.jpg)
Nobody really knew how long the old Funnel mansion had stood empty, waiting up there high on Carpenter’s Hill like a child’s forgotten lunch box, any more than anybody knew just how long that old cat had squatted in behind the screen of the front porch window. Three young boys are about to find out just exactly what the dark and horrifying secret is behind that cat.
Only two of them will survive.
This is a creepy and haunting story of the supernatural that you will definitely not want to pass up.
WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT STEVE VERNON
"If Harlan Ellison, Richard Matheson and Robert Bloch had a three-way sex romp in a hot tub, and then a team of scientists came in and filtered out the water and mixed the leftover DNA into a test tube, the resulting genetic experiment would most likely grow up into Steve Vernon." - Bookgasm
"Steve Vernon is something of an anomaly in the world of horror literature. He's one of the freshest new voices in the genre although his career has spanned twenty years. Writing with a rare swagger and confidence, Steve Vernon can lead his readers through an entire gamut of emotions from outright fear and repulsion to pity and laughter." - Cemetery Dance
"Armed with a bizarre sense of humor, a huge amount of originality, a flair for taking risks and a strong grasp of characterization - Steve's got the chops for sure." - Dark Discoveries
"Steve Vernon was born to write. He's the real deal and we're lucky to have him." - Richard Chizmar
My Mom thinks I'm pretty cool, too.
Cats are still very popular. I've done fairly well with this short story in the past, but I have JUST added a brand new cover that I anticipate will draw this story an awful lot of attention.
Nobody really knew how long the old Funnel mansion had stood empty, waiting up there high on Carpenter’s Hill like a child’s forgotten lunch box, any more than anybody knew just how long that old gray cat had squatted in behind the screen of the front porch window.
All we knew was somebody must be feeding it, because every now and then we would look in from the hedge on the far side of the yard and see the cat nibbling daintily on what looked to be raw hamburger.
“Guts,” proclaimed Jeremy Hooter, making a thick juicy swizzling noise with his lips and tongue pressed against his stainless steel braces. “It’s guts, is what it is.”
“Great big gobs of owl guts,” amplified Charlie Roundbert.
Charlie Roundbert was only half of Jeremy’s size and age, but he might as well have been Jeremy’s shadow. The two boys stuck together just that closely and yet as far as I knew the two of them never had anything nice to say to each other.
“Owl guts,” Charlie repeated.
We all took up the chant except Jeremy, who didn’t think it was funny at all.
“Owl guts, owl guts, owl guts.”
| Language | Status |
|---|---|
|
French
|
Already translated.
Translated by Christelle Djeukeu
|
|
Italian
|
Already translated.
Translated by Alessio Di Roberto
|
|
|
Author review: Great to work with. A real professional, very patient and careful. I'd work with him again. |
|
Portuguese
|
Already translated.
Translated by Lucas Dias
|
|
|
Author review: Easy to work with. |
|
Spanish
|
Already translated.
Translated by María Helena González
|
