Victor hovered before the open window, the cigarette held loosely in his fingers, the gloom of the lightless cabin behind him almost a physical weight. The hairs on the back of his neck were raised, but Victor didn’t dare turn on a light only to be silhouetted against the window for anyone out there to see.
Continue reading “The Woodsmen are Afraid of Lavender and Wolfsbane”
glimpses here and there 