Martin Francom

On a Friday morning in May, a Krampus mask-maker loads his van onto the Bremerton ferry. A retired pharmacist films the crossing for his YouTube channel. Somewhere on I-5, a combat medic turned horror novelist drives the long way around from Port Orchard. A retired FBI agent will arrive Saturday. By Friday night, the masks are warm and the shadows are moving wrong. By Saturday morning, three guests have woken from the same dream at the same moment - a corridor that extends past the walls of the hotel, and a sound like stone being dragged across bone.
By Sunday, the building has grown twenty-three feet of space it doesn't have, and the convention inside it is no longer running in the same world that opened its doors. Stone on Bone is Pacific Northwest horror at the intersection of craft, obsession, and the specific terror of accuracy - the discovery that what you've been building toward was never yours to invent.