By Brandon Massey
From Brandon Massey, award-winning writer of Thunderland, comes a terrifying new novel a couple of city besieged through evil...and the single guy who's made up our minds to struggle the darkness... whilst well known writer Richard Hunter dies in a boating coincidence, his son David travels to Mason's nook, Mississippi, to determine extra in regards to the father he by no means quite knew. at the start, Mason's nook turns out pleasant and unassuming-the excellent "small town." yet after a newcomer strikes into the old-and supposedly haunted-mansion at the hill, every little thing changes... humans start to disappear. canines viciously assault. and shortly David discovers that the fear eating this position has its roots in his family tree... For whatever has risen in Mason's nook. whatever with bloody ties to the town's previous. anything undead--and hungering for vengeance...
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There was no need to ever hunt for food again. Indeed, hunting human prey seemed primitive to him, an activity pursued only by uncivilized vampires, or those who were poor and had no alternative. The few prosperous vampires who chose to hunt did so for sport, under carefully controlled conditions-the vampire equivalent of game preserves. Kyle removed the black straw from the back of the carton. It took three stabs at the perforated hole for him to puncture the surface and slide the straw inside.
Most of all, David wanted to ask him about his father. They chatted as they conveyed boxes inside. David learned that Franklin really was a retired history professor. He had taught at Howard University for over thirty years. In his life as a retiree, he spent his time pursuing his lifelong passionhistory-and had become the town's official historian. The historian position had never been formally conferred upon him by town authorities-they didn't have an official post for such a person. It was official, Franklin said, because everyone, including the mayor, approached him whenever a question about history arose.
A sunlightspangled river rushed in the chasm below. Two black children stood along the sandy bank, working fishing poles. The bridge, about forty feet long, rattled and clinked as he drove across it. King poked his nose out the half-open window. He whined. David stroked the dog's neck. "We're almost there, boy. I know you're fed up with riding in here" Ahead, a blue sign read in white letters: Welcome to Mason's Corner, the Jewel of Mississippi. Pop. 3,200. The town limits were marked only by small, erratically spaced homes.
Dark Corner by Brandon Massey