Great Writing

 I’m reading Shirley Jackson's We Always Lived in the Castle. So subtly chilling. This paragraph strikes me as the soul of the book
I found a nest of baby snakes near the creek and killed them all; I dislike snakes and Constance had never asked me not to. I was on my way back to the house when I found a very bad omen, one of the worst. My book nailed to a tree in the pine woods had fallen down. I decided that the nail had rusted away and the book -- it was a little notebook of our father's, where he used to record the names of people who owed him money, and people who ought, he thought,to do favors for him -- was useless now as protection. I had wrapped it very thoroughly in heavy paper before nailing itto the tree, but the nail had rusted and it had fallen. I thought I had better destroy it, in case it was now actively bad, and bring something else out to the tree, perhaps a scarf of our mother's, or a glove. It was really too late, although I did not know it then; he was already on his way to the house. By the time I found the book he had probably already left his suitcase in the post office and was asking directions. All Jonas and I knew then was that we were hungry, and we ran together back to the house, and came with the breeze into the kitchen.