The Witch Elm

by Tana French

He even looked farther away, as if he had deliberately receded a few steps down some long passageway,

But even when the fear receded for a while, it was always there: dark, misshapen, taloned, hanging somewhere above and behind me, waiting for its next moment to drop onto my back and dig in deep.

the garden had a stillness that was almost holy.

as if it were emanating from the scene itself rather than entering from any outside source.

I know this type of light.

I had never really put in the attention to bring them into sharp focus.