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TAKES US HOME FOR TO HOBB’S END FOR THE FINAL CONFRONTATION. THIS TIME NO ONE GETS OUT OF HERE ALIVE AND THAT INCLUDES YOU! IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS "I CAN SEE…" -Jackson Harglow "I CAN SEE" -Linda Styles "I CAN SEE" -John Trent NOW SEE FOR YOURSELF There was a man come unto the earth with tales of terror and mad- ness. But he was more than a teller of stories. He was a prophet. And his words would herald the coming of the apocalypse. "In the Mouth of Madness" This is the last book written by horror king Sutter Cane, before his mysterious disappearance. It is his book of revelations, the beginning of the end. And after this book, nothing will ever be the same again… Watch for John Carpenter’s "In the Mouth of Madness" coming soon to a theater near you. "If you though the book was scary, wait til you see the movie … We practically chewed our thumbs off!!" -Two Bloody Thumb Stumps Up |
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| And then, suddenly, he fely a greater terror than that which any of the Forms could give – a terror from which he could not flee because it was connected with himself. In a chaos of scenes whose infinite multiplicity and monstrous diversity brought him close to the brink of madness, were a limitless confusion of beings which he knew were himself. Forms both human and non-human. He reeled in the clutch of supreme horror. He was no longer a being distinguished from other beings. He had reached the nameless summit of agony and dread… "The Cane stories take place in a parallel world that men of this Earth visit in dreams. Cane’s dream world of choice was never concretely visualized. He never, in fact, committed himself as to this world’s location and was even uncertain as to whether it exists now or in the remote past." The picturesque town hadn’t changed much since the turn-of-the –century. Even the people seemed out of time. There’s something about being in a small, rural community which Carl found both refreshing, and at the same time, a little unnerving. But there was something about this place which was making him feel more unnerved than anything else. Helen said it was withdrawal, not enough neon and police sirens. Maybe she was right, maybe Carl was just wound a little too tight. But Carl’s gut said otherwise, and it was never wrong. He had made a fortune relying on his instinct, and now it was telling him that here was something very wrong with this place. Helen called it nervous stomach, a symptom of post-retirement withdrawal. But Carl wasn’t nervous, he was scared. There was something in Hobb’s End which was making him sick. Maybe this was one of those quaint little towns which was being used as a dump site for toxic waste. That could explain the bleeding ulcer which was devouring Carl from the inside out. But the truth was far more terrifying than industrial pollutants. Carl knew the truth, always had, it was ingrained deep within his psyche. Psychologists called it social conscience, Carl called it his gut, and it was as much a part of his genetic makeup as the gene which had given him his white forelock. Unfortunately, Carl had also inherited the gene for male patterned baldness and lost his distinctive white forelock, along with the rest of his hair, several years ago. But he hadn’t lost the knowledge. He couldn’t. It was a part of him, and every other member of his species. It was what they had been created for. |
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