В мрачном английском замке на севере страны жестокий убийца оставляет позади следы своего злого шарта. Призрак-убийца извлекает душу жертвы в собственное тело, чтобы продолжить кровавые игры. В мире, где мертвых поднимается с могилы, чудовищный убийца приходит за новым жертвоприношением....
You kept hoping you’d acclimatise, but the more you drew it out the more it hurt. Until suddenly you were in over your shoulders and – just like that – it was absolutely fine. Cool, refreshing, the best thing ever.
And I always envied the few hardy souls who just took a running jump, hit the water all curled up into a ball and then opened up, laughing, already there: the whole incremental ordeal bypassed in a single moment of raw courage.
So what I’m getting at is this. Okay, maybe it’s cold in the grave.
When I hit that other country, from whose bourne no traveller back-pedals, I’m going to be moving fast. I’m gambling that the first ten seconds or so will be the worst.
þlle"
