anvil, never known myself gripped and held fast by such dread and horror and apprehension of evil.

I had seen the ghost of (blank) and she had her revenge.
They asked me for my story. I have told it. Enough.


❝ ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔰. 𝔒𝔯 𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔞𝔶, ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔰𝔬. ❞
❝𝔉𝔬𝔯 ℑ 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱, 𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯.❞
⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
❝𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫, 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔫𝔨𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔯𝔲𝔦𝔱 𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔰, 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔯-𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱, ℑ 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔞𝔫 𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔵𝔬𝔯𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔦𝔱. 𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫, 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢 𝔢𝔵𝔬𝔯𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔡. ℑ 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔢, 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔡, 𝔟𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢, 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔡𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔦𝔡𝔩𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 – 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔰𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔪𝔫, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱. 𝔅𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔬𝔫 𝔭𝔞𝔭𝔢𝔯, 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔩. ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶.❞
❝ 𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱, 𝔴𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔫, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔯𝔬𝔠𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔢 𝔟𝔶 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔴, 𝔴𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔬𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 '𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩'. 𝔑𝔬. 𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 '𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩'? 𝔄𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 ℑ 𝔟𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔬𝔲𝔟𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶.” ❞

