Light crept across the snow in the backyard and the snow became blindingly bright—it seemed more than white, seemed more like empty space, like a crisp sheet of paper just fed through the roller of a typewriter. Adam Golaski spins dark, weird tales in the original sense of the word: uncanny, unearthly, sometimes fantastic and always slightly off-center. These are stories to be savored late at night in bed, read by the light of a single lamp in an empty, dark house.