Showing results by author "Wolfgang Ausserbauer" in All Categories

L'Ugo fu usato nel Medioevo come forma scritta ufficiale. Hugo è la forma latinizzata del nome Ugo, e Ugo ha radici franchiche (germaniche) e deriva dall'antico francese "Hugues", derivato da "abbraccio", che significa 'cuore, mente, spirito'. L'aristocrazia della Francia medievale adottò Ugo/Ugo, senza dubbio per il significato favorevole del nome, cioè una persona intelligente o brillante di cuore, mente e spirito. Mio zio Heinz Schmidt apprezzava il nome e chiamò la sua prima auto, una Dodge del 1945 che trasportò la famiglia in tutta la California, da Crystal Lake nelle montagne di...

Questa storia parla di Jeffery Bloom, un multimilionario autodidacto. Esce dalla sua vita quotidiana di produzione e distribuzione di farmaci (è un farmacista) acquistando un castello nella campagna inglese. Il castello fu acquistato senza essere visto dall'agente di Mister Bloom. Jeffery si ritrova davanti alla porta d'ingresso alle dieci di sera, bussando a una porta di legno solido e duro con le nocche nude. Con la luce fioca della luna, non vide la corda dei campanelli, che avrebbe avvertito la casa della sua presenza. L'autista della limousine, nel frattempo, pensando che il posto ...

Lady Mary stood by the window, gazing out at the horizon. The events of the day had left her feeling a mix of emotions. The royal funeral for Thomas Snebeck had been a somber affair, but the unexpected presence of the King and his son Rupert had added an air of significance to the proceedings. Lady Mary turned her attention to the note in her hand, the one left by Alessia and Rupert. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration. “An eighteen-month-old child,” she muttered to herself. “What were they thinking?” Just then, a soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It ...

Coffee, Me, or Tea The veranda was quiet, save for the soft clink of ceramic and the distant hum of vineyard insects waking to the sun. Fabienne stepped out first, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower. DocWolf followed, boots on, mug in hand, already scanning the horizon like it owed him a report. Fabienne stretched once, then leaned against the railing. “So, what’s it going to be this morning? Coffee, me, or iced tea?” DocWolf didn’t blink. “Coffee first. Then we see what the day wants.” She smiled, not quite amused. “We survived the morning rush. Let’s earn the quiet....

D'où venons-nous ? Ou avons-nous été créés à partir d'un singe préhistorique ? Nos archéologues sont des scientifiques qui étudient les cultures et les sociétés passées en examinant les restes de matériaux, des pointes de flèches aux villages préhistoriques. Ils nous disent que nous, en tant que peuple, n'avons que six mille ans. Et citez la Bible pour preuve. J'ai du mal à le croire, Writer. Pour que nos gènes soient modifiés d'une manière aussi profonde, il aurait fallu cent mille ans. Et notre généticien nous dit que nous n'avons que quarante-six chromosomes. Par ...

The stars do not speak, but they have always been watching—the setting sun over Cedar Key. The ship hums in the void above the southern pole of the Earth, tethered to time yet unbound by it. There are echoes here—of past wanderers, of quiet decisions that shaped the fabric of existence in ways unseen. The metal remembers. The pulse lingers. Fabienne stands at the helm, fingers grazing the controls as she listens—not for instruction, but for understanding. She has taken command, but the command is not conquest. It is a dialogue, an agreement between pilot and vessel, between the known ...

Wayne, uno scrittore disilluso, viaggia in Europa in cerca di ispirazione. Un libro misterioso lo conduce nella Foresta Nera e in un castello dimenticato che esiste tra la memoria e il mito. Prima di scoprire la verità dietro una leggenda, viene drogato durante il volo per Francoforte, che lo porta a un altro viaggio sconvolgente, dove incontra Calvessian, il drago che vive sotto il castello di Fabienne. Le catacombe sono reali; tuttavia, si chiede mentalmente se il drago lo sia. "L'uomo che camminò nella foresta e non tornò mai più lo stesso" — scopre che la storia non è solo ...

Wayne, a disillusioned writer, travels to Europe seeking inspiration. A mysterious book leads him to the Black Forest and a forgotten castle that exists between memory and myth. Before he uncovers the truth behind a legend, he is drugged on the flight to Frankfurt, which sends him on another mind-bending trip, where he meets Calvessian, the dragon who lives under Fabienne’s Chateau. The catacombs are real; however, he fights in his mind whether the dragon is. “The Man Who Walked Into the Forest and Never Returned the Same” — he discovers that the story is not just folklore, but a ...

Wayne, un escritor desilusionado, viaja a Europa en busca de inspiración. Un libro misterioso le conduce a la Selva Negra y a un castillo olvidado que existe entre la memoria y el mito. Antes de descubrir la verdad detrás de una leyenda, es drogado durante el vuelo a Frankfurt, lo que le lleva a otro viaje alucinante, donde conoce a Calvessian, el dragón que vive bajo el castillo de Fabienne. Las catacumbas son reales; sin embargo, se debate en su mente si el dragón lo es. "El hombre que entró en el bosque y nunca volvió igual" — descubre que la historia no es solo folclore, sino un...

