"Shaun Hutson - Compulsion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hutson Shaun)

brilliant job on it. Thanks fellas.

The last few thank yous go to my mum and dad. I wish there was an
adequate way of thanking them for everything they've done and continue
to do but there isn't.

The same goes for my wife, Belinda. She organizes me, sorts out my
financial stuff, calms me down and generally tolerates the kind of
behaviour that would have had Mother Theresa looking for a pick-axe
handle ... What the hell, the only thing she doesn't do is write the
books ... I am because she is. Keep your eye on that Mazda, babe,
because you won't get your hands on it ... (unless it's tax
deductible).

Finally, as ever, the other girl in my life. The apprentice cinema
addict, trainee rock music junkie, fledge ling Liverpool fan and fully
paid up member of the GLADIATOR appreciation society. My beautiful,
wonderful, daughter. One day, all of this will be for you.

The last thank you is for you lot. My readers. Without you there
would really be very little point to any of this. For your continued
support I humbly thank you.

Let's go.

Shaun Hutson Though this may be play to you, 'tis death to us.

Sir Roger L'Estrange THEY MOVED EASILY in the darkness.
Three shapes: shadows within shadow, portions of the umbra that had
taken on life and detached themselves from the blanket of night wrapped
tightly around them.

Every so often the cutting edge of a torch beam would slice open the
gloom, illuminating an object inside the house, sometimes lighting one
of the three faces.

When the beam pinpointed their features, they looked like phantoms.
Fugitives from an unwanted dream.

Two of them ravaged the ground floor of the house, stuffing cassettes
into a bin bag.

Manic Street Preachers. Blur. Oasis.

The usual shit.

Simply Red a foot crushed it contemptuously.

Videos were snatched from a shelf: End of Days. Fight Club. The Blair
Witch Project.