Folklore
The gate was shut, and that should have been enough. Niall Kerr had been told the rule before he took ...
The first hop came from the lane behind the inn, not from any living foot. It was a single sound. ...
The first time Antoine Veyrier saw it, the thing was already leaving. Not running. Leaving. A russet shape the size ...
The hut stood with its back to him. That was the first wrong thing. A house in a clearing should ...
The bridge was older than the road that fed it. It crossed the little Pocantico the way it always had, ...
The bathroom was the only room in the flat that still had a door that locked. Helen Ward was twenty-nine ...
The bells started before the church bells had any right to. Fifth of December. Krampusnacht. In the valley below Innsbruck ...
The keen started in the field behind the house and did not belong to any throat Maeve Byrne knew. It ...
The prints began above the last prayer flags. They were not a snow leopard’s. Leopard tracks come in pairs and ...
The water was black before the sun had any right to leave. Peat does that. It takes the light and ...
