Tag
folk-horror
9 results
The winter that would not be spoken tocomplete
The lake stretches before you like a slab of uncut slate, flat and featureless, its surface neither glossy nor rough but something in between — the kind of ice that looks thick enough to trust and just thin enough to doubt. The sky above th2 reads0 likes
The apothecary's second customercomplete
The bell is still ringing when you take him in. Good coat, dark wool, well-cut but soaked to the knee — he hasn't been out in the rain, he's been walking through wet grass, and a lot of it. His face has the greyish, soft-edged look of someo2 reads0 likes
The apothecary's second customercomplete
You have already turned the sign. The little glass lamp on the counter is trimmed low, and the shutters are half-drawn against the cold that comes off the Underwood at dusk. The shop smells of dried chamomile and the mineral tang of your gr2 reads0 likes
Hollowmere, and what the water keptcomplete
The survey rods are heavy in your hand, and you have stopped walking. The water has dropped again — you can see the top of the church window now, the stone lip of it crusted with pale silt, and below that the dark glass of the reservoir ref2 reads0 likes
The winter that would not be spoken tocomplete
The lake stretches before you like a slab of polished slate, featureless and grey all the way to the far shore where the pines stand black against a sky the colour of old bruises. The light is failing. Not quickly, the way it fails in warme2 reads0 likes
The apothecary's second customercomplete
The bell is still ringing when you take stock of him. Aldous Vane — though you don't know that name yet — stands in the doorway of your shop with the rain coming off his good coat in sheets. He is fortyish, clean-shaven, the kind of man who2 reads0 likes