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The Cuan

A tale of monsters that hearkens back to the best of classic horror

“It is not of the earth we are made. But the water. All things run back to the ocean in time. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Pah! It is by a lack of water that these things are defined.”

These are the words of Colin Donaldson, the mysterious recluse who owns Castleside, a sprawling Gothic mansion perched on the very edge of land.

Aileen Richards enters the damp and dreary house to tutor Donaldson's ward, the lonely and sickly Quincy who claims the grotesque statues that decorate the roof are really alive. But Aileen's job is complicated at every turn by accusations and counter-accusations from the boy and his guardian.

Unsure who to believe, Aileen is further confounded by her employer's erratic behavior: one moment gentle and solicitous, the next harsh and evasive.


Then there's the house's strange motto, frequently invoked by Colin when strange accidents occur: The act done by me against my will is not my act.

Is this proof of a criminal conspiracy operating in the cliffs beneath Castleside? Or something much darker?

This is a chilling tale, where Jane Eyre meets Hammer Horror, identity is paramount and the real monsters may not be who they first seem.


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