The Good House: A NovelSimon and Schuster, 02.09.2003 - 496 Seiten *From the author of The Reformatory—A New York Times Notable Book of 2023* Award-winning author Tananarive Due's critically acclaimed story of supernatural suspense, as a woman searches for the inherited power that can save her hometown from evil forces. The home that belonged to Angela Toussaint's late grandmother is so beloved that the townspeople in Sacajawea, Washington call it the Good House. But that all changes one summer when an unexpected tragedy takes place behind its closed doors, and the Toussaint's family history—and future—is dramatically transformed. Angela has not returned to the Good House since her son, Corey, died there two years ago. But now, Angela is finally ready to return to her hometown and go beyond the grave to unearth the truth about Corey's death. Could it be related to a terrifying entity Angela's grandmother battled seven decades ago? And what about the other senseless calamities that Sacajawea has seen in recent years? Has Angela's grandmother, an African American woman reputed to have "powers," put a curse on the entire community? A thrilling exploration of secrets, lies, and divine inspiration, The Good House will haunt readers long after its chilling conclusion. |
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... inside of her. She sensed the ever-knowing voice of her guiding esprit, a voice she had first heard when she was six. That voice had guided Marie well in the twenty-five years since. Her esprit had led her from New Orleans to Daytona to ...
... inside of her. She sensed the ever-knowing voice of her guiding esprit, a voice she had first heard when she was six. That voice had guided Marie well in the twenty-five years since. Her esprit had led her from New Orleans to Daytona to ...
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... inside the cotton shirt, her arms snared above her head. “Tariq?” “It's Crispus Attucks, back from the dead to give you a brother's perspective on the Boston Massacre,” a low-pitched voice rasped. Angela's heart bucked. Jesus. She poked ...
... inside the cotton shirt, her arms snared above her head. “Tariq?” “It's Crispus Attucks, back from the dead to give you a brother's perspective on the Boston Massacre,” a low-pitched voice rasped. Angela's heart bucked. Jesus. She poked ...
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... inside the Good House since I-don't-know-when,” Art Brunell said, clasping Angela's hand warmly as his squat figure filled the doorway. His brow was dotted with sweat from his climb up the steps. “It's going on twenty-five years now. My ...
... inside the Good House since I-don't-know-when,” Art Brunell said, clasping Angela's hand warmly as his squat figure filled the doorway. His brow was dotted with sweat from his climb up the steps. “It's going on twenty-five years now. My ...
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... that had been built for wine. Now, Li'l Angel, you be careful on those steps. The jars were dusty now, and the preserves inside were surely dried or rotten, but some of them were still down there exactly where The Good House.
... that had been built for wine. Now, Li'l Angel, you be careful on those steps. The jars were dusty now, and the preserves inside were surely dried or rotten, but some of them were still down there exactly where The Good House.
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Angela felt Angie Angie’s Art’s asked baka Becka Bo’s breath Brunell called can’t close Corey felt Corey thought Corey’s couldn’t damn dead door dream DuShaun Eshu Everly eyes face feel fingers Fisher floor Fourth of July fuck gazed gela girl Glenn gone gonna Gramma Marie Gramma Marie’s house grandmother’s hadn’t hand happened he’d head hear hell hurt inside knew Laney laughed leaves living Liza Longview looked Maritza mind mother mouth Myles Myles’s Naomi Naomi Price never night Onyx Orishas Papa Legba pulled realized remember Rick ring Sacajawea scared Sean Sean’s shit Skamokawa smell smiled someone sorry sound Spot stared suddenly sure talk Tariq tell There’s thing told tonight Toussaint tree trying vodou voice waiting walked wanted wasn’t watching What’s whispered who’d window woman woods words Yeah you’re