Greygallows

Chapter One

The blackened shell of the house still stands on the edge of the moor. Ivy has crept over the rough stone, veiling the ugly marks of fire, blurring the stark squares of emptiness that once were doors and windows.

In other times and other places there would be nothing left to mark the site except a roughness on the coarse, veiling grass. The stones would have been carried away by the villagers, to mend their walls and build sturdy byres for livestock. Cut stone of such quality is rare in the North Riding; but the walls of Greygallows stand untouched save by the elements. The wild animals of the moor shelter there—foxes and birds and badgers. Their calls and the sighing wind are the only sounds that break the silence. The villagers shun the spot. They call it accursed; and who am I to say that they are wrong?

I have always avoided books that begin "I was born." But here I sit, about to commit the same literary sin. I can plead some excuse, for in my case the phrase is not merely a conventional opening. It is significant that I was, in fact, born in the year eighteen hundred and twenty-six, se ... read full excerpt from Greygallows ebook