IT WAS A melancholy night. Dampness impregnated the sultry autumn air. The light of the moon filtered faintly through a huge black cloud that hung over the face of the heavens. Somewhere from the great swamp near the graveyard a whippoor-will sobbed; and the throbbing sound echoed the anguish in the heart of Gordon Lane.
Book: Zombies, Zombies, Zombies Author: Jack D'Arcy