Necroscope!

by Brian Lumley

It was as if sometimes the thoughts he thought weren’t really his at all. Complicated thoughts and daydreams, fancies and phantasms. His mind made up stories for him – whether he wanted it to or not – but stories so detailed they were like memories. The memories of other people. People who weren’t here any more. As if his head was an echo-chamber for minds which had … gone somewhere else?

Sounds more like a curse than a blessing.

He had come awake with that picture in his mind of Harry Keogh, clutching Jamieson’s folded sheet of A4, heading off across the schoolyard of milling boys in the direction of the back gate under the stone archway; then of the boy crossing the dusty summer lane and passing in through the iron gates of the cemetery. And Hannant had believed that he knew where Harry was going.

This is a long section from Hannant's POV, it makes me wonder as to his role in the future of the story. A lot of authorial investment.