Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Even if you put ‘em through a wood chipper, they stay conscious for fucking years.”
Swings and roundabouts,
“Nah, cousin. I’m a rare beast. The only only-child since 1879.” A hint of bitterness soured the pride.
what he lacked in physical size he made up for in bossy determination.
kill people and eat bits of ‘em. “Oh, God, no, not like that,” she blurted out, whipping her head around to stare out of the window. “No, I didn’t mean that.” Ricky’s shoulders shook. “Yeah, you did, deep down.”
“You really want me to help, you ask me again. We’ll come up with something. I mean, I’ve already declared my vested int’rest.”
“Oh my God, you are flirting.” This time, Ricky grinned. “Don’t flatter yourself.” It came out oddly rehearsed, as if he had read up on plausible responses since the last time and memorised one. Carrie managed a grin back. “Careful,” she said. “People might think we’re mates.” Ricky stared at her, the ruby red fading from his eyes.
Ricky’s fingers closed over hers, spring-loaded and tight.
What if the wyrd were not as immutable as it ought to be? What if it was fixed for everyone else, but not for him?
(One for sorrow, that’s how the rhyme goes.)
Without his farsight, that omen was hard to interpret.
He could feel the threads of his wyrd constricting around him, warp and weft trapping him like a fly.
He’d seen healthier-looking corpses.
(Oh, yeah, need another one of those, promised Gerald – what about that older woman on the bus?)
put in mind of Rising season.
“Climbed out the wrong side of the grave this morning, did you?”
(By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.)
The smell was stronger now. What was that? Liquorice. Treacle. Gangrene. Something floral.
but it was gratifying to have an intuitive guess proven right, showing he didn’t need farsight for everything.
Unlike Gerald, who never made a sound, she continued to wheeze, each breath building to the gurgling death-rattle he loved best of all, but he couldn’t let her do that, not now, or the house would never let him in again.
Besides, if she croaked here on the hall floor, he’d have to bury her in The Chase somewhere if he wanted to carry on being neighbours. That wouldn’t be any good. The Chase was the first place they searched for missing persons and dead bodies, predictable as the warrant they served him with as regular as a season ticket.
(Ought to invite us to the policeman’s ball, Detective Inspector, the amount of time your lot spend around our place, Mum’d lo...
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Ricky gave it a stern look, and it obediently burst into flames.
Smoke purled upwards, all the colours of a dark rainbow.
playing with dialectic tense to a...
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“Yeah, it was gangrene, that’s it, little frisson of it there. Knew I recognised her.” He squatted down, jabbing at the shrivelling lilies with his bare finger. “Sorry about Janet, Gran. This your little vengeance? Or is it something else? What’ll she let out into the world that you want staying put?”
(Two days ago, she’d be dead as dust if it wasn’t for the house taking it in as well, Gran didn’t factor that in did she, losing her touch the daft old bint.)
an atonal improvisation around a sparrow’s song.
He liked this body, its proportions, its capabilities. He liked honing it, improving it, sculpting it. He would like what was underneath just as much.
know you’d be asking questions right now if you could, so this is what I’m up to: it’s a basic containment, you can knock one up with anything. Use a sharpie if you want, it’s all the same, but I like the feel of powder, so that’s my preference.” He sniffed, dusting off his hands, and pulled the hood down. “To be honest, it don’t actually achieve much, I just like a circle for working in. Tradition, superstition, call it what you will.”
it’s just a quirk.”
The coils snaked out, circling his head in a squirming halo.
The tendrils began to secrete their mucus, snail-silver, the halo stretching into a canopy and dribbling down onto her skin.
“Easy, now,” he muttered again, soothing, almost expecting her to smell of donkey-hide. “We’ll patch you up. Don’t you worry.”
Floating. Lost in space.
No air in space, she recalled. No wonder I couldn’t breathe.
the time zones shifting and unstable, forwards, backwards, until time was fluid and meaningless and there was no need for it anymore, and clocks melted like water down the dashboard and dripped onto your face...
He had his own unique scent, filling Carrie’s head with peace; sepia film reels and withered violets, her father’s old jumper and peppermints masking forbidden Camel cigarettes, warm mahogany and washed linoleum, unused cardboard and Bakelite appliances. The smell of memories, not all of them her own. She sifted through the odours, sorting them one by one into drawers, wondering where to file them all.
the edges of the skin-mask he wore, but not what was underneath.
Dr Monday had been her doctor for years: Dr Monday had known her all her life. Dr Monday was perfectly normal.
Dr Monday, stepping through Regency London with his cane and the dignity of a forgotten god, walking Victorian streets chameleonic in borrowed skins, on house-calls tapping along to Charleston rhythms in his black and white spats.
Dr Monday had been her doctor for years. Dr Monday had known her all her life. Dr Monday was perfectly normal.
“It’s called the Sarcophagus Wrap, but don’t let that worry you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t try and talk, you’re not meant to eat the preparation. This is a relatively old technique, courtesy of my colleague, Dr El Sayed. His workshops are always greatly illuminating.”
unless that was ectoplasm she could see.
“Yes, thank you, Mr Porter, but the house has made its feelings clear. It distrusts your uncanny ability to show up when needed, like an orchestrator.”
“That’s bullshit. I’m a soothsayer, I see the bloody future. I tell people the truth.”
Ricky. No one gives him the benefit of the doubt, do they?
He was selfish and dangerous and entirely invested in keeping her alive. Besides, he’s an outsider, too, like us.
the sonorous command.
