Der Hexer Das Haus unter dem Meer. Roman (German Edition) - Kindle edition by Wolfgang Hohlbein. Download it once and read it on your Kindle device. Der Hexer Tage des Wahnsinns. Roman (German Edition) eBook: Wolfgang Hohlbein: scretch.info: Kindle Store. Die vorliegende Sammleredition der Kultreihe aus der Feder von Wolfgang Hohlbein präsentiert die Hexer-Geschichten als "Director's Cut" in ihrer.
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Dans mon panier Description There was something disturbing about this mist. The ship's crusty hull seemed to vanish into the gray mass. An odd odor wafted up from the water's surface. I leaned my hands on the railing, bent forward and tried to catch just a hint of the water. But the mist was too thick. As I turned, I thought I sensed movement - a short, sudden twitch - as if something enormous from the gray mass was reaching out. I stared into the void.
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Chan's Story: A Numbers Game Short. Rebecca Rode. Storm of Prophecy, Book I: Dark Awakening. Michael von Werner. He screamed, heard Cranton nearby yelling, and, choking on water himself was thrown into the lake and pulled with great force under the water. He sucked in an instinctive breath of air and with all his might tried to swim away from where the boat was sinking. His heart pounded, and it felt like a steel wheel was laid on his chest, slowly pushing down.
Blind with fear, he reached out. He broke through the surface of the water and took in as much air as he could. The lake boiled around him. The moonlight suddenly pierced through a gap in the clouds, basking the lake in its brilliant, silver light as if an invisible director had pulled the clouds aside like a stage curtain to reveal the horrifying scene. He looked back with a gasp. The boat was gone. The lake, just seconds earlier as smooth as a solid mirror, had turned into a chaos of foamy waves and seething movement.
The water was freezing and he could feel his strength failing him with each passing moment.
By the time he finally touched the weedy lakebed, he could hardly pull himself out of the water. The gray-haired Irishman laid there a moment, trembling, his heart still pounding. Darkness was creeping in, threatening to overtake his consciousness; his left leg was throbbing in increasing pain. He propped himself up on knees and elbows, crawled just out of the water and collapsed again.
His breath was wheezy and irregular as he turned onto his back and looked once more towards the water. The moon continued to bathe Loch Shin in cold light.
Then right in the middle where the thing had emerged from, several shimmering air bubbles had risen up, growing larger and larger until they burst. He stared restlessly at the lake. The water had an oily sheen, and for a moment he sensed a massive, dark form beneath its surface. But it was only a shadow the moonlight cast across the clouds. His voice trembled, and the howling wind seemed to answer with a derisive shrill.
It was the only answer he got. Everything in him was shouting to turn around and leave this horrible place as fast as possible. With shaking knees, he staggered back to the shore. Answer me! Where are you? He called out in increasing desperation for Cranton. Something brushed his foot. It was only a boot the waves had brought in and it swayed now in the silt.
There the similarities ended. The guest house was at the end of a street that was rundown even by the standards of the New York slums which I had left not half a year ago. Barely a quarter of the two-dozen streetlights adorning the cobblestone street worked, and what they did manage to illuminate would have been better left in the darkness.
Waste and refuse were strewn everywhere, and the dark outlines of overflowing trash cans stood out against the buildings' broken brick facades. What few windows I could see were shuttered or boarded up.
Now and again you could hear squeaks and the tapping of tiny, hard claws.
They were the only living things in this area after dark. The stench even seeped into the coach, and we had only just arrived. The guest house itself was only distinguished by a poorly handmade sign and a dim gas lamp with a cracked shade above the door.
Even the windows were shut, with only a bit of light seeping through the cracks between the shutters. To my surprise, he shook his head at it. We aren't tired of living yet, you know?