Winter is upon us, and with it, inklings of Christmas.
There is no finer time, I find, for families and friends to get together, to share warmth and wine—mulled or otherwise—over stories of sleds and snowmen... all while a blanket of white settles softly upon the trees and streets outside.
But we all know that winter can be wicked as well; a season as cruel as it is cold. At its worst, winter, and the nightmarish things it brings, can kill. And in Snowblind by Christopher Golden, it does... or indeed they do.
“They were like wraiths, jagged, frozen bogeymen, and they whirled about on crushing gusts of wind.” In the promising prologue of Golden’s new novel—a prolonged piece set some years before the bulk of the book—these obscene creatures take eighteen souls young and old: a tragedy that tears apart the small Massachusetts community of Coventry.