I am I. Not a god, but a man as any other: born of flesh and blood, age marked against the bones like the rings that count the years of a tree when you saw into its trunk. I am older than any coastal redwood, and I no longer stand tall. I am I, and I have had many names and borne many secrets, but the worst of those are always weighed to be carried in the pockets as stones as one walks into a river. I am I. But who I once was is the story worth telling: And she was the river I drowned in.
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The Curiosities Collection
Thirteen subdued spooky tales
An ephemeral collection of wonders, terrors, and experiments in low-key horror — small slivers of darkness written over thirteen months. The collection has been described as quietly creepy.
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