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a whisper between two hearts.
underseasoned and overpriced
Sarah Ann stared at her reflection in the mirror and waited for it to make the first move.
Because if we can prove that there are ghosts, that the supernatural does exist, it in turn proves the existence of the afterlife
The word sounded painfully inadequate. Even he didn’t believe it.
The pleasure of pain. The pain of pleasure.
Sebastian Cole
roof like a fang sinking itself into the purple clouds of the darkening sky.
Sit alone in his house not writing his next novel?
he knew this book was worth a thousand throwing stars.
Every word was a thing to be chased, and chase them he did, away from the memory of the fire,
This is the voice you hear right before you’re born, Sam thought. The voice that says, “Fight the good fight,”
“I love horror. There’s something about letting another person lead you into darkness that is both unbearably terrifying and exquisitely thrilling.
A phrase might suddenly appear in my mind, perfectly formed, like a healthy child.
“Funny thing about rumors,” Sebastian said softly. “It doesn’t matter if they’re true or false, only that people believe them.”
To live on. To exist when we stop existing. To be remembered.
The kitchen is the heart of the house, Sam thought. It is a place of gathering, of conversation, of love.
“Five legends, if you count the house,”
The laugh that, if it ever went away, would tear him to pieces.
“I read that at least once in their life, ever’body will have a spider crawl into their mouth while they’re sleepin’,”
The very thought of it—a spider with its prickly legs and deadly fangs, creeping between his lips,
there were pimples, so many that his face looked like a rotting apple,
He wanted the house to draw them to it.
She loved being in the darkness, feeling its cold embrace as she moved up the stairs, unseen.
sold on the strength of your writing, not your number of online followers.”
written word has always been to explain to man those things which seem unexplainable.
guarding the mystery of his beloved story from the gnashing teeth of definitive interpretation.
and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.’
That’s the root of all fear: the loss of control.
“I feared these things, but in the end, they all made me who I am.”
Her body was still warm with the excitement of creation,
They knew they were witnessing a sacred moment, the unhinged misery of another human being.
The alcohol was a lubricant for her hate and resentment.
The gravity of the situation perched on Sam’s shoulders, a fat, gluttonous bird digging its black talons into him, all the way to the bone.
“I’ve lost nothing,” she replied softly. “My son is everything, and God has spared him.
A smirk played at Daniel’s lips. He never used to smirk. Not before.
“There are two kinds of ghost stories, as those in your line of work must know: tales of revenge and tales of love cut short.
Adudel pushed down on the top of the silver lion’s head, once more lifting to the toes of his feet. It was the action of a showman eager to continue with his act.
“She burned in that fire. But she didn’t die in it.”
Each new discovery in this room was his and his alone.
expecting a confrontation with ultimate evil and had found good masonry instead.
There was no sound. Wainwright was swallowed by the earth.
Pain was pain. There was nothing wonderful about it.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Even the house grew quiet.
Above him, dark clouds swirled angrily, as if the storm itself disapproved of his intentions.
