By James Herbert
David Ash – detective of the mystical – is shipped to the mysterious Comraich fortress, secluded deep within the Scottish nation-state, to enquire an odd, high-profile case: a guy has been stumbled on crucified – in a room that used to be locked. The experiences recommend that the cliff-top citadel is being haunted . . .
Who – or what – is the reclusive hooded determine that Ash has noticeable from the window strolling around the courtyard within the lifeless of night?
What are the unusual, animal-like sounds that come from the encircling woods?
And why are the castle’s population so reluctant to speak about what they've got seen?
. . . what Ash finally discovers is actually surprising.
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Extra info for Ash [David Ash 3]
I can still hear him though. ” Now I roll my eyes. It always comes back to that. Every spooky place in America, it seems, was built on an old Indian graveyard. I’m as sick of hearing that as I am of being told that the only real Indians live west of the Mississippi. But Willy isn’t finished yet. ” he asks. Wilbur holds out his hand. I settle back in my seat. I understand. It’s not the time or place to get into this. ” I think it’s a faint hope. People don’t change overnight, even in a healthy outdoor atmosphere.
But I can’t stay here forever. I look at my watch just as I hear the clanging sound of a big cowbell being hit by a stick. Time to work together, build teams. Happy little birds, be solitary sparrows no longer. We’ll meet the rest of the camp staff and then be told what group task we have to accomplish for the two remaining hours before dinner—maybe nest-building. Dinner will be our first meal in the dining hall. We were all given lunch bags from the school cafeteria when we left Pioneer Junior High, which we ate on the bus.
His eyes catch mine; I can’t look away. A little smile curls his lips. ” someone behind me declares. ” I quickly turn my head away to look behind me. It’s Willy Donner. He’s holding his cell phone and frantically tapping away at its keys. He holds it up again. “Look,” he says, his voice as tragic as that of a shipwrecked sailor. ” “Cell phones do not work here,” a know-itall voice intones. ” It’s the square-built man in the khaki uniform. He’s close enough now for me to make out the name tag on his chest.
Ash [David Ash 3] by James Herbert