Michael is involved in a car crash which kills his girlfriend. He wakes to find himself in the hospital of a small town in Montana. There he convalesces and gradually becomes acquainted with the local community, most of whom seem to be clever and charming, although some are arrogant and difficult to get on with. In particular he forms a relationship with a smart and pretty local girl. He learns that he has been in a coma for weeks and that his friend’s remains have already been sent back to California for cremation. He keeps in touch with his family through emails and phone calls. As time goes by, however, and he gradually recovers his mobility, he begins to notice odd things about the community. People disappear without explanation and nobody ever mentions them again. Strangers come and go on a regular basis but the local people seem to ignore them. He is about to leave and go back home when his new girlfriend disappears. He stays to investigate. He gradually begins to come to the terrible conclusion that he is actually dead and that everybody in the town knows that he is no more than a ghost. The truth, however, is far more shocking... Masterton turns in another top-notch performance with this unusual ghost story. This is an excellent horror story, with an added dimension, an extra layer of suspense ― Booklist Starred Review Graham Masterton, a “master of modern horror” (Library Journal), is one of the world’s best-selling horror writers. A journalist by trade, Masterton’s debut novel, The Manitou, was an instant hit and was filmed with Tony Curtis and Susan Strasberg. Community By Graham Masterton Severn House Publishers Limited Copyright © 2013 Graham Masterton All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-84751-484-4 CHAPTER 1 The pick-up first appeared in Michael's rear-view mirror about twelve miles north of Weed. It kept its distance at least a half-mile behind them, too far away for Michael to make out what kind of pick-up it was, but its halogen headlights were fixed on high beam, and so even at that distance they were irritatingly bright. 'Inconsiderate schmuck,' said Michael, but only to himself, under his breath, because Tasha was sleeping. He flipped his mirror to anti-glare, but even that didn't stop him from being dazzled. About eight miles north of Weed, it started to snow. Not thickly, just light whirly stuff that flew into the windshield and skipped diagonally across the highway. The sky was slate-gray, but as they came around the next curve, the pine trees thinned out, and Mount Shasta appeared, its snowy peaks shining orange in the very last light of the day. 'Hey,' said Michael, giving Tasha a nudge. 'Mount Shasta.' She opened her eyes and blinked at him. 'What did you say?' 'Mount Shasta. Right there.' 'Oh my God, it's amazing. It doesn't even look real.' 'Fifth highest peak in the Cascade Range,' he told her. 'You would know that.' 'I also happen to know that it's four thousand three hundred twenty-two meters high, with an estimated volume of eight hundred fifty cubic kilometers.' Tasha punched his arm. 'Why do you always have to reduce everything to numbers? Look at it, it's so spiritual.' 'Excuse me, I can do spiritual. The Modocs believe that the sky spirit Skell came down to live on top of Mount Shasta. Not only that, a race of aliens called Lemurians are supposed to have made their home inside it, in a network of tunnels. And those New Age people are convinced that it's one of America's principal hubs of psychic energy.' 'I just think it's beautiful. It's so serene.' Now and then, the mountain disappeared behind the trees, and each time when it reappeared its orange glow had faded a little more, until the sun went down and all they could see was its upper slopes, chilly and white in the gathering darkness. Mount Shasta was as lonely as God, somebody had once written about it, and as white as the winter moon. Michael hadn't intended to drive through Siskiyou County after nightfall, especially if it was snowing, or windy, but they had blown a tire just outside Yreka and they were running over an hour behind schedule. He had booked a room for them at the Comfort Inn in Weed for six pm, and it was already a quarter after seven. Tasha stretched herself. 'You shouldn't let me go to sleep like that,' she complained. 'I won't be able to sleep tonight now.' 'Who said anything about sleeping?' She punched his arm again and said, 'Who do you think you're kidding? I know you. Ten-thirty precisely and you close your eyes and not even the Mormon Tabernacle Choir could wake you.' Michael checked his rear-view mirror again. The pick-up was still behind them, still with its headlights on high. If he hadn't been so anxious to make up time he would have slowed down and let it pass. He didn't argue with Tasha because he knew that she was right – he did zonk off as soon as his head hit the pillow. To be fair to him, though, he had been driving nearly three hundred miles every day, all t