-
170 Beiträge
-
0 Fotos
-
0 Videos
-
Male
-
09/02/1982
-
Follower 0 Menschen
Neueste Updates
-
The New World PhysicianThe war had taken everything from Henry Whitfield except one thing: the stubborn refusal to let it have been for nothing. He stood in the doorway of the Whitfield Memorial Clinic on East Van Dyk Street in Chicago's Near West Side and looked at the room he had turned into a waiting area. Two chairs that had been salvaged from a church basement. A desk that was actually a door on cinderblocks. A...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 BewertungenBitte loggen Sie sich ein, um liken, teilen und zu kommentieren!
-
The Puppet Master's VerseThe office was a sanctuary of mahogany and silence, located on the 60th floor of a tower that looked down on the rest of Manhattan like a god. Adrian didn't have a title; he was simply "the Consultant." He didn't run for office, and he didn't own a company. He owned the words that the people in power used. Adrian was a master of the "Subliminal Narrative." He didn't just write speeches; he...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The-Silver-DarkroomThe Ashworth Vow The key was heavy when Lord Edmund Ashworth took it from the sideboard. Not heavy with iron, but with something older and heavier still—the weight of four hundred years of stone and memory. The key was tarnished, its bow carved with a design that looked at first glance like ivy but upon closer inspection resembled hands clasped in an oath. He stood in the vaulted entrance hall...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The War BelowThe descent had been too quiet. That was what Corporal Silas Crowe kept thinking about, three generations later, sitting in his quarters on the Small Commonwealth and listening to the hum of the city above him. They had dropped from the sky like angels of mercy, nine of them, equipped with laser drills no bigger than grains of sand. Their target: Dr. Eleanor Blackwood, leader of the last Macro...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The Patient from BelowACT I: THE LISTENING The sanatorium sat on the edge of Whitechapel, where the fog never fully lifted and the gas lamps cast yellow circles on cobblestones that were perpetually damp. Julian Ashworth had been sent here by his physician after his "episode" at twenty-five—a nervous breakdown, the doctor called it, though Julian suspected the word "nervous" was a euphemism for something the doctor...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
THE PARANOIA ENGINEDr. Henry Webb was giving a lecture on cognitive asymmetry at the University of Chicago when a woman in a dark suit handed him an envelope during the question-and-answer period. The lecture hall was mostly empty — it was a Thursday afternoon in April, and most of his students had better things to do. The envelope was plain white, unsealed, and contained a single sheet of paper. The paper held a...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The Patient from BelowThe voice started on a Tuesday, in the basement of Dr. Edward Blackwood's clinic in the town of Arkham, Massachusetts. Eddie was fifteen, brilliant and troubled in equal measure, and he had spent the last three years sitting on his father's examination table while his father examined other people's minds. His father was sitting in his armchair, conducting what should have been a routine session...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The Parasite's InvitationThe dome was a masterpiece of hospitality. When I first descended, the Micro-people greeted me with a fervor that bordered on the divine. They called me "The Great Provider," "The Ancestor," "The Living God." They built a palace of translucent pearl just for me, and their leader, a delicate creature with eyes like polished opals, spent hours praising the nobility of my macro-spirit. I was a...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The last light of New CarthageShe came to him on a night like any other—fog pressing against the gas lamps of the city, tide grinding itself against the limestone cliffs below the harbor. But this night, Arthur Blackwood was not himself. He had been awake for three days and two nights, pacing the stone floor of his study at Blackwood Manor, surrounded by pages of calculations that no sane man would believe. Then she...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
THE QUIET ENDFrank O'Malley woke at six in the morning. It was not an alarm clock that woke him. It was the habit of waking at six, established twelve years ago in a base camp in the Ho Chi Minh Trail and never broken, even after he broke everything else. He lay in the dark. The apartment was small—one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen that was really just a corner with a stove and a refrigerator the size of...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The patient from belowDr. Eleanor Hart had been coming to the Blackwood Institute for three weeks when she first heard the word transfiguration. The patient who said it was in Room 217—the highest security room on the fourth floor, where the walls were padded with beige fabric that had been stained by decades of fingerprints, heads thrown against them in moments of despair, and hands pressed flat in moments of...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The jazz of fading starsThe music was dying, and nobody wanted to admit it. Not in New York, where the music was everything. Not in Chicago, where the music was the only thing. And certainly not in Julian Ashford, who had spent the last five years composing jazz that made people dance because they were afraid of what would happen when the music stopped. It was 1925, and the city was drowning in its own prosperity....0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
Mehr Storys