I · What this collection is
The people in these pages had no reason to invent anything
A ghost story gets vaguer as it goes. It is told for effect, and effect does not survive close questioning. The material in these three volumes does the opposite — it gets narrower. The teller gives you the depth in feet. He gives you the coursing of the brick, the side the mortar was struck from, whether the air moved. He is not describing a feeling. He is describing a job site, and the job site was wrong.
That is the thread running through all three books. The Tunnel People collects a hundred accounts from miners, plumbers, well-diggers and utility men — tradesmen with an unusual amount of experience of what is normally under a building. Never Hang a Mirror Facing the Bed collects forty rules enforced absolutely, for four generations, by people who did not consider themselves superstitious and who always had an answer for why — an answer that was always too small for the rule attached to it. The Taboo Society collects a hundred cases where the closed house was not a story at all, but a matter of court testimony, population genetics and public record.
Almost none of it resolves. The hole was filled, the floor was poured, the shaft was capped, the crew was paid and sent home.
What is left is the shape the repetitions make. The passages are older than what stands above them. They were sealed from the far side. They are ventilated, which means that somewhere, at the other end, they are open to something. The rules apply only when the sleeper is unconscious, only to the reflecting surface, never to the window beside it. The bloodlines stayed small on purpose, and the people who arranged it left records, because records were the instrument.
None of these books tells you what to believe. They tell you what was reported, who reported it, and — in the case of The Taboo Society — exactly which court file, genetics paper or primary text the case rests on. The reading is left to you.