An Air That Kills
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If you drive northwest of Albany for less than an hour, you will find yourself entering the foothills of the brooding Adirondacks. Forests of northern hardwoods mixed with stands of hemlock, spruce and pine dominate the landscape. Dotted here and there amongst the dark forests are isolated cottages and the pastures of small wilderness farms.
Fronting on one of the back-country roads is an abandoned farmhouse. The FOR-SALE sign disappeared long ago leaving only the rotting wood frame and the sign and the house are mostly hidden from curious eyes by the branches of untidy trees and wild bushes. The house was built between the road and the foot of a sharply inclined hill directly behind it and is connected to the outside world by a dirt path ending with a rusty mailbox. The RFD mailman who used to deliver to the house decided it was a strange bunch who lived there, what with two tyrant women running the place, a wandering woodsman, an old derelict hired hand who died mysteriously, and a kidnapped orphan, and then those murders… well, it was no wonder so many strange and terrible things happened as they did.
Excerpt From
An Air That Kills
