Excerpt from Sensing Things:
In that cemetery, I’d twice encountered a darkness as cold as death—once after my employer’s funeral in December and that first time, when as a kid I’d hidden in an empty mausoleum only to find it wasn’t empty after all . . . .
The blocklike stone building D.J. was pointing to was a mausoleum, the same mold-crusted mausoleum where I’d played hide and seek that fateful summer before my mother died. It was the same mausoleum where I’d hidden from Carrie and where I’d found out too late that something else had been hiding too. I rubbed the spot on my arm where, long ago, the fingerlike bruises from that encounter had marred my skin for months. This was the mausoleum I visited in my nightmares. The very last thing I’d wanted was at hand.
“Wait, kiddo,” I breathed. “Don’t go down there.” A wave of nausea swept over me. Even my voice shook. “It’s not safe.”
