People read stories to fall into the world created by the author. Yes, for a moment they can escape their troubles and be entertained. They regale in the written word even though each will perceive the same story differently. However, every once in a while a story comes along that sticks to their bones invade their souls, and they know that this story will always be a part of us somehow. This is how I felt reading Robert McCammon's Bethany’s Sin.
A perfect little town, with a perfect little home, and yet, something evil, ancient, mysterious, and murderous slithers and groans beneath the well-kept streets and lawns of the quiet, quaint town called Bethany's Sin. Manipulating and cultivating, breeding and nurturing, and waiting for the perfect moment and the perfect person, to rebirth a powerful, blood-thirsty vestige from the flesh and bone-ashes of hell and once again concord, destroy, and enslave their enemy.