The things stirring there, reflected in her pupils, were clearly memories. But they were mine and not hers. Only mine. I am due to leave hospital in three days. The surgeons have mended whatever was broken and patched me up so that it is difficult to see the joins. But more is broken than my insides, and perhaps something old and previously ignored has even been fixed. I have to think of it this way – in terms of physical properties and parts of me that I cannot name. Otherwise I might go insane. One of the nurses picked up on what had happened with the dead motorcyclist, and she has been questioning me ever since. After a concerted effort on her part, I finally broke and told her what I saw and what I did with the knowledge. I expected mild concern, even laughter. What I got instead was utter belief. Nurse Haggard believes in what she calls the flipside; her late mother had some kind of latent mediumistic skill and she is herself (so she claims) slightly attuned to the dark.
What do You think about Pretty Little Dead Things?
