Dinner with the Cannibal Sisters

By Douglas Clegg

From New York Times bestselling and award-winning novelist Douglas Clegg comes a novella (112 pages in print) of a young man on a search for the truth behind the legend of the famous Windrow sisters.

One October night long ago, authorities discovered two teenaged girls at Bog Farm surrounded by a scene of unimaginable carnage. A legend grew of their cannibalistic night of terror, but young Lucy and Sally were never put on trial and no one has ever before gotten close enough to interview them.

Twenty years later, an inexperienced reporter travels to their New Hampshire farm, determined to shed light upon the events of that dark night.

Lizzie Borden, Dr. Crippen, the Windrow Sisters — murderers whose mystique has lasted more than a century. But of them all, the tale of the Windrow girls is unrivaled in its legend of depravity and innocence corrupted.

But what is the truth of it? Who are these girls now? And why live on the same farm where the horrors took place so many years before?

No one knew the real story behind the legend of Bog Farm...until now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Douglas Clegg
• Release date: Jan 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9780986350801

Douglas Clegg

Douglas Clegg is a screenwriter, poet, and the author of dozens of novels, novellas, and short story collections. His fiction has won the Bram Stoker Award and the International Horror Guild Award. He is married to Raul Silva and lives near the New England coast, where he is currently writing his next work of fiction.

Book preview

Dinner with the Cannibal Sisters

Praise for Douglas Clegg

Clegg’s stories can chill the spine so effectively that the reader should keep paramedics on standby.

—Dean Koontz, New York Times bestselling author.

---

Douglas Clegg has become the new star in horror fiction.

—Peter Straub, New York Times bestselling author of Ghost Story and, with Stephen King, The Talisman

---

Douglas Clegg is the best horror novelist of the post-Stephen King generation.

— Bentley Little, USA Today bestselling author of The Haunted.

---

Clegg gets high marks on the terror scale…

—The Daily News (New York)

Dinner with the Cannibal Sisters

A Novella

Douglas Clegg

Alkemara Press

Contents

Get Your Free eBook & More

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Afterword

Also by Douglas Clegg

Get Your Free eBook & More

About the Author

Get Your Free eBook & More

Get one free ebook, price drop news flashes, book updates, and exclusive offers—become a V.I.P. member of Douglas Clegg’s long-running free readers’ newsletter at

http://DouglasClegg.com/newsletter

Get your free ebook now when you join Douglas Clegg’s free newsletter, Douglas Clegg News.

Dinner with the Cannibal Sisters

1

In the fall of 1910, several months after Halley’s Comet blazed a corner of the sky, I took the train north to meet the famed Windrow sisters. I was not quite twenty, ambitious, with a newborn belief in my brilliant future.

I changed trains three times after New Haven. I ran between tracks, soaked with sweat and held hostage by a cheap wool suit. My route diverted, with more crossings to catch and new trains to chase after.

I didn’t think I’d make it to Bog House by nightfall.

At Hartford, my compartment emptied.

As the train jolted to life, a middle-aged gentleman took the seat across. He jotted notes in a furious manner within a small brown leather notebook. A slight nod of greeting, then back to his writing. He wore a farmer’s straw hat, which did a poor job of hiding his clean-shaven scalp. A blue kerchief substituted for a tie at his collar.

I looked out the window to the passing countryside. The brick and gray city gave way to flat open land between scattered woods, interrupted by bungalows and blighted Victorians.

Warm, he said. For October.

Too warm.

Quite a storm last night.

I glanced over. He kept his eyes downcast as he scribbled notes. He’d dropped his hat onto his lap. I couldn’t help but notice the smooth contours of his head.

Hear about the Upson crossing?

Don’t tell me the bridge is out, I said.

All right, I won’t.

Another transfer, I groaned, mentioning the village near my ultimate destination.

Heading to the harvest festival? He tapped his pencil at the edge of his teeth, watching me. No wait. Don’t tell me. The tie, ragged collar, uncut hair, hat too large for head, packsack. You work for the papers.

Bulls-eye. I felt ordained by his guess.

I’ve seen the uniform before.

Unable to contain myself, I bragged about my assignment.

His eyes widened slightly.

I know the area, he said. I go up there. At times.

He named the excellent dairy—close to the village—famous for its ice cream. The river nearby. The fall foliage. A few family names.

And then, the Windrow place.

His left eye twitched. Out the window, down to his notebook, then back to me. Hard to believe they’d invite a reporter up.

I heard from Holbein himself. I told him. The Moravian.

The gentleman squinted.

The servant, he said. He’s Dutch.

Dutch. Moravian. Prussian. Who knows?

He made a low grunting noise. An invitation from Holbein.

From the sisters, too.

The notorious Lucy and Sally.

Ever see them? I asked.

He cocked his head to the side, an inquisitive bird sizing me up. Years ago. In Boston.

Their tour? I said. What was it like?

Humiliating.

Silence seeped into the space between us, interrupted by the grind and gruff of train. I thought about those girls, the lecture circuit, and the desperate uncle who