Salem's Lot Book Reviews 소설 & 이야기

The smell of old parchment, dried sage, and damp cellar immediately flooded the small cabin. Reaching inside, I pulled out a massive, leather-bound tome. The cover was cracked, unmarked, and held together by frayed iron hinges. I dropped it onto the wood with a heavy thud, followed by three smaller, equally ancient books. "Bro, this is giving major Salem witch trial vibes," Amberly muttered, stepping closer to inspect the pile. She poked the cover of the thickest book with her index finger. "Are we about to summon a demon? Because I feel like my life has enough drama right now."

Theresa was old enough to have experience, but looked young enough to please Salem’s eyes—two key requirements for a housekeeper in his home. “Where is Salem now?” I asked. A good feeding would soothe my nerves. “He’s not at home, my lady. I couldn’t tell you.” Grumbling, I headed to Salem’s library. Perhaps he had a book I could entertain myself with. Once there, I found a book lying open on a desk. It was titled Mythic Bloodlines: Lost & Fabled Lilitu. Curious, I studied an illustration on the open page. It depicted a trio of strange-looking women, just like the ones Salem had been painting all this time. The accompanying text stated:

He owned nearly every one of King’s books and multiple paperback copies of his favorites: It, Salem’s Lot, Pet Semetary, Christine and The Dead Zone. He paused, frowning at the black leather-bound book stuffed between It and Salem’s Lot. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t place from where. He shrugged and passed it over, searching for the model of Christine he’d built about six or seven years ago . . . 8 or 9 10 or 11?

Even though he seems fine,” I mused, redirecting my gaze to the copied pages of the book. You know?" " Uh, I was exploring and I think I definitely discovered something else regarding you." Let you proceed to unzip your backpack to take a thick book out of it. I closed my eyes as I skimmed the title in bright letters on the dark cover: The Insider Thoughts of the Salem Witches. witches ?" he muses intriguedly and raised an eyebrow. Jorfit laughs apprehensively. Try not to judge me,” he asks me, then, at that moment, he opens the book between the pages where a bookmark sits.

I choose a Stephen King paperback – Salem’s Lot - from the lower shelves and struggle to decipher the pages, my curvy body sinking into the cushy couch. I’ve always been more size 12 than two, and look like those dumb pictures of Eve – soft sloping stomach like van Eyck’s Ghent altarpiece, pert breasts, and curving hips for days. The words of my chosen book all turn up like mush. The leather smells like the cigars Samael smokes, the spice of his orange and musk cologne, and rain. It smells like him. I close my eyes, inhaling the scent. Memories of him from my childhood haunt me, the man cloaked in shadow, the owner of my soul.