Revenge of the Manitou
Chapters (20)
REVENGE OF THE MANITOU
Graham Masterton
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About this Book
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Table of Contents
About Revenge of the Manitou
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No one believed little Toby Fenner when he described the man in his wardrobe. A man whose face seemed to grow from the very wood. People smiled when Toby insisted he heard voices begging him for help. Until one day Toby woke up as someone else... And by then, things had gone too far to stop the return of a timeless, malignant force with a burning mission of vengeance for events centuries in the past. The Manitou had been vanquished once before. This time he would not fail. This time evil reborn returned triumphant...
Graham Masterton’s The Manitou marked in a milestone in leading occult bestsellers. Now the acclaimed master of horror has returned with a spine-tingling sequel steeped in blood-chilling terror.
Epigraph
Ye Wampanaug wise Man Misquamacus affirm’d ye Daemon had ye Name Ossadagowah, which signifys ye child of Sadogowah, ye which is held to be a Frightful Spirit spoke of by antients as come down from ye Stars. Ye Wampanaugs and ye Nansets and Nahrigansets knew how to draw It out of ye Heavens but never did so because of ye exceeding great Evilness of it.
—H. P. Lovecraft
Contents
Welcome Page
About Revenge of the Manitou
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About Graham Masterton
About the Katie Maguire Series
About the Scarlet Widow Series
Also by Graham Masterton
From the Editor of this Book
An Invitation from the Publisher
Copyright
1
He woke up during the night and he was sure there was someone in his room.
He froze, not daring to breathe, his eight-year-old fingers clutching the candy-striped sheet right up to his nose. He strained his eyes and his ears in the darkness, looking and listening for the slightest movement, the slightest squeak of floorboards. His pulse raced silently and endlessly, a steeplechase of boyish terror that ran up every artery and down every vein.
“Daddy,” he said, but the word came out so quietly that nobody could have heard him. His parents were sleeping right down at the other end of the corridor, and that meant safety was two doors and thirty feet away, across a gloomy landing where an old grandfather clock ticked, and where even in daytime there was a curious sense of solitude and suffocating stillness.
He was sure he could hear somebody sighing, or breathing. Soft, suppressed sighs, as if they meant sadness, or pain. It may have been nothing more than the rustle of the curtains, as they rose and fell in the draft from the half-open window. Or it may have been the sea, sliding and whispering over the dark beach, just a half-mile away.