Cycle of the Werewolf by Stephen King, Bernie Wrightson (2019 edition)
English | 2019 | Fantasy | ePUB | 36.2 Mb
Cycle of the Werewolf : Rediscover the classic masterpiece by New York Times bestselling author Stephen King, illustrated by legendary comic book artist Bernie Wrightson.
Terror began in January—by the light of the full moon…
The first scream came from the snowbound railwayman who felt the werewolf’s fangs ripping at his throat. The next month there was a scream of ecstatic agony from the woman attacked in her cozy bedroom. Now scenes of unbelievable horror unfold each time the full moon shines on the isolated Maine town of Tarker’s Mills. No one knows who will be attacked next. But one thing is sure—when the full moon rises, a paralyzing fear sweeps through the town. For snarls that sound like human words can be heard whining through the wind. And all around are the footprints of a monster whose hunger cannot be sated….
“But as her pudgy fingers fall on the cold sash of the window she sees it is not a man at all; it is an animal out there, a huge, shaggy wolf, his forepaws on the outer sill, his rear legs buried up to the haunches in the snowdrift that crouches against the west side of her house, here on the outskirts of town.
But it’s Valentine’s day and there will be love, she thinks; her eyes have deceived her even in her dream. It is a man, that man, and he is so wickedly handsome.
(wickedness yes love would be like wickedness)
and he has come this moon-decked night and he will take her. He will—
She throws the window up and it is the blast of cold air billowing her filmy blue nightgown out behind that tells her that this is no dream. The man is gone and with a sensation like swooning she realizes he was never there. She takes a shuddering, groping step backward and the wolf leaps smoothly into her room and shakes itself, spraying a dreamy sugarpuff of snow in the darkness.
But love! Love is like . . . is like . . . like a scream—
Too late she remembers Arnie Westrum, torn apart in the railroad shack to the west of town only a month before. Too late . . .
The wolf pads toward her, yellow eyes gleaming with cool lust. Stella Randolph backs slowly toward her narrow virgin’s bed until the back of her pudgy knees strike the frame and she collapses upon it.”