The brochure for the Thorburn colony promised a quiet artists retreat where Paul Fleming, could write, unhampered by the influences of the outside world. A stubborn case of writers block and an unhappy divorce had made these last months hell. But Paul didnt know what hell was.....Until he felt a stinging cold that wasnt the normal chill of a Sierra dawn. Until he heard the wind rise in tormented cries as somthing dark and tinged with desperation beckoned to him. Until he found John Thorburns diary and discovered the anguish of his band of pioneers. For hell was the ordeal of the Thorburn party and hell is the timeless horror that lies ravenous, waiting for Paul and his fellow artists, anxious to collect on an old debt....in flesh and blood.

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