cb.booksofblood

　　　　THE BOOK OF BLOOD　　　　THE MIDNIGHT MEAT TRAIN　　　　THE YATTERING AND JACK　　　　PIG BLOOD AND STARSHINE　　　　IN THE HILLS, THE CITIES　　　　THE BOOK OF BLOOD　　　　　　THE DEAD HAVE highways.　　They run, unerring lines of ghost-trains, of dream-carriages, across the wasteland behind our lives, bearing an endless traffic of departed souls. Their thrum and throb can be heard in the broken places of the world, through cracks made by acts of cruelty, violence and depravity. Their freight, the wandering dead, can be glimpsed when the heart is close to bursting, and sights that should be hidden e plainly into v