Słowem wstępu
Joe Hill to amerykański pisarz, którego proza oscyluje wokół grozy, horroru i obyczaju. Początek jego kariery datuje się na rok 1997, kiedy to debiutował opowiadaniem 'The Lady Rests'. Od tego czasu pisał i publikował w magazynach kolejne teksty.

W roku 2005 ukazała się pierwsza książka Hilla, zbiór opowiadań 'Upiory XX wieku'. Książka zyskała bardzo dobre opinie wśród krytyków i czytelników, zdobyła też prestiżowe nagrody Bram Stoker Award czy British Fantasy Award. O tym jakie wrażenie wywarł na odbiorcach debiut Joe'ego może świadczyć fakt, iż zaraz po informacji, że pisarz pracuje nad swoją pierwszą powieścią, wytwórnia filmowa Warner Bros. nabyła prawa do ekranizacji książki. 'Pudełko w kształcie serca' trafiło do księgarni w roku 2007.

Wtedy też okazało się, iż Joe Hill to syn Stephena i Tabithy King.
1. The Miracle of the Grass

The boys came for her in the dusk and said Jake had done something wonderful and come and see. Jake had been out there for thirteen hours with no food and no rest, pacing in circles beyond The Great Wall of Charley and everyone had known he was going to stay out until either he finished what he was working on, or collapsed from exhaustion.

They ran ahead of her, a half dozen boys at first, but more appearing all the time, poking their heads out of their bedrooms, or charging down the stairs, the pack of them shouting and shoving and calling and running and skipping in their excitement to see the miracle Jake had made. Some of them were singing happy obscene songs about Jake, Jake, Jake the fucking flake. She couldn't tell which of them were doing the singing, and they hurried out of earshot before she could find them and get them by the hair.

Elaine had to stop some of the boys at the lock to tell them to put on gloves and hoods, Kyle that isn't your jacket, Brad you're stepping on Yoshii's facemask, Mycroft you are not going out like that, walk back to your room and put something on over your thermals. She broke up a shoving match over a pair of coveralls. A boy shrieked when another boy slammed his hand in the lock. The hand was swollen and mashed but nothing broken and she said she would look at it in the infirmary in a few minutes.

Then Elaine was outside and crossing the dooryard in the gathering dusk, and somehow she was up front again, ahead of the crowd. Jake was waiting just beyond the gate in the wall, but Elaine pulled up before she got to him. The view stopped her, pinned her in place. That was really how it felt, as if she had been pinned, had been stuck suddenly through the middle like a butterfly about to be nailed to a lepidopterist's display.

Beyond Jake, the ground was blown into sandy hillocks and dunes, a crescent of rolling beach, stretching down toward what should've been a sea. Of course there was no sea, and never had been. Instead there were only miles of hardpan, yawning away toward the faraway scarp of the crater rim.

But the dunes - the dunes...

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