Darkness Under the Sun: A Tale of Suspense
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The chilling account of a pivotal encounter between innocence and ultimate malice, Darkness Under the Sun is the perfect read for Halloween--or for any haunted night--and reveals a secret, fateful turning point in the career of Alton Turner Blackwood, the killer at the dark heart of What the Night Knows, the forthcoming novel by #1 New York Times bestselling author Dean Koontz.
There once was a killer who knew the night, its secrets and rhythms. How to hide within its shadows. When to hunt.
He roamed from town to town, city to city, choosing his prey for their beauty and innocence. His cruelties were infinite, his humanity long since forfeit. But still . . . he had not yet discovered how to make his special mark among monsters, how to come fully alive as Death.
This is the story of how he learned those things, and of what we might do to ensure that he does not visit us.
still had his eyes, but his ears were missing. In memory, Howie heard his voice and then Mr. Blackwood’s: You had surgeries? Nope. Don’t want any, either. I’ve got a thing about knives. You’re scared of being cut on? Not scared. I just have this thing about knives. Suddenly Howie was at the rear entrance, although he didn’t remember stepping away from Ron Bleeker’s corpse. He disengaged the deadbolt, yanked open the door, and plunged into the alley, certain that one of those shovel-size
Freak, Butt-Ugly Dugley, determined to live only because he was afraid to die. In a voice as dry as burnt toast, he said, “Mom,” and had to say it twice again before she heard him and came to his bedside. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose rubbed red by Kleenex, her pale cheeks glistening with tears, but she was as pretty as ever. Howie had always been proud of how pretty his mom was. He sometimes wondered if any pretty girl would ever like him, but he didn’t waste much time wondering about it
within ten feet of the man before halting again, in the grip of wonder, as though he had encountered a magical being, Howie said, “Where did you come from? What’re you doing here?” “Is this your roof then? Am I trespassing?” “Not my roof,” Howie said. “Well, so I guess we’re both trespassing.” “I guess we are.” Even though the man was sitting, Howie could see that he was tall, maybe six and a half feet, as thin as a scarecrow but strong. Huge hands. Bony wrists like the cumbersome joints of
from Mr. Blackwood. “Why haven’t I ever seen you before?” Howie asked. “I only came to town last night. Just sort of blew here on the breeze, you might say. Found the basement window that isn’t locked. Camped out downstairs on the ground floor near the back door. I’ll be leaving maybe tomorrow night.” “What’re you here for?” “For a place to be,” said Mr. Blackwood. “It’s a place between two other places, that’s all. I never stay long anywhere.” “What do you do? For work. What’s your work?”
looked very unhappy. No. Not unhappy. She looked frightened. The second photo was the same girl wearing scary makeup for Halloween. Her face was supposed to look as if it had been slashed several times, and the makeup was convincing. In the third picture, a pretty girl with brown hair looked scared, too. The fourth shot was of the same girl stripped naked and lying on her back. Things had been done to her body that were not makeup. The loose photos slithered through Howie’s fingers and spilled