I. In the heart of a second-growth piney-woods jungle of southern Alabama, a region sparsely settled by backwoods blacks and Cajuns—that queer, half-wild people descended from Acadian exiles of the middle eighteenth century—stands a strange, enormous ruin. Interminable trailers of Cherokee rose, white-laden during a single month...

Did you know that, once introduced to routine, our brains are capable of accepting it to the extent that when something changes, it doesn’t notice? The change could be small and harmless, an object there that wasn’t, or something moved to another room that you...

“They say the tree bleeds when you peel off the bark.” Liz’s eyes flickered in the orange light. Her lips curled into a small smile, as if she enjoyed that particular detail. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no way a tree could bleed,” Tucker said, yanking his burning marshmallow...

I can still hear them. In the stillness of the night as I wait for the grasp of sleep to take me, the sighs start flooding in from all directions. At first, they’re so low that I think I must be imagining them, but gradually,...