See inside the mind of a psychopathic killer, as she works her way through several murders in the City Of York. Accompany her hand in hand as she selects her victims.
When Darkness Falls is a testament to the human fascination with the criminal mind, and the debate over whether serial killers are wither evil or mad.
Emma Humbles rated it it was amazing
Fantastic! What an excellent read......this book doesn't hold back any punches in relation to the work of both the mind and body of a psychotic serial killer within the City of York. Cleverly written to allow the reader to go on the journey with the serial killer and view her thoughts and actions from her perspective. Even when you put a piece of the jigsaw together, another twist pops up.
How the killer stages the scenes in order to lead the police along different paths is brilliant.
I just wanted the book to continue.
Sarah Graham rated it it was amazing
Wow, I started reading this book yesterday and I cannot put it down. The suspense keeps the reader guessing, from the start it is fast paced with twists and turns. I'm looking forward to the next chapter. This is one of the best books I have read, well written and descriptive, you really are inside the mind of the Yorkshire Slasher. This book truly deserves 5 stars.
5.0 out of 5 stars A Ghoulish and Fascinating Story!
By Amazon Customer on 9 May 2017
Tracy Bennett is a seemingly "normal" gal, except she's crazy, spiteful and driven by a lust to kill. She is the female version of DEXTER! Written in first person, I was able to enter Tracy's malevolent mind, which is filled with a desire to torture and murder her victims with a passion.
If you have an interest in the psychopathic psyche, this book will shock and unnerve you to the core. I was unable to put it down as the character is so driven, ghoulishly fascinating and wickedly humorous. What a character! Killing is an art for Tracy and she will not be stopped.
5.0 out of 5 stars A clever, twisty read! 2 April 2017
By Lizzy - Published on Amazon.com
Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
This was an engaging thriller, narrated by a psychopathic killer who gets her thrills by creating art from the blood of her victims. The narrator’s voice is sarcastic and sadistic, keenly observant of every nuance in her midst as she plots her next murder, with the prowess of a hungry animal licking its lips in delightful anticipation.
Most of the victims work at a York department store, and as more of them are savagely killed, a tight-knit group of women fear for their own lives, scrambling to keep themselves safe. But are they unwittingly moving closer to danger?
I love books with great payoffs, and this is one of them! I don’t want to say any more. Just that it’s a really good read!
5.0 out of 5 stars Marvelously gruesome! 14 Mar. 2017
By BookReviews88 - Published on Amazon.com
Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
For you thriller aficionados, Harryman delivers an intense and gory tale that places you directly inside the mind of the Yorkshire Slasher. 'I did not slash!'
I could NOT put this book down. Out of an unspeakable childhood trauma, a new woman was born. This intelligent, (dare I say) likable, beautiful psychopath will have you feeling both shocked and amused. Without revealing too much, I will say that this character has lots of 'personality'.
Extremely well written, fast-paced, perfectly descriptive, Kathleen Harryman manages to intertwine gruesome murder with sophistication brilliantly. A well deserved five stars!
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The roiling action of Ernest Brawley’s novel The Rap takes place in and around a penitentiary much like San Quentin. The time is the early 70s, when George Jackson, Angela Davis and others were agitating for prison reform, and the authorities were doing everything they could do to thwart them. A young, sympathetic guard, Arvin Weed, attends night classes at a local college in pursuit of a dream to break away from his worst nightmare: working at the prison forever, like his father. But his reputation as a Vietnam vet rifle marksman draws him unwittingly into a conspiracy to murder revolutionary, black militant leader, William Galliot, who’s just been sent to prison. Arvin’s evil cousin, Wasco Weed, also a recent arrival to the prison, fancies himself a criminal genius, and has, in fact, been directly tapped by conservative political eminences to assassinate Galliot, the revolutionary. Wasco shrewdly manipulates everyone in his orbit, including his voluptuous wife, Moke, an almost supernatural creature given to midnight swims in the ocean and driven by a ferocious craving for money and power; Fast-Walking Miniver, a young guard and the warden’s scapegrace son; Big Arv, Arvin’s loutish father; Lobo Miniver, the urbane and opportunistic warden; and even Wasco’s own mother, Evie, the bawdy proprietress of a whorehouse. Moving from the tragic to the comic, the obscene to the exalted, the real to the surreal, The Rap is the ultimate American saga.
