In 1890 an Irish sea captain fled his doomed ship and found refuge in the farmlands of northeastern Indiana. With him he brought a curse... a curse that was passed down to his descendants. In 1968 two brothers must finally confront this curse not on...
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From the Journal of Captain Thomas Husher
April 26, 1890
The conspiracy to steal my slumber and sanity has dispersed. From my hovel I have emerged into a foggy morning adorned with wet grass and overseen by a pale and indifferent sun. Strangely my mind does not seemed dulled by the lack of sleep, but rejuvenated by the primal thirst for survival. Whatever alien daemons may have frolicked at my doorstep the night prior, their putrid games have done little to discourage my intention to homestead. Nay. The drumbeat is even stronger, I reckon. Today I'll venture into town to gather supplies. A proper house must be built, and around it proper wards and charms must be woven. I pride myself a civilized man, but there is yet a strong stain of Celtic woad upon my soul. I shall dearly rely upon that pagan cunning in the days and nights to come.
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Chapter 3
It Looks Russian
Night on the farm was dark and sacred. I loved it, in small doses. But if I had to venture too far for too long, a deep dread would start to build in my spine. It began at the base of my skull, then spread like melted butter down my back and through my chest. I felt weakened and energized all at once.
Jesse's flashlight was failing. The light sputtered, dimmed, and snuffed out as we trekked along the dusty path from the house to the old milk barn. "Damnit!" Jesse cursed as he bashed the flashlight against his palm. The light flickered back to life just as we reached the milk house door.
"Hope you still aren't allergic to dust," Jesse said as he jiggled his key in the lock.
He flung the door open and flipped the light switch.
Good thing I wasn't still allergic to dust. There was a lot of it. Along with cobwebs, dead flies, and scattered papers. This was Dad's workroom. To me it always felt like the inner sanctum of some hillbilly wizard. Maybe because it was only slightly larger than an outhouse.
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