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- Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Serie: Doc. Turner Series
- Sprache: Englisch
The Whispering Death by Arthur Leo Zagat is a spine-chilling tale of terror that will haunt you long after the final page. In a remote village plagued by inexplicable deaths, the locals whisper of a sinister force that takes the lives of its victims with a mere breath. As the whispers of the deathly presence grow louder, a determined investigator arrives to uncover the truth behind the eerie phenomenon. But as they dig deeper, they find themselves entangled in a web of ancient curses and malevolent spirits. Will they unravel the mystery of The Whispering Death before it claims them as its next victim? Immerse yourself in this chilling narrative where the supernatural meets the unthinkable.
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Seitenzahl: 28
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
The Whispering Death
Synopsis
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Landmarks
Table of Contents
Cover
The Whispering Death
Synopsis
THE dead man brought in his clutched fingers only a scrap of paper. Yet to Doc Turner it was a message, bloody and legible, that sent him on swift, weary feet to the house where fear sounded in twanging bow springs, and death prowled the darkened halls on silent feet.
1
THE door-latch of Andrew Turner's drug store rattled, as though the thin man he could see through the glass panel were having difficulty in opening it. "Abe," the white-haired pharmacist called. "Abe. Go get the door open. Something must be the matter with the lock."
"Right avay, Meester Toiner," a piping shrill voice replied. The scrawny, hook-nosed little errand boy scuttled out from the back room, wiping hands on a grimy towel. "Baht eet vass all right a meenit ago."
Doc concentrated his attention on wrapping three different sized bottles and a round, slippery can of Baby Powder. In all his long years he had never learned to manage that difficult task with any degree of ease. He got paper around the odd-shaped bundle, reached for string. The can seemed to take on a vicious life of its own, poked through a fold, skidded across the sales counter, thumped to the floor.
In that instant Abie screamed!
Turner's head jerked up. The door was open and the man was coming in—No!—was toppling in, head first! He hit the wood floor with a dull bump, rolled over on his back.
Doc was around the end of the short counter, was pattering to the front of the store as fast as his old legs would take him. Abie stood rigid above the prostrate man, his swart face grey-filmed, his mouth open and rasping a soundless shriek. The druggist got to the grotesquely twisted form, dropped to one knee at his side. His hand, pushing down for support, went into warm, viscid liquid. He saw that it was blood, that scarlet, arterial blood was welling from a ghastly stab wound sliced through a shabby, frayed-edge jacket into the man's breast!
"Get a roll of cotton, Abe!" Turner snapped. "And a bottle of peroxide. Quick!" The peremptory urge of his command galvanized the lad into movement, sent him trotting to the surgical goods case.
Doc's slender, almost transparent fingers tugged at the buttons of the thin man's jacket, opening it. Beneath there was only skin, gruesomely reddened now by the outpouring life-fluid. The slit from which it came was neatly inserted between two ribs.
But even as the druggist pulled the gaping edges of the wound together he knew that his ministrations would be futile. Already the wizened, unshaved face was pallid, glistening with the waxen hue of death. Blue eyelids fluttered; and bleared, red-threaded eyes peered out of sunken sockets.
