By Michael Rowe
Welcome to Parr's touchdown, inhabitants 1,528 . . . and shrinking.
The 12 months is 1972. Widowed Christina Parr, her daughter Morgan, and her brother-in-law Jeremy have back to the distant northern Ontario mining city of Parr' s touchdown, where from which Christina fled earlier than Morgan used to be born, looking shelter. Dr. Billy Lightning has additionally back looking for solutions to the secret of his father' s brutal homicide. All will locate a few a part of what they seek-- and extra.
Built at the web site of a decimated 17th-century Jesuit undertaking to the Ojibwa, Parr' s touchdown is a city with secrets and techniques of its personal buried within the caves round Bradley Lake. A three-hundred-year-old horror slumbers there, calling out to the insane and the murderous for hundreds of years, begging for release-- a call for participation that has ultimately been spoke back.
One guy is following that voice, slicing a swath of violence around the state, bent on a poor resurrection of the traditional evil, plunging the city and all its humans into an unending evening.
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Additional info for Enter, Night
Ashley missed the answer due to static, which was probably from dropping her headset and/or the battery pack once too often. She jiggled the wire that connected them, and by then somebody else was off on a different joke—evidence, if she had needed it, that Dan's joke hadn't led to uncontrollable laughter. "Here comes the rain," Nikko announced, and in another moment it started, as suddenly as someone turning on the shower, sharp and distinct-sounding, like an infinite number of thrown pebbles.
Sixteen years of living in Farnham was enough to make anyone's brain begin to slumber, but Martin was determined not to let this happen to him, as it had so obviously happened to all the elders of the village, and to so many of his kinsfolk, and was now beginning to happen to his age-mates. Even his cousin Raleigh, who had always been good for thinking up schemes and pranks and ways to get out of working any more than was absolutely necessary, even Raleigh was no longer fun. Lately he was taken with Lissa, the blacksmith's daughter, and all of a sudden he was concerned about not looking foolish, or lazy, and he was absorbed with searching out opportunities to talk with her, and—failing that—to talking about her.
But why was his spirit—his ghost, whatever (she felt silly even thinking the words to herself)—still here? Something must be wrong. Well, duh. Something beyond that he'd been killed in a terrible way. All the boys had been killed in a terrible way. Why was this one still here—she again cringed at the wording—haunting? No matter where Roehmar killed them—and the police suspected it hadn't been at the house—afterward he brought the bodies back to the farm, cut them into manageable pieces, wrapped them in plastic bags, and shoved them into the basement's crawl space.
Enter, Night by Michael Rowe