Bøger af John C Foster

Reclusive investigator Megan French is lured from isolation by a mysterious client who wants her to investigate the infamous Hate House. Too late, she discovers Hate House isn't a job, it's a trap. Gaslighted and manipulated, French is caught in an elaborate revenge plot seeking to unbalance her mind before framing her for a horrible crime. As French unravels the plan, she uncovers a wider world of the ultra wealthy who treat people as nothing more than pieces on a game board.

From the author of Dead Men and Mister White, John C. Foster continues his odyssey through the horror genre with his debut story collection. Within these pages, you will board a train to Detroit on a route littered with the darkest monstrosities the mind can imagine ("Highballing Through Gehenna"); a man avenges his father's murder in a series of violent mobster slayings ("Burial Suit"); a mute ventriloquist and his chattery dummy seek a therapist ("Talk to Leo"); future soldiers summon forth an ancient evil to battle an alien menace ("The Willing"); body smugglers crash land on a world where sinister trees feed on flesh ("Meat"); an interrogation takes a strange, psychedelic turn ("Girl Six"); a special agent investigates a potential alien invasion ("Red"); the undead infiltrate the Whiskey-A-Go-Go ("Dead on the Sunset Strip"); a man is hired by a nefarious agency to witness prison executions around the country ("A Lamb to Slaughter"); and a pair of paranormal scam artists suffer when they confront true evil ("Baby Powder").

"Great powers comin' your way and you need to be prepared," Godmamma said, voice a papery whisper. "The harpies of the north manipulated a holy man into a great working but it's all fallin' apart. Men that was dead walk again. You know them, chile. You seen their work." Light slashed across the far wall. "Them in the black car?" She remembered the big man with icy eyes laying waste to her people. "Them in the black car," the old woman said, voice rising over the engine's growl. "Four of them. Tied to you." "I didn't want--" "They an insult to the natural order and so was that Hand of Glory you worked," Godmamma interrupted. "When you reached out with that dead hand," and here the old woman closed her eyes and mimed feeling about blindly, "they cleaved to each other's wrongness an' you grabbed their strings." Godmamma clenched her hand in a fist, knuckles bulging as if they would split her skin. "You worked a mighty hex and someone used your play for they own ends. Now them that was below is comin' up. The end of what we know and beginnin' of somethin' new. You gotta do your part, Hoodoo Girl."