This inhuman place makes human monsters.

So what, ghosts can't hurt you. That's what I thought then.

Bellowing, angry roar.Smell of blood and evergreen.

There was a grove of cottonwoods clustered around an old water pump. Their leaves danced and rustled, their shadows racing along across the ground in the moonlight

What he saw destroyed his sanity in one clawing stroke.

So where do the ideas-the salable ideas-come from? They come from my nightmares. Not the night-time variety, as a rule, but the ones that hide just beyond the doorway that separates the conscious from the unconscious.