He drops his head, tries to allay the thumping of his heart in the thin air. When he looks up again, the young girl is still there, perhaps six or seven, apparition-pale and just ten feet away, with l...
He growled, Because I could. Because I am their fucking creator, and creations don’t get to question the one who made them. Who gives them breath. And who can, at any second, snatch it all away.
This is hell—the absolute loss borne from all those slivers of perfection that passed unnoticed, unrelished. In true dark, there is no gauging of time.
WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES WHERE PARADISE IS HOME
What about the abbies? Ethan asked. As a food source? Yeah. First off, gross.
What am I missing, Abby?
What’s the demographic? Men. Women. Children. High-velocity GSWs?
Why do people marry versions of their controlling mothers? Or absent fathers? To have a shot at righting old wrongs. Fixing things as an adult that hurt you as a child. Maybe it doesn't make sense at...
Wind rips through the crags a thousand feet above, nothing moving in this godforsaken town, and the mule skinner knows that something is wrong. Two miles south stands Bartholomew Packer’s mine, the Go...
You are one ugly motherfucker. Ethan chuckled. Sorry. I couldn’t resist. It’s from a movie. Seriously, what the hell are you?
You know how a dream feels the farther you get from it? It loses its color and intensity and logic. Your emotional connection to it fades.
You spend time with your son? Much as I can, he’d answered, but his father had caught the lie in his eyes. It’ll be your loss, Ethan. Day’ll come, when he’s grown and it’s too late, that you’d give a...
You think man can destroy the planet? What intoxicating vanity. Earth has survived everything in its time. It will certainly survive us. To the earth...a million years is nothing. This planet lives an...
Always puts me in mind of that F. Scott Fitzgerald line: Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
Are you losing your mind? You tell me. I can’t. Why? Because I am you.
Because no matter what had happened in the past, in this harrowing present, everybody needed everybody.
Blake Crouch is the author of over a dozen bestselling suspense, mystery, and horror novels. His short fiction has appeared in numerous short story anthologies, Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Alfred...
Do you have any concept of what I’ve already sacrificed for you?
Considering what he’d been through in the last five days, rote hallucinations would’ve been a welcome return to sanity.
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