The Loney

Fülszöveg

I
'The Lonej is not just good, it's great. An amazing piece of fiction' Stephen King
'An extraordinarily haunted and haunting novel, arrestingly in command of its unique spot in the landscape. No one who missed it the first time has much of an excuse now' Dailj Telegraph
'Nuanced, deliberate and building insensibly from a murmur to a shriek, The Loney is an unforgettable addition to the ranks of the best British horror' Metro
'With splendidly idiosyncratic characters, a dank, bleak landscape and an all-pervading sense of menace, this is an eerie, disturbing read that doesn't let up until its surprise ending' Daily Mail
'A haunting and ambiguous novel that will keep you up at night' Daily Express
'Wonderful . . . bone-chilling and poetic' The Times
'Here is the masterpiece by which Hurley must enter the Guild of the Gothic: it pleases me to think of his name written on some parchment scroll, alongside those of Walpole, Du Maurier, Maturin and Jackson' Guardian
If it had... Tovább

Fülszöveg

I
'The Lonej is not just good, it's great. An amazing piece of fiction' Stephen King
'An extraordinarily haunted and haunting novel, arrestingly in command of its unique spot in the landscape. No one who missed it the first time has much of an excuse now' Dailj Telegraph
'Nuanced, deliberate and building insensibly from a murmur to a shriek, The Loney is an unforgettable addition to the ranks of the best British horror' Metro
'With splendidly idiosyncratic characters, a dank, bleak landscape and an all-pervading sense of menace, this is an eerie, disturbing read that doesn't let up until its surprise ending' Daily Mail
'A haunting and ambiguous novel that will keep you up at night' Daily Express
'Wonderful . . . bone-chilling and poetic' The Times
'Here is the masterpiece by which Hurley must enter the Guild of the Gothic: it pleases me to think of his name written on some parchment scroll, alongside those of Walpole, Du Maurier, Maturin and Jackson' Guardian
If it had another name, I never knew, but the locals called it the Loney — that strange nowhere between the Wyre and the Lune where Hanny and I went every Easter time with Mummer, Farther, Mr and Mrs Belderboss and Father Wilfred, the parish priest.
It was impossible to truly know the place. It changed with each influx and retreat, and the neap tides would reveal the skeletons of those who thought they could escape its insidious currents. No one ever went near the water. No one apart from us, that is.
I suppose I always knew that what happened there wouldn't stay hidden for ever, no matter how much I wanted it to. No matter how hard I tried to forget . . . Vissza