جزئیات کتاب
فرمت
جلد نرم
صفحات
222
زبان
انگلیسی
منتشر شده
May 25, 2019
ناشر
Pulp Hero Press
ISBN-10
1683901983
ISBN-13
9781683901983
توضیحات
Blurb
People don’t live. Only stories live.
"Jack Mathis, a bright young book editor in Chicago, has
found the next great American writer. Yet this anonymous genius is inspired to
create in the darkest way imaginable: he picks his victims carefully, murders
them gruesomely, then gives them new life in the best stories Jack has ever
read.
The writer knows all about Jack. All about his wife. Knows
everything.
He has more stories in mind, too.
Jack wants them.
But what is he willing to do to get them? "
Excerpt
"“What are you doing to me?” the young man asked Cordell.
He was looking straight up at him, and Cordell could see him
plainly, as far down as he was, because of the lights overhead, while he himself was no more than a shadow, he knew, a silhouette backlit by the brightness.
“Well?” the young man asked. “Well?”
His hands were still caught behind him with the tie-downs,
and his feet still bound, too. But he was standing. Cordell had dropped him feet first into the well.
“Why are you doing this?” the young man demanded. “Just tell me. What did I do? You want me to be scared? You got me scared. I am good and scared.”
Cordell said to him, “You remember the Oakland earthquake in
1989?”
“No, I don’t. Come on, I was a kid.”
“Quite a few people died. Part of an overpass collapsed. You
know, they have to clear away the concrete and steel and whatever holds up these roads, and then they have to deal with whatever’s left of the people who were crushed to death. Can you imagine what they felt, looking at what was left of people who had an entire road fall onto them? What happens when a person is trapped inside a tin can and a slab of concrete as big as a skyscraper falls on
him?”
The young man in the well said, “I don’t know. I don’t have an answer. Why are you talking about this?”
“I couldn’t get rid of the image because what’s left doesn’t seem human after something like that happens. It’s garbage, basically. But this is what happens. People don’t last. People die. Stories last.” He stepped away from the well.
“Hey!” the young man yelled. “Where are you going?”
Cordell returned in a moment with a gasoline can. He tilted
it so that all of the gasoline poured into the well and all over the young man.
“Stop it! Stop it, stop it, don’t do this!”
Cordell struck the match.
“Buddy, don’t do it!”
He dropped the burning match into the well and immediately
backed away.
The young man’s screams were extremely loud and continued
for nearly a minute. "
People don’t live. Only stories live.
"Jack Mathis, a bright young book editor in Chicago, has
found the next great American writer. Yet this anonymous genius is inspired to
create in the darkest way imaginable: he picks his victims carefully, murders
them gruesomely, then gives them new life in the best stories Jack has ever
read.
The writer knows all about Jack. All about his wife. Knows
everything.
He has more stories in mind, too.
Jack wants them.
But what is he willing to do to get them? "
Excerpt
"“What are you doing to me?” the young man asked Cordell.
He was looking straight up at him, and Cordell could see him
plainly, as far down as he was, because of the lights overhead, while he himself was no more than a shadow, he knew, a silhouette backlit by the brightness.
“Well?” the young man asked. “Well?”
His hands were still caught behind him with the tie-downs,
and his feet still bound, too. But he was standing. Cordell had dropped him feet first into the well.
“Why are you doing this?” the young man demanded. “Just tell me. What did I do? You want me to be scared? You got me scared. I am good and scared.”
Cordell said to him, “You remember the Oakland earthquake in
1989?”
“No, I don’t. Come on, I was a kid.”
“Quite a few people died. Part of an overpass collapsed. You
know, they have to clear away the concrete and steel and whatever holds up these roads, and then they have to deal with whatever’s left of the people who were crushed to death. Can you imagine what they felt, looking at what was left of people who had an entire road fall onto them? What happens when a person is trapped inside a tin can and a slab of concrete as big as a skyscraper falls on
him?”
The young man in the well said, “I don’t know. I don’t have an answer. Why are you talking about this?”
“I couldn’t get rid of the image because what’s left doesn’t seem human after something like that happens. It’s garbage, basically. But this is what happens. People don’t last. People die. Stories last.” He stepped away from the well.
“Hey!” the young man yelled. “Where are you going?”
Cordell returned in a moment with a gasoline can. He tilted
it so that all of the gasoline poured into the well and all over the young man.
“Stop it! Stop it, stop it, don’t do this!”
Cordell struck the match.
“Buddy, don’t do it!”
He dropped the burning match into the well and immediately
backed away.
The young man’s screams were extremely loud and continued
for nearly a minute. "