This is the final book of the trilogy - a fat monstrous volume of pure undiluted scarecrow terror.
Maddy and Wilfred, Earl and Wendy Joe Joel go toe to toe with an unbelievable army of scarecrows.
And let me tell you...these aren't your granddaddy's scarecrows.
Give this a read.
If you are a fan of good old-school "there's-something-weird-going-on-out-there-in-them-woods" kind of horror - the kind of horror made famous by novels like Stephen King's SALEMS LOT or Stan Winston's PUMPKINHEAD then you will DEFINITELY enjoy TATTERDEMON.
Hell is coming.
And it is dressed in rags...
I could tell you about my book sales and rankings but it would be a pretty short story. There is always room for improvement.
Some things you know, some things you think you know, and some things you just spend the rest of your life trying to forget.
Lily knew she could live forever and never forget the smell of popcorn rattling through the summer dust. She knew she would never forget the taste of Raoul’s sweet flesh. She would never forget the sound of the carousel and the feel of all those hungry eyes upon her. And she would never forget the clotted sour aftertaste of sixteen tubs of premium ice cream.
She lay on the couch like a beached whale, gazing through the dirty haze of her front screen window, trying to look through her own hazy reflection. She stared down at the town she would never be a part of.
That was something else she knew.
She was an outsider.
If she lived in the town of Crossfall for another six hundred years, she would always be the circus freak fat lady, the stranger.
The outcast.
She didn’t mind.
The town was dying.
Who wanted to join a walking wake?
The sign outside Crossfall, reading POPULATION 3400, was a flat out lie.
The truth was Crossfall had been a ghost town for many years. A town that was full of tattered ghosts hiding behind a shroud of long forgotten secrets. The town was dead and had died a forever long time ago.
Some said it died when the cod fishery gave out. Others blamed the death of the textile plant. Others blamed the distant malls, clustered on the outskirts like a handful of concrete tumors, drawing the business from the local stores, starving them slowly. Maybe you could blame the new highway for forgetting Crossfall was ever on the map. Maybe you could blame the church, folded into moral and fiscal bankruptcy.
There were a lot of theories, but Lily knew the truth.
| Language | Status |
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Carmelo Massimo Tidona
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Author review: Splendid work! |
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Nelson Santos
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Stanlyn Guaita Vallenilla
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