For three centuries the rotting wreck of the David Dark has lain beneath waves, but an awful secret is concealed in the chill waters. But how do you kill the undead?Īs he searches for an explanation he uncovers a link to a mysterious ship, lost around the time of the nearby Salem witch trials. And when he discovers the body of a local busybody, impossibly impaled on a still hanging chandelier, he knows something must be done. Tom Doherty Associates, LLC, 1984 - Fiction - 350 pages. In a bid to rid himself of this horrific spectre he soon finds that many more in the town have been victims of unwanted visitations.

Yet all is not what it seems, and this sinister spirit is not Jane, but something altogether evil and terrifying. John's grief is total, so when he starts to see the ghostly apparition of his wife he almost welcomes this supernatural phenomenon.

But disaster strikes and Jane and their unborn child are killed. ‘John…make love to me.The quaint little seaside town of Granitehead seemed like a perfect place for John and Jane Trenton to start their life together. After training as a newspaper reporter, Graham went on to edit the new British mens magazine Mayfair.At the age of 24, Graham was appointed executive editor of both Penthouse and Penthouse Forum magazines. ‘John…’ she sighed, and her voice sounded like four or five voices speaking at once. 'One of the few true masters of the horror genre' James Herbert The first body was found in Europe. Graham Masterton was born in Edinburgh in 1946. Jane, you’re dead! You can’t be here, you’re dead!’ ‘Jane,’ I said, in a constricted voice, ‘you’re not real. In those dim white robes, she stood nearly seven feet, her hair almost touching the ceiling, and she looked down at me with a serious and elongated face that sent dread soaking through me like the cold North Atlantic rain. What frightened me most of all though, was how tall she was. Thin, and sunken-eyed, her hair waving around her in some unfelt, unseen wind, her hands raised as if she were displaying the fact that she was dead but bore no stigmata. She gradually began to appear, standing at the foot of the bed.

Croakily, I answered, ‘Jane? Is that you?’ There was no mistaking whose voice it was. “I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I was awakened by the sudden dimming of my beside lamp. The Pariah, by Graham Masterton (Star, 1983).įrom a charity shop on Mansfield Road, Nottingham.

The pariah graham masterton