Publisher's Synopsis
"Oh my God!" He screamed, his voice hoarse and strangled, and he threw his left arm across his face as if defending himself, while his right arm, shooting out, seemed to hit something I couldn't see, and his fingers crooked themselves as if clutching at what had evaded his blow.
I heard the noise of a resisting joint and saw the shadow (or so it appeared) of a clutching hand on his throat as his body was bent back as if resisting some unseen pressure, then lunged forward again, and I heard the noise of a resisting joint and saw the shadow (or so it seemed) of a clutching hand on his throat. At that point, some of my movement power returned, and I recall hurling myself at the empty space between him and me, feeling the shape of a shoulder under my grip and hearing the slip and scoop of a foot on the floorboards. Something intangible, now a shoulder, now an arm, fought its way into my grasp, and I heard a panting respiration that wasn't Jack's or mine, and I felt a hot breath that stank of corruption and decay in my face now and then. And the whole time, this physical struggle was only symbolic: what he and I were grappling with was some terrifying spiritual presence, not a thing of flesh and blood. Then there's.Nothing was there. The ghostly invasion ended as abruptly as it had begun, and there was Jack, his face gleaming with sweat, standing opposite me in an empty room, rain beating on the roof and gutters chuckling. We didn't say anything, but the next thing we knew, we were running for the ford in the pouring rain. The flood was soothing to my soul, as it seemed to wash away the terror of great darkness and the stench of corruption into which we had been thrown.
