Do you dare set foot in Spooking?
It's the terrible town on the hideous hill -- and Joy Wells is a proud resident. A fan of classic horror stories, Joy is convinced that famous author E. A. Peugeot based his spine-tingling tales on Spooking. Take the eerie similarities between the nearby swamp and the setting of his masterpiece, "The Bawl of the Bog Fiend." Could the story be true? Could the bog fiend be on the loose?
Things become truly horrifying when Joy learns that Darlington, the despicable suburban city where she is forced to go to school, is planning to build a water park over her beloved bog. It is up to her to safeguard the endangered area and its secrets. Little does she know that there is someone determined to destroy not only the bog but the town of Spooking itself -- and anyone who dares stand in his way.
P. J. Bracegirdle spins a yarn of delicious devilry and macabre mayhem in the very first book ofThe Joy of Spookingtrilogy.
Chapter 1
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were -- I have not seen
As others saw.
-- Edgar Allen Poe
Spooking -- the terrible town on the hideous hill.
A crooked road leads to it from a black buzzing bog, climbing up in sharp, zigzagging turns over dizzying drops...to the summit, where endless headstones appear, vanishing into the distant gloom. Overgrown and askew, they lie broken against their gray neighbors -- trapped in a prison of old sorrows guarded by stone walls and iron spikes.
Beyond this ancient cemetery, the cracked avenues of Spooking begin. Dark and oppressive, lined with huge overhanging maples and oaks. In their shadow, crumbling residences loom, their former glory disfigured by broken shingles and peeling paint. Drafty old mansions, standing impossibly against the onslaught of time -- each sinister and terrible, they flash with menace whenever a storm rolls in.
So might have said someone from Darlington -- the modern, orderly city that sprawled out around Spooking Hill. So they might have said, that is, were the citizens of Darlington typically given to such observation, which they most certainly were not. And why should they be? They had no interest in exploring that creepy old town on the hill, living as they did in such a nice, tidy community; in happy little homes with gleaming roofs and colorful vinyl siding that never peeled. All identical and built in neat little rows, with freshly mowed lawns glittering green under the snicker-snacking of automated sprinkler systems. In Darlington there were no twisted trees, no tangled briar, no choking weeds. And no crow-infested graveyards full of crumbling old bones.
Which was exactly how the Darlings, as they were called, liked it.
But looking out from her curious round room, down at the ever-burning city lights, Joy Wells had a decidedly different view. For instance, did the Darlings ever consider how a wind howling across a drafty gable might make a roaring fire feel cozy? Or how rain pounding the tin roof above made you feel all the more snug tucked up under a thick pile of old blankets?
Joy doubted it. Darlings, in her experience, were no more given to reflection than observation.
True, Spooking was a bit rundown. The looming ornamented houses, no longer fashionable, were mostly left to fall in on themselves these days. The remainder of the town was no better, really. Once a lush landscaped arboretum, the rambling park off the Boulevard had become a neglected mess of tangled woods and cascading ponds dripping brown liquid into each other. The red brick library stood locked and lifeless, its vast collection of books gathering dust inside. The children's playground looked like the wreckage of some old bomber long shot out of the sky. Across from the playground, the high walls of Spooking Asylum blocked not only the view but even the sun most days. The asylum walls continued down tow
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