Was this the reason his store had seen such a sudden decline in sales? And if so, what was so special about this new wave of bobbleheads?

It hadn't occurred to Seb not to come, to ignore the unexpected and frankly bizarre bequest. It was too late to turn back now...

The ground shuttered. The earth split. And foul gases, detritus, and splintered rock erupted into the jungle like spew from a volcano. And the worm inched closer to the world above, the open air and the scorching humidity of the Brazilian rainforest.

Mrs. Henshaw, grey-haired and ancient before her time, resting her rheumatic twig fingers in her pinny lap, sat facing a large wall mirror and rocked the gloom away.

Henry pours more coal onto the hearth as a gust of wind rattles through the cracked window frame. She’s almost an hour late. He’s half tempted to leave a one-star review on her website, but he knows it won’t make a difference, not after tonight.

Laura used to wonder if all this planting of bodies would ever make anything grow. Then, one night, just as she finished a grave, she found it did.

Thomas stepped into the bar room. His clothes soaking, his hair flattened to his head. “There’s something out there,” he said. William turned with poker in hand, his brow furrowed. “What’s out there?” “I don’t know,” said Thomas.

The killer should be here." Jerry tapped the screen with a knuckle. "But he's not.

I get this a lot. People get embarrassed talking about the supernatural. I expect people from his world, with their neatly trimmed front lawns and house prices, to worry about making fools of themselves.

She had been twitching and gasping all night. It wasn’t unusual. Night terrors plagued her.

The Victorian Mansion, as its previous owners often referred to it, sat a half-mile from the quiet road. Rows of massive oaks lead along the dusty driveway, all the way to the front door, and dense woods framed the home like a knotted head of hair.

It was all the more strange then that he noticed the sign at all. It seemed half-hidden, hardly noticeable, indicating a slip road half a mile ahead.

In his head, this all made sense. The next-door neighbour’s garden was the goal – just a simple chip to cover four yards and a metre fence in the middle. Easy.

“Did you guys know that this is the house where Richard Sabnis died?” said Tom Beardmore.

“She’s in the mirror.” The man sitting in front of Detective West quavered. The whiskey on his breath danced around the room, leaving an unpleasant odor that disturbed the Detective.