By Ramsey Campbell
Ramsey Campbell has been acclaimed as a “master of darkish fantasy” by means of Clive Barker, the “master of a skewed and exquisitely terrifying style” by way of Library Journal, “one of the world’s optimum horror writers” by means of the San Francisco Examiner-Chronicle, and a “master of mood” through Publishers Weekly. The Darkest a part of the Woods is modern darkish myth, bordering on horror. it truly is evocative, emotional, and disturbing.
The Darkest a part of the Woods introduces the cost kinfolk, whose fates are entangled with the traditional woodland of Goodmanswood. Dr. Lennox cost found a hallucinogenic moss that grew to become the point of interest of a cult. After Lennox’s demise, his widow turns out to work out and listen to him within the trees—or is it a dismal model of the golf green guy that caresses her with leafy palms? Lennox’s grandson heeds a choice to lie in his lover’s fingers within the very middle of the forest—and can't aid yet ask yourself what the fruit of that love will be.
And Heather, Lennox’s daughter, who grew to become her again on her father’s mysteries and sought sanctuary on the planet of evidence and background? Goodmanswood summons her as well....
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Extra resources for The Darkest Part of the Woods
Example text
Not the feeling of the house or even of Emma standing out in the hall. It was more like the warm, anxious rush of playing for a stranger. When I took the headphones off and went to the window, though, the backyard was empty. More time had passed than I’d realized and it was starting to get dark. I stared out at the lawn and the bushes, but it was ridiculous to think that someone had been listening. Completely ludicrous, when I was sitting there with the sound filtering through my headphones. I sat back down on the edge of the bed with the Gibson 25 Brenna Yovanoff propped across my knees and played a walking bass line that peaked and dropped and grew until I could feel it in my own heartbeat.
From the floor, the amp hummed softly in the gloom and I felt hazy and numb. Outside, the sky was dark. The house was very bright, which meant my dad was home. He has this thing for electric lights. If a switch can be flipped, he’ll flip it. When I stepped out onto the landing, I had to shut my eyes against the glare. “Malcolm,” he called from the kitchen. ” I went downstairs, blinking and shading my eyes with my hand. He was at the table, and I could tell from his expression and his necktie that he’d just gotten back from the church.
He stood against the counter while I washed my face and avoided looking at my reflection. I nodded and turned off the faucet. ” I wiped my mouth with a paper towel and didn’t look at him. ” My voice sounded hoarse, almost a whisper. “This isn’t funny,” he said. “Do you think you should maybe go home? If you went easier on yourself, maybe—” Then he just stopped talking. I jammed the paper towel in the trash and reached for another. He came up behind me. ” When I turned to face him, he was staring down at me.