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370 pages, Paperback
First published October 23, 2018
The thing people really hate remembering, even as they celebrate a guy nailed to wood: all Gods demand a sacrifice. They’re so fucking hungry.
— Sarah Langan
F A V O R I T E S :
→ Fresh as the New-Fallen Snow — Seanan McGuire
→ Good Deeds — Jeff Strand
→ Yankee Swap — John M. McIlveen
Stories like that don’t start in the dark. They just end there.
— Michael Koryta
“Give us food. Give us wine. Then our song shall be thine.”
You feel the same thought stirring - everything is going to be okay - but this time you have the wisdom to resist its lure.
“She looks for children who could be great, if only the snow that made them were melted down and given to someone else for safekeeping.”
”You came to steal from me, I know,” the woman called out.
“Do we really need any more surprises from you this year?”
The last thing she wanted to be thinking about at a holiday party reunion was cults and cult leaders and what all that means and how sad it was if you really broke it down.
The world was a dark, ugly, selfish cesspool of misery, but I’d done my part to shine a ray of joy upon it. With only a credit card, I’d made the universe a better place.
“That’s half the fun for a collector. The macabre stuff always goes for top dollar.”
It was the holidays. Best to be prepared for the emotional bloodshed.
Yes, the clock chimes, and by the time it stops resonating, the child is gone.
Disappeared from her bed.
The room was fine the rest of the year, no complaints, but come Christmas Eve, no one could make it through a night.
She cast a final look behind her. A feather of candlelight touched the floor at the foot of the stairs and faded into darkness.
“Most often a person has survived because the monster did not want to destroy them all the way. To kill them would be to empty them of screams, of struggle, of fear and pain, and that’s what those monsters feed on.”
That he had chosen her to go first was a terrible omen that seemed to validate her fear of not leaving there alive.
She likes her privacy, knows it’s integral to her safety; her husband used to joke that if she could have got away with it, she’d have put a plaque on the front fence that read, “Nothing ever happened here.”
Standing, stretching, the beauty and horror of what he saw struck home as it did every single morning.
We all laugh harder around a campfire, because we don’t want to acknowledge that some part of us is deeply concerned about what’s out there just beyond the reach of the firelight.
‘People will do terrible things for love.’