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16/12/1963
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The Experiment at BlackwoodAct One: The Book in the Margin The boy was seven years old and reading a book that had no business in the hands of a child. Dr. Julian Blackwood saw him in the reading room of the York Minster library, sitting on the floor with his back against a stone pillar, a copy of Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams open on his knees. The book was water-stained, its pages dog-eared, the margin filled...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça Login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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The Mirror TickThe rain in New London didn't fall so much as hang in the air, a perpetual acid-drizzle that turned the neon into watercolor smears and made the whole city look like a photograph left out in the wet. Marcus Hale had been a detective long enough to stop noticing the rain. What he hadn't grown accustomed to was the mirror tick. Mirror tick was what the data-dredgers called it — when a Mirror Copy...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Dark PastureThe gold was buried under the porch. Jack Moran found it on a Thursday, three weeks after he'd moved to Montana. He was fixing the porch steps—three of them rotting through, the kind of repair that costs more than the porch is worth—when his shovel hit something that wasn't rock. It was metal. Hollow. And when he dug it out and pried the rusted lid open with a screwdriver, it was full of...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Experiment at BlackwoodAct One: The Book in the Margin The boy was seven years old and reading a book that had no business in the hands of a child. Dr. Julian Blackwood saw him in the reading room of the York Minster library, sitting on the floor with his back against a stone pillar, a copy of Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams open on his knees. The book was water-stained, its pages dog-eared, the margin filled...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The bar was called The Rusty Nail, though nothing about it was rusty. The nails were rusted, sure—ruThe bar was called The Rusty Nail, though nothing about it was rusty. The nails were rusted, sure—rusted through the floorboards, rusted into the frames of the broken tables, rusted into the skin of the men who sat at the bar with their hands wrapped around glasses of whiskey they could barely afford. But the bar itself was just a bar: a long wooden counter, a row of bottles behind it that had...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE WEIGHT OF NOTHINGI Raymond Kowalski woke at 5:30 every morning. He dressed in the dark—dark trousers, dark shirt, the same jacket he had worn for five years. He ate toast with margarine. He drank coffee that was too weak because he had stretched the grounds with extra hot water. He walked out the front door at 5:45. The factory was two miles away. It took him twenty minutes to walk. He walked at the same pace...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Abyssal PactThe village of Oakhaven clung to the cliffs of the Cornish coast like a barnacle to a rock, forever besieged by a grey, churning Atlantic that seemed to hunger for the land. I lived in the lighthouse, a lonely pillar of salt-stained stone where the wind howled in a language only the mad and the desperate could understand. I was a scholar of the forbidden, a man who had spent twenty years...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE CONTAGIONI. The door was in the basement of a building that didn't have a basement. Jack Morretti had been hired to find a missing woman—Margaret Linney, thirty-two, worked at an insurance company on Fifth Avenue, lived in an apartment on the Upper West Side. She'd stopped coming home three weeks ago. Her husband, a mild-mannered actuary named Linney, had called Jack because the police had told him to...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE SILENT OBSERVERA Collection of Nine Stories I. THE MAN WHO WATCHED THE SKY Dr. Vladimir Petrov watched the sky every night from the roof of the observatory in a small town outside Moscow. He had been watching it for twenty-seven years. He was sixty-two years old, he had a wife who did not understand him, a daughter who barely spoke to him, and a job that consisted almost entirely of looking at a computer...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE PATIENT FROM BELOWDr. Arthur Voss could not remember how he had arrived at the hospital. This was not, strictly speaking, true. He remembered driving through Vienna on a February evening in 1896, the gas lamps casting amber pools on the wet cobblestones, the carriages bouncing over puddles that reflected the windows of the cafés where men sat drinking brandy and talking about the future of the Balkans. He...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The first thing I noticed when I got out was the silence. Not actual silence—Silicon Valley has never been silent—but the silence of relevance.Everyone around me was staring at their phones. Not texting. Not calling. Just staring. At screens that knew more about them than they knew about themselves. I had been inside these screens for fifteen years. I had helped build the ones that were in their hands. Five years in Folsom will do that to you. Make you irrelevant. Make you silent. My name is Daniel Mercer. I was thirty-two when I went...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Mirror at BlackthorneI. The accident happened on a wet road outside Edinburgh on a November evening in 1893, and the word "accident" is the first of many lies in this story. An accident implies that something was meant to happen and went wrong. What happened to Morwenna was not wrong. It went exactly right, in the sense that a fall from a height always goes right until it goes left, and when Morwenna's horse...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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