“He was the fastest man in the entire State Slam. Clocked by Arv at true time doing sixteen seconds crossing the Big Yard—a hundred yards—his limber wobbling legs seeming to float in space. Still a young man, only seven or eight years older than Arv, with a handsome face and bright blue eyes and a hawklike curved nose and a high pale brow and straight pretty teeth and a strong forthright jaw like his father's and a thin dry mouth, the mouth of an aristocrat of the Joint, and all of that laid over that tiny head atop that impossible body, Fast-Walking seemed at once as young and old as creation." ~
Tessa nearly tumbled out of the saddle but grabbed a handful of mane, cursing herself for carelessness. Sparks quivered and her nostrils flared.
“What is it, girl?” Tessa whispered and scrutinized the trail for danger. Nothing seemed wrong. The leather saddle creaked as she leaned forward and patted the mare’s neck. “It’s all right. I don’t see anything.” With a jab of her heel, she urged Sparks to move forward, but the mare whinnied, planted her hooves, and refused to budge.
Tessa’s heart thudded.
The dense woods felt oppressive, terrifying. What could she do? Hours from home with unknown danger lurking ahead, she frantically searched the landscape to gain her bearings. She saw no familiar landmarks, having lost track of her location while she dozed, but abandoning the trail might prove deadly. A wrong turn could plunge them over a precipice or get them stuck in a springtime bog.
She must face the danger head on. Clutching her hunting knife she held her breath and listened. Except for the horse’s snorts and the pounding of her heart, the woods were deadly silent—a sure sign of trouble. What an idiot I am! I missed nature’s warning signs by falling asleep.
Leaves rustled. A dark body moving through the undergrowth drew her attention but disappeared behind a bush. Tessa stiffened and Sparks jerked her head high, her ears pinned back. Trenton trained his horses to stand absolutely still when he braced for an attack, and Sparks became a statue.
A twig snapped.
Look up! Look at the branch. The mental command startled Tessa and she stared at the branch.
A snakelike tail twitched across the top of the branch, betraying a thick body hunched against the dark wood. Tessa angled her knife blade into the sun and flashed light into the shadows. She saw large almond eyes and the white fangs of a mountain lion.
The branch exploded and a snarling yowl shattered the silence.
Tessa jerked on her reins and Sparks reared, striking at the hated creature with her hooves. Razor-sharp claws slashed at Tessa but missed as she tumbled out of the saddle. Claws scraped across the leather saddle, while Sparks whinnied and her hooves raked the turf. Tessa hit the ground and rolled, amazed that she still clutched the knife. She crouched, ready for another attack. A dark shape blurred in the perimeter of Tessa’s vision—the lion’s mate?
Inspired by her grandfather and the lore of her last name, Katherine Pendragon set out to be the greatest scholar on Old England, King Arthur, and the Knights of the Round Table, she could be.
Research Librarian Katherine Pendragon always had the fantasies that her name inspired. So she traveled to England and became the worlds leading most expert in King Arthur and the Knights of the Round table. But that was all history. Until, faced with a gruesome fate she inadvertently summons the sword of legend, EXCALIBUR. Now armed with the magic blade she prowls the streets of London dispensing healthy doses of justice. But is there another reason for the mystic blades return. Find out as Lady Excalibur and her friends face an ancient evil.
While blizzards raged across the Northern Hemisphere, tourists donned sunglasses, sandals, and garish T-shirts to confront a sultry January day in Barbados. The fierce sun seared virgin white skin and waves of heat rippled off the pavement.
Swarming the dock like ants attacking a crumb of sugar cookie, crew and passengers disembarked from three cruise ships docked in the deep-water harbor. Two of the ships, the Aurora and the Polaris belonged to Constellation Cruise Lines. The uniformed crew—wearing caps with bold blue and red CCL insignia and short-sleeved cotton shirts tucked into crisp white shorts—patiently directed passengers through the congested terminal.
