The Witness From Hell - Arthur Leo Zagat - E-Book

The Witness From Hell E-Book

Arthur Leo Zagat

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Beschreibung

The Witness From Hell by Arthur Leo Zagat is a spine-tingling thriller that will chill you to the bone. When a mysterious witness emerges with a harrowing tale of unspeakable horrors, law enforcement and the public are thrown into a frenzy. The witness claims to have seen the unthinkable and survived, but their testimony is so terrifyingly detailed that it defies belief. As investigators dig deeper, they uncover a web of deception, malevolence, and supernatural forces that push the boundaries of reality. Can they decipher the truth behind the witness's horrifying account, or will the darkness remain shrouded in mystery? Delve into this gripping tale where every revelation is more terrifying than the last.

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Seitenzahl: 30

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

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Table of Contents

The Witness From Hell

Synopsis

1

2

Landmarks

Table of Contents

Cover

The Witness From Hell

Doc. Turner Series
By: Arthur Leo Zagat
Edited by: Rafat Allam
Copyright © 2024 by Al-Mashreq Bookstore
First published in The Spider, October 1938
No part of this publication may be reproduced whole or in part in any form without the prior written permission of the author

Synopsis

Into Doc Turner's little drugstore came the haunted man who wanted to cheat Death. Doc showed him how to do it and, at the same time, the way to pay back the big-shot who had sent him to a living hell!

The Spider, October 1938, with "The Witness From Hell"

1

THE man opened the door of the drugstore on Morris Street only far enough to let his scrawny frame squeeze in. He shut it at once on the noises of the slum thoroughfare; the raucous shouts of the pushcart peddlers, the polyglot chatter of aliens thronging the debris-strewn sidewalk, the rattle and pound of an "El" train. With a curious shambling swiftness, the man started back toward Andrew Turner, who was standing behind his sales counter at the rear of the store.

The man's feet made a strange rustling sound on the time-grayed wooden floor. Doc Turner had the fanciful thought that the stranger was a dried and empty husk blown between the glass-fronted showcases by some unfelt wind. Some wind of fear, by the jitter in the wrinkle-lidded eyes, by the quiver of the hands.

Frayed trouser-cuffs showed beneath the hem of a threadbare topcoat, and the shoes against which they rubbed were broken. A battered felt topped a face whose yellowish skin was drawn tight over bone. But some quality about the man told that this was no ordinary derelict spewed up out of the dark waters of poverty.

In the drugstore's grimy light it was difficult to determine wherein this lay, except that it might be in a certain refinement of his fleshless features, in the long sensitive slimness of his palsied fingers, in the shadow of pride and arrogance that somehow clung to the way he bore himself.

Turner had time only to note these matters, not to speculate about them, before the man arrived on the other side of the counter. His voice had the same dry rustle of dead leaves when he said, "If you will be good enough to show me some way to get out of here, unobserved from Morris Street, you will probably save my life."

From beneath white, beetling brows, Doc's eyes—their blue faded by his long years but their keenness of sight and human judgment undulled—caught and held the other's. Then, "Come around the end of this counter," Doc said. "Behind this partition is a door that opens on Hogbund Lane."

The man's sigh was an inhalation between thin colorless lips somehow sexless. He pushed at the counter to start into life again a body already at the limit of its endurance, moved in the direction the druggist had indicated.

Doc was before him at the doorway over which a fly-specked cardboard sign warned, Prescription Department—No Admittance. The pharmacist pulled aside the curtain that closed the aperture. The man went through it and Turner followed him into the back-room, was close behind him when he stumbled and caught at the edge of the long, white-scrubbed dispensing counter, close enough to see the look of agonized despair on his face as he slid down along the counter front to the floor.