From the powerful imagination of a new horror master comes a bone-chilling tale set in a small town where good and evil are joined in a terrifying, deadly battle...
Once an idyllic Pennsylvania village, Pine Deep awoke one morning to find itself bathed in a massive bloodletting. Twice in thirty years the townsfolk have endured the savage hungers of a murderous madman...but if the residents think the death of serial killer Karl Ruger put an end to the carnage, they're dead wrong.
The Nightmare Never Ends
Bodies mutilated beyond description, innocents driven to acts of vicious madness. A monstrous evil is preying on the living--and the dead--and turning the quiet little town into hell on earth. Their only hope is to find the source. But the secrets that lurk in the heart of Pine Deep are twisted into its very roots. This time the townspeople aren't just fighting for their lives, but for their very souls...
"If I were asked to select only one new voice in horror fiction to read today, it would be Jonathan Maberry." --Katherine Ramsland
"Maberry takes us on another roller coaster ride through the cursed town of Pine Deep. You might want to keep the night light on for this one. Really." --Laura Schrock Emmy Award-winning writer/producer
"A fabulously written novel that grips you from its first line to its last. Jonathan Maberry's writing runs from dark and beautiful to sharp and thought-provoking, and his books should be on everyone's Must-Read list." --Yvonne Navarro author of Mirror Me, AfterAge, Hellboy, Elektra, Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Tempted Champions, Species, Species II, Aliens: Music of the Spears, and Ultraviolet
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Posted September 06, 2010 by Connie B , DBQThe people in Pine Deep are in deep trouble. Maberry's novels hold your attention until the very last word and this one is no exception. Just the right amount of horror, bloodshed and mystery.
June 30, 2007
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Excerpt from Dead Man's Song by Jonathan Maberry
It was October when it happened. It should always be October when these things happen. In October you expect things to die.
In October the sun shrinks away; it hides behind mountains and throws long shadows over small towns like Pine Deep. Especially towns like Pine Deep. The wind grows new teeth and it learns to bite. The colors fade from deep summer greens to the mournful browns and desiccated yellows of autumn. In October the harvest blades are honed to sharpness, and that's when the sickles and scythes, the threshers and combines, maliciously attack the fields, leaving the long stalks of corn lying dead in haphazard piles along the beaten rows. Pumpkin growers come like headsmen to gather the gourds for the carvers' knives. The insects, so alive during the long months of July, August, and September, die in their thousands, their withered carcasses crunching under the feet of children hurrying home from school, children racing to beat the fall of night. Children do not play out-of-doors in the nights of Pine Deep.
There are shadows everywhere--even in places they have no right to be. The shadows range from the purple haze of twilit streets to the utter, bottomless black in the gaping mouths of sewers. Some of the shadows are cold, featureless--just blocks of lightless air. Other shadows seem to possess an unnatural vitality; they seem to roil and writhe, especially as the young ones--the innocent ones--pass by. In those kinds of shadows something always seems to be waiting. Impatiently waiting. In those kinds of shadows something always seems to be watching. Hungrily watching. These are not the warm shadows of September, for in that month the darkness still remembers the warmth of summer suns; nor were they yet the utterly dead shadows of bleak November, to whom the sun's warmth is only a wan memory. These were the shadows of October, and they were hungry shadows. When the dying sun cast those kinds of shadows, well . . .
This was Pine Deep, and it was October--a kind of October particular to Pine Deep. The spring and summer before had been lush; the autumn of the year before that had been bright and bountiful, yielding one of those rare and wonderful Golden Harvests that are written of in tourist books of the region; and though there had been shadows, there hadn't been shadows as dark as these. No, these shadows belonged to an autumn whose harvest was going to be far darker-- these were the shadows of a Black Harvest October in Pine Deep. So, it was October when it happened. It should always be October when these things happen.
In October you expect things to die.