"Guy N. Smith - The Lurkers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

For Trev and Mar Stead

THE LURKERS ISBN 0600 20621 1

First published in Great Britain 1982

by Hamiyn Paperbacks Copyright (c) 1982 by Guy N. Smith

Hamiyn Paperbacks arc published by The Hamiyn Publishing Group Ltd.,

Astronaut House, Feltham, Middlesex, England.

Reproduced, printed and bound in Great Britain by Hazell Watson & Viney Ltd,
Aylesbury, Bucks

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade
or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or Otherwise circulated without the
publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in
which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition
being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

1

Janie Fogg had the feeling that there was something out there. A kind of
intuition that sent a tingling feeling up and down her spine and made her
constantly glance out of the grimy latticed windows towards the dark fir woods
that lined the horizon.

Another half-hour and it would be dark. That wouldn't help, because if there
was anything lurking outside, whatever or whoever it was would be able to
creep right up to this tumbledown cottage. She shuddered, felt the urge to
flee now whilst it was still light, whilst there was time. Before . . .

She closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again she would find
herself back in the modern characterless semi-detached house that looked
across on dozens of identical dwellings. The Perrycroft Estate, mundane - but
safe. It didn't happen that way, though. Oh God, the desolation, the fear was
still here. And as if to increase her uneasiness the dusk was turning the
distant mountains into a grey unfriendly land mass that seemed to hem her in.

Janie carried on drying the dishes. A cup and saucer rattled in her trembling
hand as she carried it from the table. She was forced to look.out of the
window again, searching the rough grass fields that led up to the forest,
endeavouring to spot the object of her mounting terror. But there was nothing,
just a few sheep and a smaller creature that could have been either a hare or
a rabbit by the furthermost hedgerow.

All this was sheer madness, coming to a place like this at this time of the
year. In summer it would not have been so bad; she might even have enjoyed it
for a week. But it was November and the desolate landscape was shrouded in low