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- Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Serie: Doc. Turner Series
- Sprache: Englisch
Satan Has Little Teeth! by Arthur Leo Zagat is a spine-chilling horror story that delves into the eerie and the unknown. When a quiet town is suddenly plagued by a series of bizarre and terrifying events, the townsfolk begin to whisper about an ancient evil with a sinister presence. Strange marks appear on those who encounter the malevolent force—tiny, almost imperceptible, but with a bite that drives men to madness. As the terror spreads, a small group must confront the horrors lurking in the shadows and uncover the truth behind the cryptic message: "Satan has little teeth." Will they survive the nightmare, or fall victim to the evil that feeds on fear itself?
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Seitenzahl: 34
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
Satan Has Little Teeth!
Synopsis
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Table of Contents
Cover
Satan Has Little Teeth!
Synopsis
What caused the teeth marks on the throat of every dead driver of those wrecked war trucks? Old Doc Turner knew the secret—but he was afraid. He was afraid he had lived too long, seen too much—and knew more than it was good for a mortal to know.
The Spider, Ocotber 1942, with "Satan Has Little Teeth!"
1
IT was the weirdest, and by all odds the most terrible adventure of Doc Turner's career. So, at least, Jack Ransom maintained. The old druggist did not quite know whether to agree with his barrel-chested, carrot-thatched young friend.
Reviewing as one does when death is imminent his years of devotion to the people of Morris Street, Doc recalled too many instances of the awful ingenuity of those who prey on the helpless and bewildered poor. Nevertheless, as they waited in that black and ominous silence for the encounter on which so much more than life or death depended, Andrew Turner knew that never before had he been so desperately afraid.
Never before had the white-maned little pharmacist been so nearly convinced that all his vaunted Science was mistaken, that this time it was no natural enemy with whom he dealt but some Elemental, some evil Thing from behind the dark curtain of the Unknowable with which no being of flesh and blood and finite powers could hope to contend.
And when he felt Jack's sudden cold touch on the back of his hand and sensed that it was there, somewhere in the black dark—
It had begun one evening in the early fall when, in other years, Morris Street would have been colorful with the brilliantly lighted wares of the pushcarts lining its curbs, raucous with hucksters' shouts, with the polyglot chaffering of their patrons, the screaming laughter of the slum children playing dangerously in the rumbling traffic. Tonight the rows of carts had dwindled with the dwindling of daylight. Only every third street lamp had come on as the brooding dusk faded and even the "El" trains thundering overhead were dim and dark and somehow furtive.
Far out at sea a U-boat wolf pack ravened and there must be no city glow in the sky to silhouette for them the brave ships they hunted.
Like the other stores along the street, the windows of Doc Turner's ancient pharmacy were blacked out. Within, lamps shaded from the street glimmered on sagging, bottle-laden shelves and heavy-framed showcases once painted white but now yellowed and grimy. The store door was fastened open and just inside it Andrew Turner stood looking out, bowed by his burden of age, frail, his faded blue eyes somber beneath their shaggy, silver brows.
There were no pushcarts out there and scarcely any light, but the asphalt and the cracked sidewalks of the slum and its tenements' raddled brick walls still held the baking and terrible heat of August. The rabbit warrens had emptied their glut of breathless dwellers, into the dim and humid streets. A parade of shadows shuffled slowly past him, whispering in the unfamiliar gloom, accustomed laughter hushed, even the shrill cries of the children muted as if by some leaden apprehension whose source they did not quite comprehend.
He could make out individuals only vaguely, formless figures drifting by in the hush, a pale blob of a face here, there an aquiline countenance suddenly lit up by match flare held to cigarette. Somewhere a fretful infant whined and its mother shushed it. Nearer, suddenly, there was a patter of small feet amazingly swift through the thick and slow-shuffling throng.