Metal stairs rattled, supply carts clanked, and a loudspeaker crackled messages over the din of the crowd. Caribbean music pierced the discord. A string band twisted the melody of an old ballad into a lazy calypso beat punctuated by the mellow timpani of a steel drum. Five black musicians swayed and twisted through the throng keeping step with their own music—a Caribbean-style marching band. Frayed straw hats bobbed in time to the rhythm. Red, orange, and purple flowered shirts undulated over boxy green shorts and dirty white tennis shoes as the musicians played homemade instruments fashioned from lead pipes, coconut shells, scrap lumber, and tin. Electronic flashes burst from the crowd of tourists who diligently recorded the scene with cameras.
A man wearing a dark turtleneck shirt under a long-sleeved white service coat scowled at the crowd. Hefting a CCL tote bag the agile man maneuvered through the horde of bewildered tourists and slipped down a vacant corridor. Hesitating for a heartbeat he scanned the empty hallway, inserted a key into the door, and slipped inside.
The sign on the door read: “Quarantined Area, No Admittance,” but no alarm bells blared, no security guards charged in to make an arrest. The intruder turned on the lights and opened his tote bag. He removed a pair of surgical gloves, a cotton swab taped to a long stick, and a small black manicure case. A cricket chirped, a tree-frog trilled, and leaves rustled as lizards scuttled from sight. Forest sounds seemed incongruous in a room full of stainless steel equipment, wire cages, and glass enclosures plastered with large red labels proclaiming “Danger” in several languages.
Snapping surgical gloves onto sweaty hands, he cautiously pried open the lid of a small terrarium, inserted the cotton swab, and stroked the skin of the tiny frog. Startled, the frog vaulted toward the open lid. The stranger jerked back and dropped the cotton swab into the glass cage.
The two-inch reptile clutched the edge of the glass with sticky, bulbous toes and peeked through the opening. It looked harmless, strangely beautiful with iridescent yellow stripes down a navy blue hide, except for the deadly toxin coating its skin. One touch could kill a man as surely as a cobra’s bite.
As the diminutive creature squeezed through the glass lid, the intruder retreated to a safe distance. The frog jumped, landing near his shoe. Screaming, he scrambled to avoid the dangerous reptile, plastic soles squeaking against the slick floor, and crashed into a cart full of metal trays that clanged to the floor. The frog vanished. Holding his breath, the man stepped in circles, searching. He spotted the quivering reptile—a patch of glowing color in the dark shadow of a table—and exhaled a sigh of pent up breath.
Heart pounding, he fished out the cotton swab, unzipped the manicure kit, and extracted two glass vials, a white plastic toothpick, and a pair of tweezers. Eyeing the frog, he rubbed the moist swab over the toothpick and the tweezers, slipping each into a glass vial.
Storing the vials in the manicure kit, he noticed a sticky smear on his jacket sleeve just inches from bare skin. A similar smudge the size of the frog marred the glass terrarium. Cursing, he threw the swab to the floor and stripped off gloves and coat. Folding the tainted sleeve to the inside of the jacket, he wiped a trickle of sweat with a trembling hand. Turning off the lights, he fled.
No one noticed a man wearing a dark turtleneck shove a white bundle into the dockside trash bin. He joined a group of tourists who climbed the gangway to the Aurora.
The laboratory remained quiet for an hour. When the door clanged open, the tiny reptile retreated to safety behind a table leg.
Hubert flipped on the light switch singing, “Every liddle ting goin’ ta be ah—all right.” He wagged his head to the rhythm of his own song as he dragged a sloshing orange bucket on wheels into the laboratory. Glaring fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed overhead.
He abruptly stopped singing and surveyed the room warily. “Hello! Who’s been makin’ such a mess?”
A marshy scent of rotting wood and leaves wafted from a nearby enclosure. Inside a miniature dinosaur shifted its head to peer at him with an eerie gaze.
“It’s a good job I’m not de bloke cleaning your cage, mister,” he said and skirted past the reptile.
“Wonder how des trays get spilt over de floor. Nobody was working las’ night.” After stacking trays onto the proper cart, he bent and picked up a cotton swab from the floor. “Dis looks mighty strange. Dem science blokes don’t toss trash ’round like dis.” He fingered the sticky substance at the end of the swab. His skin tingled and heat flashed up his arm, sweat stung his face. He swiped his forehead with a meaty brown hand. “What in de world...” Eyes widening, he clutched his throat and gagged.
