The Lost Girls of Willowbrook
Ellen Marie Wiseman
"The air tasted like death; the inhuman, guttural cries coming from what sounded like a hundred tortured souls, rising and falling and rising again, made the hair on the back of her neck stand up."
"The air tasted like death; the inhuman, guttural cries coming from what sounded like a hundred tortured souls, rising and falling and rising again, made the hair on the back of her neck stand up."
'“What a warm welcome back to Saint Ambrose, huh?” she says. “Population: messed up.”'
"It’s night but the scene is ablaze with gaudy neon and streetlamps. People everywhere. Like a writhing mass of luridly colored insects."
"On my first day here fourteen long months ago, she sat on my bunk, squeezed my knee with her horribly long fingernails and told me that she knew what I’d done, and thought it was fantastic."
“I found three unearthed graves,” he said. “Someone dug them up.”
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