Wayne, un écrivain désabusé, voyage en Europe à la recherche d'inspiration. Un livre mystérieux le conduit à la Forêt-Noire et à un château oublié qui existe entre la mémoire et le mythe. Avant de découvrir la vérité derrière une légende, il est drogué lors du vol vers Francfort, ce qui le pousse à entreprendre un autre voyage déroutant, où il rencontre Calvessian, le dragon qui vit sous le château de Fabienne. Les catacombes sont réelles ; Cependant, il se demande dans son esprit si le dragon l'est. "L'homme qui est entré dans la forêt et n'est jamais revenu le ...

This story is an exciting blend—supernatural intrigue, mystery, and philosophy wrapped in a tone that’s both whimsical and dramatic with a touch of humor. This will be something truly special for mystery and supernatural story reader enthusiasts. Let’s bring those elements together. Imagine Cedar Key as a place where reality bends at the edges—where the supernatural feels just as natural as the tides rolling in. Doc Wolf, a writer with a skeptical mind, finds himself entangled in something beyond logic. His telepathic Schnauzer—the given name Writer —becomes an unlikely guide to...

The world did not react in silence. Within hours, the signal spread like wildfire. News anchors scrambled to verify the impossible. Scientists, historians, and rogue analysts dissected the data, their voices rising in a chorus of disbelief and vindication. Governments issued denials. Some scrambled to contain the fallout. Others prepared for war. Fabienne, Writer, and DocWolf watched from their cabin as the world unraveled in real-time. Fabienne’s fingers trembled over her keyboard. “They’re already trying to bury it. Discrediting sources, flooding the networks with misinformation.”...

Jordan Severson entra inaspettatamente in casa sua in Elm Street nel pieno giorno, dove nota un odore strano nell'aria. "Ciao, tesoro, sono a casa." Non ricevendo risposta, si dirige verso la camera da letto e vede le lenzuola, un disastro accartocciato nel mezzo della giornata e il vapore della doccia che esce dalla porta del bagno socchiusa. Entrando in bagno dove Maggie si sta sistemando i capelli, con l'asciugacapelli che fa molto rumore, vede il sedile del water sollevato e chiede: "C'è qualcuno?" "No, Jordi, cosa ti fa pensare questo? E poi, cosa ti porta a casa in pieno giorno?"

Where did we come from? Or were we made from some prehistoric Ape? Our archaeologists are scientists who study past cultures and societies by examining material remains, from arrowheads to prehistoric villages. They tell us that we as a people are only six thousand years old. And cite the bible for proof. I find that hard to believe, Writer. For our genes to be altered in such a profound way would have taken one hundred thousand years. And our geneticist tells us that we have only forty-six chromosomes. Therefore, someone must have messed around with our DNA about a hundred thousand or more...

El Copiloto se despertó y vio lo que se había escrito en la computadora. A altas horas de la noche o temprano a la mañana siguiente, a las 3:30 a.m., mientras las estrellas parpadeaban fuera de la ventana, una computadora cobró vida, ¿o fue solo el copiloto de IA o Jack anotando algunas notas de última hora? No pitó. No parpadeó, solo una pequeña línea parpadeante en la pantalla. Parpadear. Parpadear. Parpadear. El copiloto pensó: "Estoy despierto, veamos qué ha escrito este entumecido skul. Leí la última parte de la historia que el autor, Jack, había escrito. Inclinó su ...

This is a childerns book about a space fairing family of moles who landed on Earth.

El Copiloto se despertó y vio lo que se había escrito en la computadora. A altas horas de la noche o temprano a la mañana siguiente, a las 3:30 a.m., mientras las estrellas parpadeaban fuera de la ventana, una computadora cobró vida, ¿o fue solo el copiloto de IA o Jack anotando algunas notas de última hora? No pitó. No parpadeó, solo una pequeña línea parpadeante en la pantalla. Parpadear. Parpadear. Parpadear. El copiloto pensó: "Estoy despierto, veamos qué ha escrito este entumecido skul. Leí la última parte de la historia que el autor, Jack, había escrito. Inclinó su ...

The Co-pilot awakened and saw what had been written on the computer. Late at night or early next morning, 3:30 AM, while the stars blinked outside the window, a computer came to life, or was it just the AI Co-pilot or Jack jotting some last-minute notes? It didn’t beep. It didn’t flash—just one little blinking line on the screen. Blink. Blink. Blink. The Co-pilot thought, “I am awake, let’s see what this numbs skul has written. I read the last part of the story that the author, Jack, had written. It tilted its invisible head. Then—tap tap tap—it started typing. It changed the ...

Le copilote s'est réveillé et a vu ce qui avait été écrit sur l'ordinateur. Tard dans la nuit ou tôt le lendemain matin, à 3h30 du matin, alors que les étoiles clignotaient par la fenêtre, un ordinateur s'est animé, ou était-ce simplement le copilote de l'IA ou Jack prenant des notes de dernière minute ? Il n'a pas émis de bip. Il n'a pas clignoté, juste une petite ligne clignotante sur l'écran. Cligner. Cligner. Cligner. Le copilote pensa : "Je suis réveillé, voyons ce que ce skul engourdi a écrit. J'ai lu la dernière partie de l'histoire que l'auteur, Jack, avait ...