One novel, five short stories, two poems, this collection holds a looking glass that unhinges reality in the wee hours; roads that hold with needful, unloving arms; the miasma of damp, autumnal leaves that cling to your heels and follow you home, promising the whisper of darker things still yet to come as your eyes begin to close.

Yes, this is horror, the creeping kind, the kind that lingers and sticks like tombstone mosses, promising cold, dark, ethereal depths. You will face your darkest reflections in the stories bound between these pages. May you delight in the shivers. Don't forget to look over your shoulder; while you do, you won't be watching the shadows to your periphery, or what waits just ahead in the nebulous dim, its teeth sharp, its intention deadly.