Carl Nixon’s The Tally Stick: a strong contender for the Ngaio Marsh Award

The car containing the sleeping children left the earth. From the top of the wooded bluff, where the rain-slicked road had curved so treacherously, down to the swollen river at the base of the cliff, was easily sixty feet. There was no moon that night, only low, leaden cloud clogging the sky. As if suspended…
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