The rain fell upon the village of Oakhaven with the weight of old debts, drumming against the slate roofs and the muddy roads where the mud had turned to a thick, sucking clay. It was a time before the iron roads and the gas lamps, an age when the world was small and the dark was vast, and in the center of this grey expanse stood the House of the Hollow King. It was not a place of joy, but of...
The house stood on the hill like a broken tooth in the dark mouth of the valley, its slate roof heavy with the weight of centuries of rain. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and stale hearth-smoke, a perfume that had settled into the very beams and floorboards of the estate. Margaret Holloway walked the corridors with the slow, deliberate gait of a woman who had long since...
The storm hit the ridge at dusk.
Wind screamed. Rain lashed.
Silas stood.
He held the lantern.
Glass shook.
Flame died.
Darkness swallowed the world.
"Stop!" a voice yelled.
Silas did not stop.
He climbed.
The mud sucked at his boots. Cold. Heavy.
He was a cobbler.
Hands rough.
Nails thick.
But the ground was not leather.
It was stone.
It was bone.
He reached the top.
The cabin waited.
Black....
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)