The Greyhaven Wireless
A Folk Horror Novel

About this book:

In the salt-drowned marshes of Norfolk, nine ancient barrows rise like the ribs of a buried giant. It is 1890, and two men of science have come to the Seventh Sister with forty-eight Grove cells, sixty feet of Norwegian pine, and the hubristic belief that the earth itself can be made a wire. Arthur Pym seeks promotion; Nicholas Vance seeks immortality. The villagers of Greyhaven—three surnames, no strangers, and a dread that keeps them from the mounds—seek only to be left alone. But the chalk beneath the turf does not conduct electricity. It remembers.

When the galvanometer needle begins to swing in rhythms no telegraph key could produce, and a violet thread of silent fire bridges the spark-gap without a battery’s command, the experiment ceases to be physics. The barrows are not graves. They are something far older, far colder, and they have just been plugged into the Empire’s nervous system. As the midsummer solstice approaches and the transmissions grow longer, clearer, and impossibly personal, Arthur realizes the signal is not traveling *through* the earth. It is coming *from* it. And the dead have a vocabulary all their own.

*The Greyhaven Wireless* is folk horror wired into the Victorian age—a novel of copper and chalk, of Faraday’s laws breaking against forces that predate the laws of nature. For readers who love the creeping dread of *The Stone Tape*, the scholarly unease of M.R. James, and the terrible beauty of landscape that remembers what humanity has forgotten. Some frequencies were never meant to be received.