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John Sinclair - Episode 8 The Taste of Human Flesh von Conroy, Gabriel (eBook)

  • Erscheinungsdatum: 27.09.2016
  • Verlag: Bastei Lübbe AG
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John Sinclair - Episode 8

They are as old as mankind. They feed in the shadows we've created. And they're about to step into the light ... When young Cordelia Barnes dies of a drug overdose, her body is brought to Abbott & Sons, one of the oldest funeral parlors in South London. But Mr. Abbott is no ordinary man. He is a ghoul -a c a foul and ancient creature He and his gruesome family live in darkness and feed on human flesh. Soon, DCI Sinclair is called to the scene, determined to wipe out the nest of ghouls. But Sinclair doesn't realize that his best friend is trapped under their lair, and that the ghouls are preparing a feast. The slaughter is about to begin ... Detective Chief Inspector John Sinclair works for Scotland Yard's Special Division, an elite unit that deals with extraordinary cases. DCI Sinclair is a battle-hardened veteran of Afghanistan, a man who's been to hell and back. This time, he's not just fighting to save our world. He's fighting for his soul ... 'John Sinclair' is the reboot of Europe's longest running horror series. Originally conceived in 1973 and still running strong, the 'John Sinclair' novellas are firmly rooted in the finest pulp tradition, true page turners with hair-rising tension, exquisite gore, and a dash of adventure. 'John Sinclair' combines the dark visions of Stephen King, Clive Barker, and the 'X-Files' with the fast-paced action and globe-trotting excitement of James Bond. 'A hero so suave and dashing, he makes James Bond look like a grubby detective sergeant, a plot that reads like it came straight from the great vaults of Hammer, and enough action and derring do to keep even the most ardent pulp fan smiling with glee... Highly recommended.' Ginger Nuts of Horror. Gabriel Conroy was born in Los Angeles, California, in 1967. After high school, he joined the armed forces and was stationed in Germany for several years. He discovered his love for writing while traveling through Europe. When he returned to the States, he studied Journalism at Los Angeles City College and UCLA, and currently works as a freelance journalist, writer, and translator. Mr. Conroy is married and has a dog and a cat.


    Format: ePUB
    Kopierschutz: watermark
    Seitenzahl: 100
    Erscheinungsdatum: 27.09.2016
    Sprache: Englisch
    ISBN: 9783732522460
    Verlag: Bastei Lübbe AG
    Größe: 1074 kBytes
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John Sinclair - Episode 8

First I heard the screams.

Somewhere in the distance.

I didn't know where they came from. But they were clear and vivid: sounds of pure anguish. The kind of cry you hear from an animal-or a person-when the pain simply won't stop.

And more than one.


A chorus of voices, all pleading, all screaming ... all needing the pain to stop.

I looked around.

I was standing in an underground structure of some sort. Concrete walls all around, and a dark liquid running down the sides of the corridor. I was walking through a narrow hallway, barefoot, stumbling, feeling my way forward. There was hardly any light. I heard water dripping, and a sound like a hammer striking something solid and metal.

And a saw. The insistent hum of a buzz saw.

And then, very clearly, I heard a voice in my head. Talking to me.

I stopped dead in my tracks. I could feel my heart racing. I could feel sweat on my forehead.

My father's voice.

"You know this place, don't you?" he whispered.

I looked around, searching for him. It'd been over ten years since he died.

"Where are you?" I whispered.

Ahead of me was a metal door.

"You know where I am," said my father. His raspy whisper of a voice brought back memories of his leathery skin, his gnarled fingers, his dull eyes. The way he smelled, of old cigarettes and aftershave.

"It's waiting for you," said my father. "You just have to look."

I slowly approached the door. The banging noises in the background seemed to merge with the beating of my heart.

"This is what you deserve," my father said. "You know that, don't you?"

I placed my hand against the door and pushed.

It made a shrill creaking sound that stabbed my ears like a dagger.

The screams around me were getting louder.

I felt a thumping inside my head, a steady sound that kept rising and rising, until it hurt, until it felt as if there was blood coming out of my ears.

The door was almost open. Almost ...

And then I woke up.

Sunlight. Birds outside. I was lying in a bed. Breathing heavily, and covered in sweat. The sheets were damp.

Must have been a nightmare, I thought. But I couldn't be sure. Not after everything that's happened. It certainly hadn't felt like a nightmare. It felt as if I'd actually been someplace, not just in my thoughts, but with my whole being.

I felt a dull, throbbing pain in my left leg.

I looked around.

I noted with surprise that the room was rather pleasant. Cream-colored walls. Off-white, I believe they call this in home decorating magazines. Or eggshell white. There were curtains swinging gently in the breeze by the open window. Bright rays of sunshine were streaming in. My skin itched where they touched me. Ever so slightly, but I could feel it.

And I could feel something underneath my skin.

Something inside me.

I tried to move, I wanted to take a look at my leg, to find out what was wrong and scratch that itch.

And that's when I realized I couldn't move.

I looked around, and my eyes widened as fear washed over me.

I was strapped to the bed with heavy leather belts. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out.

I struggled against the straps, arching my back, trying to kick my legs. I was breathing heavily. My heart started to pound, like that of a trapped animal.

At that moment, the door opened.

A young and rather pleasant-looking blonde nurse entered the room. She had an attractive face and an unremarkable haircut, shoulder length. Rather practical, I supposed.

She looked at me and gave me a professional smile.

"You're awake!" she said and managed to convey some genuine-sounding excitement. "Would you like some gruel?"

"Why am I tied up?" I said, an edge of panic in my voice.

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