CHAPTER ONE
Morning
It was the summer the world stopped turning on the spiral of
history， the summer we spent waiting for the world to begin
again， when the sun hung above the village and poured a hot
glue that slowed everything down.
This idn t nothin ， said grandmother in June， recalling the
drought of 1976， when the earth swallowed lambs， and the
electric summer after the war when people got shocks off
each other whenever they touched. By August， though， both
those things had already happened， and even she had to admit
it was worse.
Shadows were pushed back into awkward cornc~， and， ~
was there I first noticed things being moved around， as the
spirits of the house made space for themselves in their dimin-
ishing refuge. Gradually， though， objects themselves took on
a life of their own and moved without the spirits help， rising
from the surfaces of furniture through empty air that the heat
had squeezed even gravity out of.
Mother was unable， eventually， to ignore the autonomous
flight of pillows on the landing， and salt and pepper pots that
raced each other across the kitchen table. But she couldn t tell
anyone because the same thing was said to have happened
around Rosemary， an aunt who d thrown herself into the
quarry pool long before I was born， so the village was
deprived of another exorcism， last seen when one of the
newcomer families claimed that their brand-new house was
possessed by an incubus who was tampering with the chil-
dren s dreams. A large crowd had gathered with candles. At
first they felt let down as the Rector simply traipsed through
the house with his mind on other things， and whispered some
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