Hugh B. Cave
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Evil stirs in the heart of paradise.
To plantation caretaker Peter Sheldon, St. Alban is a lush Caribbean jewel...but suddenly, all is not what it seems.
A crime wave is sweeping the villages . . . and a mysterious green fog is terrifying natives on the mountain paths. A group of children has vanished while hiking near Black Rock Peak. The twin of one missing boy lies seething with fever in the village below-dreaming of a cold, wet hell filled with terrible green light.
Ma Jarrett, wise in the ways of old island magic, is beginning to believe the stories of a "Devil's Pit" high in the mountains—and so is Peter. His own mind has been touched by the malevolent force in the fog, with almost deadly results. Soon, both will know the truth behind the legends.
Satan is alive and well and gathering souls for his dark army. Ma Jarrett and Peter Sheldon must find a way to stop him—or his fury will sweep the world!
With his hands limp between his knees, he thought about what was happening, or what seemed to be happening, on this coffee plantation where he considered himself a kind of assistant to the manager. Mr. Peter Sheldon appeared to be in some puzzling kind of trouble, no? Some trouble connected with the Devil's Pit. Of course, there were people who jeered at the idea of a Devil's Pit and called it a peasant superstition. But he, Manny Williams, had been hunting wild pigs in these mountains since he.
Story." "You think, then, that Gerald is communicating with his brother Georgie?" Peter had asked. "Do you really believe that's possible?" "I really believe it is. As I told you, the subject of twins has intrigued me ever since the doctors operated onthe wrong twin in the hospital where I was working." But more than the possibility of telepathy between twins had been discussed there in the Great House drawing room. Alton Preble, obviously anxious to depart from Armadale at the earliest.
Gone limp. His only hope was to grab at the cliff wall somehow and hope the thing that was crashing down on him would miss him. He let go the rope and clutched an outcrop of rock. Missed and clawed at another as he slid downward. This time his fingers caught and hung on. The tree came down past him like some pursuing monster in a nightmare. One whipping branch, like an out-flung arm, slashed across his back as it went by. Then he felt himself sliding half-conscious down the last few feet of.
Disbelief. "How old did you say you are, Manny?" "Squire, it not a man's age that count. Not him color, either. Plenty people younger than we not going to be down here doing what we doing this minute. Not for all the money in St. Alban." It was meant to be a compliment, Peter realized. But the fact that a man in his seventies was still reasonably fresh while Peter Sheldon was close to collapse did not make it seem a valid one. Then he glanced up at the cliff wall they had conquered in.
Her long-fingered hands in her lap and lowered her head. She closed her eyes. It was one of the positions she habitually assumed when meditating, but the exercise she engaged in now was more than mere meditation. She sought to call into play a power she had acquired years before, in India, at the feet of a certain Maharajji who was one of that country's most revered holy men. As she willed herself into a trancelike state now, her face slowly lost its anxiety and acquired an expression of.