Blood Garlands

In these eight stories, the world reveals itself as stranger and more attentive than we allow. A girl boards a bus whose driver has no fingernails. Star-snails guide a traveler through mountains where musical instruments have teeth. A cottage offers warmth but demands silence. A man staples papers endlessly while his shadow refuses to move.

From North Florida's wounded pineywoods to nameless gothic houses to suburban cul-de-sacs, these tales insist that sacrifice and witness matter. Here, June Moore walks with a knife wrapped in hair.

For readers of Shirley Jackson, Caitlín R. Kiernan, and Kelly Link.