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The Curse of the Wendigo (The Monstrumologist)
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About The Curse Of The Wendigo
Product Description Flesh-eating danger abounds in the chilling sequel to The Monstrumologist that is “as fast-paced, elegant, and yes, gruesome as its predecessor” ( Publishers Weekly, starred review). While Dr. Warthrop is attempting to disprove that Homo vampiris, the vampire, could exist, his former fiancée asks him to save her husband, who has been captured by a Wendigo—a creature that starves even as it gorges itself on human flesh. Although Dr. Warthrop considers the Wendigo to be fictitious, he relents and performs the rescue—but is he right to doubt the Wendigo’s existence? Can the doctor and Will Henry hunt down the ultimate predator, who, like the legendary vampire, is neither living nor dead, and whose hunger for human flesh is never satisfied? This second book in The Monstrumologist series explores the line between myth and reality, love and hate, genius and madness. Review * "Lush prose, devilish characterizations, and more honest emotion than any book involving copious de-facings (yes, you read that right) ought to have...Yancey has written both books in the Monstrumologist series as if they were the last, going for broke and playing for keeps, no matter who or what ends up on the chopping block. This is Warthrop’s The Hound of the Baskervilles; if we hold our breath, maybe part 3 will come faster.", Booklist, starred review * "A page-turner of an historical horror that will simultaneously thrill readers and make them sick to their stomachs.", Kirkus Reviews, starred review * "The chilling sequel to Yancey's The Monstrumologist, is as fast-paced, elegant, and, yes, gruesome as its predecessor.", Publishers Weekly, starred review "Yancey maintains his excellent, literary fiction style...Once again, Yancey skillfully weaves a tale that touches readers at a visceral level and will linger long in the imagination.", VOYA About the Author Rick Yancey is the author of The Monstrumologist, The Curse of the Wendigo, The Isle of Blood, and The Final Descent. He is also the author of The Fifth Wave series. Rick lives with his wife Sandy and two sons in Gainesville, Florida. Visit him at RickYancey.com. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. ONE “What Am I, Will Henry?” I do not wish to remember these things. I wish to be rid of them, to be rid of him. I set down the pen nearly a year ago, swearing I would never pick it up again. Let it die with me, I thought. I am an old man. I owe the future nothing. Soon I will fall asleep and I will wake from this terrible dream. The endless night will fall, and I will rise. I long for that night. I do not fear it. I have had my fill of fear. I have stared too long into the abyss, and now the abyss stares back at me. Between the sleeping and the waking, it is there. Between the rising and the resting, it is there. It is always there. It gnaws my heart. It chews my soul. I turn aside and see it. I stop my ears and hear it. I cover myself and feel it. There are no human words for what I mean. It is the language of the bare bough and the cold stone, pronounced in the fell wind’s sullen whisper and the metronomic drip-drip of the rain. It is the song the falling snow sings and the discordant clamor of sunlight ripped apart by the canopy and miserly filtered down. It is what the unseeing eye sees. It is what the deaf ear hears. It is the romantic ballad of death’s embrace; the solemn hymn of offal dripping from bloody teeth; the lamentation of the bloated corpse rotting in the sun; and the graceful ballet of maggots twisting in the ruins of God’s temple. Here in this gray land, we have no name. We are the carcasses reflected in the yellow eye. Our bones are bleached within our skin; our empty sockets regard the hungry crow. Here in this shadow country, our tinny voices scratch like a fly’s wing against unmoving air. Ours is the language of imbeciles, the gibberish of idiots. The root and the vine have more to say than us. I want to show you something. There is no name for i
