The Pale Ones

Zusatztext

Pulped fiction just got a whole lot scarier Few books ever become loved. Most linger on undead, their sallow pages labyrinths of old, brittle stories and screeds of forgotten knowledge...And other things, besides: Paperpale forms that rustle softly through their leaves. Inkdark shapes swarming in shadow beneath faded type. And an invitation¿ Harris delights in collecting the unloved. He wonders if you'd care to donate. A small something for the odd, pale children no-one has seen. An old book, perchance? Neat is sweet; battered is better. Broken spine or torn binding, stained or scarred - ugly doesn't matter. Not a jot. And if you've left a little of yourself between the pages ¿ a receipt or ticket, a mislaid letter, a scrawled note or number ¿ that's just perfect. He might call on you again. Hangover Square meets Naked Lunch through the lens of a classic M. R. James ghost story. To hell and back again (and again) through Whitby, Scarborough and the Yorkshire Moors. Enjoy your Mobius-trip.

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