Scrambling for the door, Hubert tripped over the orange bucket and sprawled on the floor. Legs twitched. Fingers jerked. Soapy water sloshed across the checkerboard linoleum, soaking Hubert’s body and seeping into the shadows. The frog climbed up the table leg, its beady black eyes watching the large man die.
That evening Bajan radio spread the news over the airwaves: “A terrible accident resulting in death at the Port Authority occurred today when a janitor touched a lethal Poison Dart Frog. The frog, which escaped from a shipment earmarked for the National Aquarium in Baltimore, Maryland, was subsequently captured. Discovery of the body occurred when a lab technician entered the facility to perform afternoon feeding duties. Public release of the identity of the deceased was withheld pending notification of family members. The Port Authority promised a full investigation.”
They live among us. We know they are there. No government can control them; no authority can stop them. Some are evil. Some are good. All are powerful. They inhabit our myths and fairy tales. But what if they were real, the witches, wizards, and fairy godmothers? What if they were called "adepts" and were organized into guilds for mutual protection and benefit? And what if they started mucking around with the affairs of "lessers" (that is, those humans not able to match their powers)? During the height of the Cold War, Michael Vaughan is a rogue without a guild. He survives by working for the CIA as NOC (Non-Official Cover). Shortly after the funeral of President Joe Kennedy, Jr., he is sent to Cuba to assassinate Castro. There he finds himself in a cat-and-mouse game with adepts working for Fidel.
After more than 200 years of being dead on the ocean floor, vampire Dominic Kollar is released in the year 2012, only to find out that the rules have changed. Bounty Slayers are responsible for keeping Vampires in line.
As Dom acclimates to the strange modern world, he discovers that he really likes two things: riding motorcycles and the sight of a mysterious, bewitching lady.
Aided by an old vampire frenemy, Dom confronts human bikers in order to infiltrate their gang and find the object of his blood lust. As long as he can keep himself fed in this new world of challenges, Dominic Kollar will make a stand, avenge his past and attempt to destroy those who dared to cross his path.
This novella will bring you closer to the Mancini family during the holidays.
Isabelle Mancini, the matriarch of the family, really misses her children. Except for Bella, who is now a senior in high school, her sons are spread out all over the U.S. and overseas. She decides to do something a little different this Christmas and rents a gorgeous cabin in the mountains to get everyone together. But it’s not just their company she’s craving. Isabelle has an announcement to make, one that will shock her family.
When a blizzard strands a dinner guest on the side of the road, four of the Mancini brothers leave the cabin to brave the elements, find this guest, and bring him and themselves safely back to the cabin.
A slippery drive down the mountain, in search of the missing guest, brings unexpected suspense from both the wilderness and bad guys as a man-versus-nature challenge juxtaposes with a man-against-man danger that threatens their very survival.
The Mancini family invites you to a very special--and very exciting--Christmas Eve adventure. Don’t miss it!
Traffic was thick even this early in the day. A line of cars snaked down San Marcos Pass as impatient drivers frequently passed four or five cars at a time in a vain effort to gain a few minutes over the rest.
Suddenly I felt a hard jolt as a car rammed my truck from the rear. My pulse raced. All I could see was a blur of white in my mirror before he hit me again. I heard Zorro barking in the camper and wondered how soon we could get off this horrible road.
Anger replaced fear as I saw the white car fall back and then gain speed for another onslaught. I remembered watching stunt drivers play out this scene in movies. Mike always said the driver should slam on the brakes and let the ramming car take the brunt of the crash—like cars in a demolition derby. He claimed the rear end of a car could absorb more abuse than the front end.
I braced myself and jammed the brake pedal to the floor. The crunching jolt was almost satisfying, but my head whipped back into the headrest. My neck felt sore. I glanced in the mirror and saw that the white hood looked crumpled and black smoke poured from the engine.
I stomped on the gas and gained distance while fumbling in my purse for my cell phone. I really needed to clean out the junk in that mammoth purse! Flipping open the lid, I saw a blank screen and a “searching for signal” message. I threw the useless instrument back into the black hole of my purse and glanced into the rear view mirror.
A knot formed in my stomach as Zorro barked in the camper.
