The Baskerville Tales (Short Stories) (2014) - Plot & Excerpts
Just a few weeks ago, the Reverend Dr. Amory Larch, Rector of Wollaston, had performed the burial service himself for the mourners shivering in the November drizzle. Now the grave was an expletive of mud and roots. Bits of coffin wood lay scattered among the remains of the wilted flowers the bereaved had left. Something had exploded from inside the earth. That was never a good sign. Nor was the fact that the shimmering, predawn gloom was utterly still. Even the usual chorus of waking birds was silent as … well, as the tomb. It hadn’t been that way a quarter hour ago. In his comfortable house on the other side of the churchyard, where he had a good cellar and a cozy library and a workshop for the manufacture of clockwork toys—every child of the parish got one as a birthday present sooner or later—Larch had awakened to what sounded like the boom of a howitzer. He’d scrambled out of bed in a panic, sure Bonaparte was back from the dead. If he’d taken the time to wake up first, he would have realized that Old Boney was long gone, right along with Larch’s youth.
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