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329 pages, Hardcover
First published August 25, 2015
I understood why Aunt Cordelia had dragged herself out to the road before committing suicide. Why she hadn’t let herself die on the property.There was nothing particularly brilliant about this book, but it was well-written, it was surprisingly thoughtful, and above all it was entertaining. In a week filled with terrible, boring books, this was a breath of fresh air. Strange to say that about a horror novel, but it is what it is.
Because then she would have been stuck forever.
Like me.
In the narrow spill of light from my phone, I read the first letter: a deeply gouged D.And then, of course, there's the issue of her aunt's death. It was a suicide.
I walked down the hall, piecing the words together as I saw each new letter.
O … N … T …
SELL THE HOUSE.
Then I noticed smaller letters, under the E in HOUSE. One last word. I held my phone closer.
DELIA.
The message was for me.
My dead great-aunt had gouged messages into the floor for me.
“You’re not the only one, you know,” he said, his voice jagged. “We all had people we wanted to see again. We’ve all been left behind. We’re all forgotten. Everyone I ever loved, everyone who ever loved me, is dead. You’re … you’re not the only one.”And though not frequent, there are plenty of things that go bump in the night.
The only thing about the figure before me that resembled a human child was her height—and her feet.So yeah, read this book. It was pretty good :)
The rest of her was a grotesque mess. The skin of her face was cratered with black sores. Her eyelids were crisscrossed with the scars of old cuts. Her cheeks and lips had begun to rot away, revealing the decaying interior of her mouth—pitted gums and an uneven row of sharp teeth. It gave her the otherworldly perma-grin of a great white shark, even when she was unconscious.
Her arms were just patchy skin over bone, her fingers curled painfully into claws.







2.5 out of 10
THE PIVEN INSTITUTE
FOR THE CARE AND CORRECTION OF TROUBLED FEMALE
FOUNDED 1866 BY MAXWELL G. PIVEN

I couldn’t even will myself to turn my body, so instead I just turned my head and my flashlight, fully prepared for the sight of some ancient, forgotten old mental patient who’d been hiding in the shadows, surviving all these years by eating rats
I didn’t see an emaciated old woman