Mostrando resultados por autor "Stephen Donald" en Todas las categorías

Mothers no longer name their sons ‘Adolph’. Almost everyone knows why. Though all innocent babes do not develop into monsters, all monsters develop from innocent babes. We prefer fiction to reality, because thoughts of the former easily yield to denials of reason, while the latter only reminds us of our common origins in the primitive. Steal a private moment now and listen to your inner voice. It whispers. Such twisted threads weave life’s strange tapestry. Of depravity, here find endless expositions, and of monsters, seven.

Corporate lobotomies. Psychotically amorous semi-sentient bots. Endless corridors. Countless unlabeled doors, all viciously locked. A lethally dysfunctional social infrastructure rife with corruption, inefficiency, and crime. Spiraling homicide rates… Welcome to your corpulent, overpopulated future! Good luck, and have a nice day!

Grandma Moses is one of America's last true, living witches. Although she never accepts money for her services, nothing is free, and the cost rises with the value of the result. She lives alone near the swamp with all the slimy, crawling things that flop, splash, and slither there. Her reputation is as dark as her soul, and her powers are prodigious.

After accumulating a lifetime of esoteric knowledge and expertise in wicked magic, he has returned home to free his granddaughter. There will be hell to pay when Paw-Paw conjures!

In the first days of the zombie apocalypse, a military physician and small team of survivors must gather their wits, their weapons, and their available resources to make a last stand. When nowhere seems safe and no-one seems immune to the rapidly spreading disease, they must choose a destination that is both attainable and sufficiently remote to assure their long term safety.

An ordinary traveler. A typical business trip. Nothing unusual or out of place. If the inhabitants of Spittsville, Texas seem a bit odd, blame overbearing sunshine and endless horizons of arid wastes. Since a rational mind will neither conceive nor believe the startling truth. As gradual as the growth of a creeping vine, deep within the wilds of West Texas an unholy invasion begins. One changeling at a time.

This is reality television run amok, daytime programming in the bloody Coliseum. Survival is the game and vast wealth the reward. As the number of players dwindle, the prize increases with the danger. Only one can win.

Awakening night upon night in a feverish chill, fresh from the throes of disturbing nightmares, one hapless human being ponders the separation of dream and reality. Eventually, muddy feet betray the truth. Black River runs through the center of Pecan Groves, Texas. Lately, it floats.

On the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the eleventh year of the eleventh holy epoch, it happened. Some say God is sleeping. Some say God is dead.

One morning on a vacation with this extended family, all bound to watch the patriarch run his first marathon, Mortimer witnesses a terrible crime. He’s no hero. He's retired and has nothing better to do. Run, daddy, run!

During the final years of the Soviet Union, its government started building an ultra-secret airbase in the center of a vast wilderness. Its secrecy outstripped its management such that construction continued despite its abandonment. At the end of a late night international flight from India to Russia, a weary traveler finds himself deposited in a lonely ramp of an empty terminal. As he navigates its endless gates and corridors, this hapless traveler begins to realize he has landed in no ordinary airport.

She is the most devestating weapon known to a galaxy filled with violence, and tonight she has come to Planet Earth aboard an alien spacecraft. To save us all. The key to unlocking this mysterious device is a naive, unassuming young cheerleader named Dee. Selected among the dwindling remnants of a population in the last throes of extinction, she alone has the power to control the terrible entity known as "Super B**ch".

Terminus Part I: Civilization deconstructed itself like a riot in a madhouse. In the aftermath, a handful of guilt-wracked holdouts stumble onto a terrible secret. To learn the final truth and save their species, they must cross a blood-soaked wasteland to investigate the long-standing enigma we call “Area-51”, where Terminus begins. Terminus Part II (Control): A handful of desperate post-apocalyptic survivors will uncover many unsettling truths about the past, present and future of their species. Most startling of all, they will discover why their thoughts are not their own when the ...

While waiting for his wife to finish shopping, he stumbles across a strangely ornate stairway hidden away at the back of the local mall. Bored, he decides to descend a flight or two to examine the strange window displays arranged along its outer wall. With each downward step, the displays progressively reflect history long since passed. Intrigued, he delves deeper and deeper into countless mysteries presented along his careless descent of the spiral stair.

This particular corporal served all four years of the bloodiest war in European history, many of them as a message runner - one of the most dangerous and elite jobs of trench-bound combat. By all accounts, he was a strange young man with many strange ideas. He should have died a thousand times. Though millions perished, the corporal would survive.

Civilization deconstructed itself like a riot in a madhouse. One minute it all functioned with a standard sort of craziness, and the next it devolved into ten billion psychotic inmates at each other’s throats like suddenly sprung animals. Survivors refer to civilization’s final irrational act as "Terminus", but this is an unofficial label. It simply gives them a handle with which to wield the concept of their end times. It bifurcates their memory. Before. After. In between, an unspeakable river of blood.

Tired of the endless lies of youth and the unfulfilled promises of adulthood, one man decides to put reality to the ultimate test. Standing in line at a bank to make a final withdrawal with a handgun in his pocket, he remains unconcerned when a gang of criminals burst into the lobby. After all, they still believe in the lies he has long since abandoned, and he is of the violent kind.

Lovers reveal their most intimate and personal secrets on a breathless hiss, while murderous psychopaths use the same hushed voice to lure intended victims. Calamity often follows a violent shout, but we have more to fear from the occasional wee, wicked whisper. This is the medium of humanity’s most despicable tongue, for a quick whisper is the requisite mode of lies, the self-serving gloat of torment, the insidious confidence of slander, and the preferred protocol of psychosis.

A fleeting shadow skirting the storm-swept shoulder of an isolated country highway, she hitchhikes along the loneliest stretch of pavement in the most deserted hollows of the countryside. When the downpour presses, he insists on giving her a ride despite her demurs. It will be the most fateful companionship he will ever know.

When too many children go missing in the rivers and bayous coursing through Houston, Texas, one man draws a frightful conclusion. The hunt begins. Because a mysterious fiend comes with the rain, as sleek as shadows and as deadly as a swirling draw. In his wake, heartbreak and unending sorrow.