
This book is a reread, but might as well have been a virgin read for the length of time since I last read it and the various growth potential of the reader since that time.
When I was younger, we often spent a lot of time up at my aunt’s lakewoods cabin in Northern Minnesota. So did plenty of other aunts and uncles, their friends and otherwise. Someone along the way, someone left a copy of Ghost Story behind, which was put onto a rickety suspended shelf for such books left behind, kind of our family “little library”: take a book/leave a book mentality. I was a budding Stephen King fan at the time (up until I got into King, I read plenty of other juvenile-focused horror, and King was one of my first forays into adult horror, along with Lovecraft). This book was on that shelf, next to Flowers in the Attic (VC Andrews, which had been read as well).
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