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We were dangerously close from the explosion. My ears rang as my vision was blurred by the ashes that covered the area. As I regained my hearing, I heard a very discreet sound that sent chills down my spine. I was certain that the others heard it, as well, when they turned their heads from left to right. It sounded like a silent howl of something that I have not heard before. It was like a strong gust of wind passing through a shattered horn or a screech being forced out from a dry throat.

I ran back on the bed and cowered under the sheets once again. “It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.” I kept on repeating this line inside my head to convince myself that what I saw wasn’t true. Even though I cannot make out what this person looked like from afar, those glowing red eyes was more than enough to terrify me for years. The sequence between the hoots gradually grew longer, but every single one drew closer and closer.

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Fear made me dig. After a while, I really did find something, but it didn't look like a doll to me. It looked more like an old rag sewed up to look like a doll, with two buttons as eyes and few strands of hair poking out of what was supposed to be her head. It was muddy and half-decayed, and I tried to tell her again that she doesn't need it, but I didn't.

More tendrils wrapped around Pearl and lifted her bodily into the air. She shrieked, but the sound was drowned out by the screaming of the gulls and the deep rumbling from the creature. It held her high up in the air, above that glowing amber eye, which seemed to drink in the sight of the squirming creature in its grip, easily stripping away her defenses. In fact, there almost seemed to be something wise in its lone eye, like it could understand her suffering. Perhaps it was unfair to assign malice to the creature.

Of course he hadn’t, you would tell yourself. He was pinned in place, the same place, forever. Still you’d have to check. Perhaps, because for every second you tried not to look at him, you’d feel him looking at you. Then you’d look up, and it would be too late. Mr. Adderly’s scarecrow, nicknamed "Black eyed Jack" was around the size of an average man, but was of a curiously lifelike composition.

Becca was not allowed to be touched by other men, not even the tip of her fingers nor a strand of her hair. The very first time I witnessed this issue was when a male customer shook Becca’s hand when he made a hefty purchase of her designs. Anybody would have known that it was a mere form of polite gesture, but I noticed that her husband was staring at them until the customer walked out of the shop.

Die wahre Geschichte von Robin Hood - überraschend neu interpretiert, rasant erzählt und genau recherchiert von Bestseller-Autor Mac P. Lorne. "Die Pranken des Löwen" ist der fulminante Auftakt der Reihe um den Meister der Diebe. England 1110 - Der junge Gardist Robert Fitzooth wird zum persönlichen Leibwächter der englischen Prinzessin Matilda bestimmt, die den deutschen König Heinrich V. heiraten wird. An ihrer Seite überquert er die Alpen, gelangt bis nach Rom, wird in den Streit zwischen Kaiser und Kurie verwickelt und muss in einem jahrzehntelangen Bürgerkrieg kämpfen.

Further examination revealed that the "model" was in fact an actual human body - stripped of its skin and preserved by a process very similar to that used by Dr. Van Hagens. Reading of this singular event, I decided to do some digging and upon examining the list of special effects artists on the film in question, stumbled across a name that struck me as familiar. Familiar, because its owner, one Rene Toubain, had also worked on a film, in which large sections of the action took place in the catacombs of Paris and in particular, in the section with the additional skulls.

Short Stories by Mace Styx: "The hour was so late (or early, depending on how you looked at it) that she barely saw anyone as she padded silently from the castle, through the winding cobbled streets. The letter she had was burning in her hand and she still had the blade she had used to slit the King’s throat. If a member of the city watch found her, she was worse than dead. Still, she felt oddly calm".

It was a Monday. Monday was the day grandma got her medicine. She took some pill that some white-coated doctor told us would keep her alive, if only for a little while. I walked to the pharmacy, a couple of blocks away, through the rain. Careful to avoid the divots and dips in the beat-up sidewalk where puddles were beginning to form. There’s an old store that sells rugs and carpets between Grandma’s and the pharmacy.

Then, she looked up and let out a short, bitten-off scream. A...thing was there, looming above her, observing her with the impassivity of the cat. Though most of it was shrouded in darkness, Paige knew it was a demon. She could vaguely make out the silhouette of wings, of huge horns curling up from its head like a gazelle. She wanted to light more candles to see better, but she didn’t want to look away from the creature.

Mayor Wilfred was not the kind of person that would willingly accept interviews, but for some reason, he needed the aid of our service to send alarming news. Apparently, the mayor’s daughter, Elsa Elborne, suddenly went missing. Officer Warren was the first face I saw when I went to the town hall. This newly recruited police just also moved in to the island a few months ago, and he was still in the process of trying to impress the chief and earn a permanent position. Although I didn’t bother to ask, my guess was he probably volunteered himself to solve this serious case.

How Sharaign met her end is not recorded. Whether some hero did eventually succeed in bringing her to heel we shall never know. Though there are complimentary legends about the crozier of St. Dunstan, a saint already famed for his battles with the devil, being used to strike her dead. What is recorded, is what was done with her remains. For those who don’t know, a "cairn" is a roughly assembled pile of loose rocks. They usually consist of larger rocks at the bottom with smaller fragments balanced precariously on top the higher it becomes.

Darryl stared at her, wanting to tell her to knock it off, that the joke wasn’t funny. But Crystal stared back at him blankly, watching him struggling to even form basic questions. He knew she wasn’t kidding. It was an animalistic instinct that words didn’t have the hope of matching. Logic and reason had left the building.

A few hours later, wafting into the room with the supercilious air of confidence peculiar to those who know they are to speak on a subject upon which they are unlikely to be challenged came Mavis Clay, adorned in a flowing white dress that seemed to be more ruffles than stitching and sat herself like Christ in Da Vinci’s painting of the Last Supper in the center of the long table, whilst historians, experts, and the duke himself flanked her like apostles, on either side.

With the children of the village, "Greenfinger Tom" was not only a suspect, but irrefutably guilty of any number of crimes. A neighborhood boogeyman for decades, he was used by older kids to taunt their siblings and frighten them into obedience. “If you get out of that bed again, Greenfinger Tom will get you,” seems to have been a common threat used by mothers and fathers who had themselves sprinted past Greenfinger’s garden if they were forced to pass after dusk.

“You mean…you’re not coming in with me?” Hayley asked, feeling something in her stomach drop, though she didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Amber flashed Hayley a smile that was half-regret, half pitying.

"No.” She admitted, guiltily. “I am sorry. If I enter the darkness, it would grab me before I can fetch you anything to get the fire going.” Sam nodded. He had faced death before. But every time, there was hope, a fighting chance. This time, he could do nothing. Emily visibly shuddered. “He will have me, place its scythe through my soul. It allows it to control the agony my soul receives. Then, until the morning, I will keep suffering. Every moment feels like an eternity. I might switch to my other personalities, just to escape the pain.”

We passed in front of the men, some of whom gave me angry stares. I laughed inwardly. How easy it was for them to blame another for their own misfortune. I knew some had their eyes on my navigator, while others affixed theirs on me. I had often been the subject of many an attention, but I hardly indulged in such subtle fantasies. Only once in my very long life have I had anyone who could afford me the pleasures I desired. Others had only managed to while away my time. A commodity I possess in excess.