Page 32
He is there; I feel him, one ten-thousandth of an inch outside my range of vision. I stalk him. He stalks me. The man who wrote these books is not the man who lives in them. That man is the form; Will Henry is the shadow. And now that shadow lives in me.
And it lives in you.
Turn around now.
Will Henry has come home.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends