Comments about Thomas Coston
The Specter's Gaze
It was a night like this many years ago.
The full moon bright and the wind shuddering my abode.
I was a boy of ten, lying awake in bed, listening to the gust and scratch, scratch, scratching of the old oak's branches on my window.
It was a small room that my brother and I shared.
He asleep and I most certainly aware.
Our two beds lay just an arm length apart. How I envied him.
He who easily slept, while I lay awake fearing the shadows.