A Haunting on the Hill

by Elizabeth Hand

Hill House neither sleeps nor dreams. Shrouded within its overgrown lawns and sprawling woodlands, the long shadows of mountains and ancient oaks, Hill House watches. Hill House waits.

Excited, I continued on until I was once more at the front of the building, and gazed at the dilapidated tower. My initial revulsion—that feeling that the house held some subcutaneous wrongness, like cancerous cells manifesting in the body years before detection—had disappeared.

“If you’re scared, channel that into Tomasin.” “He’s a demon. He doesn’t get scared.” “So tap into that. You’re a demon in a big spooky house—you should feel right at home.” “I do.” He glanced around: a wild thing released from its cage, measuring the threat and opportunities of its new surroundings. He turned back to me and nodded. “That’s what scares me.”