The white car crept closer, like a tiger stalking its prey. Suddenly the car veered sharply into the passing lane, and I realized he planned to push me over the edge by hitting me from the side. I slammed on the brakes again hard, skidding to a stop as the white car shot past. He barely missed an oncoming car and veered back into our lane before screeching to a halt ahead of me.
If you wrong us, shall we not revenge? Rick Bailey is living a nice, quiet life on the planet where he retired, enjoying the money he found in the Treasure of the Black Hole. Without warning, he is arrested for helping his former lover, Jil, break out of prison where she was serving a 20-year term for murdering an alien. Hoping to clear his name, Bailey goes after Jil. But the slime-bed mate of Jil's victim is also after her. Now, Bailey's only hope for saving Jil is to find a treasure buried on a planet over ran with cannibalistic pirates. He teams up with a Core Empire Intelligence Corps officer, but she might have motives of her own. Can Rick save Jil and keep himself out of the clutches of the Core Empire that wants to vivisection him, the police who want to jail him, and the alien who wants vengeance for his brother's murder?
A few days ago, I was watching the Weather Channel on TV, and a weatherman was asking some people on the street some very simple questions. One question was "in which direction does the sun rise and set?" A few people could not answer this question. Another question was “can you name the four seasons?” Several people could not answer this question either! Now I thought to myself, "damn, those are some really dumb people!" In my opinion, there should not be a single person on this planet who cannot answer these basic questions, but the fact is, there are probably a lot of people who cannot answer these and many, many more very simple questions. These are important things everyone should learn as they grow up. These people were walking down the street, and appeared to be ordinary people, functioning in life like everyone else, putting one foot in front of the other, but in reality maybe their brains were in overload just getting one foot in front of the other, and they were, in fact, on the verge of literally falling flat on their faces. Can these people learn more and function better? I think yes. That is what gave me the idea of writing this book.
Why the SOB in the title of this book? Well, mainly to catch your eye, but also because for too many people I'm sure, the title SOB fits me very well, especially if you happen to work in any form of government, and especially the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department (TP&WD). If you read my last book, Dangerous Waters, you will know why I say this. It really doesn’t matter if you read that book though, what matters is that you read this book. Dangerous Waters was written to help me; this book is to help you.
If you don’t think I’m an SOB now, I’m sure many of you will certainly think so by the time you finish this book; maybe long before you finish. Some of you may get so pissed off at me before you get to the end, you don’t even finish the book. That will hurt you, not me. I may say some things which will offend you, but remember I am trying to help you. Do I care what you think about me? No, certainly not. I really don’t care what other people think about me, and you should not care what other people think about you either. I am what I am, I am who I am, and if you don’t like it, well then, you can kiss my fat ass! I don’t care what you think. If you care what other people think about you, then other people will change you. You will not change me. Even if you slam this book shut right now and throw it away, you will have at least experienced lesson #1. Don’t care about the other 347 lessons? That’s your choice.
If I don’t fit your profile of what a normal person should be, then screw you. First of all, I have never claimed to be normal. In fact, I don’t think I have ever considered myself as normal, and that has never been a goal of mine. I have always strived to be just me, whatever that may be, but normal, no! I am an individual and unique, and think I have always been so. I will never conform to what you think is normal and I will never be a card carrying member of A Nation of Sheep. This was one of the few books I read while in High School that influenced my life. I am constantly evolving, but in a direction which suits me, not you. I don’t think I’m crazy or nuts, but will not entirely rule that out either.
I was taught by my parents when I was young, that I should not tell anyone everything I know. I was told that would make them smarter than me, as they would then know everything they know and everything I know. Now, I don't think this makes any sense, and it certainly doesn’t make any difference to me. Frankly, I just don’t care how smart you are or can become. I just hope I can avoid being killed or injured, by some stupid person doing something really stupid. If I can help make more people less stupid, maybe I will have a better chance of living a little bit longer. I may be able to help you become a little smarter, but probably not less stupid. I’ve heard stupid is for forever, and this is probably true. But maybe if you are a little smarter, which I can help you with, you will think a little more before you act. This, in turn, will hopefully make you do less stupid things. Try it and see if it works. There are way too many stupid people out there. I know; I see them on the highway every time I go somewhere.
I do not know why my parents told me not to tell people too much. Maybe they were just trying to shut me up. Kids learn very early to ask “why?” Maybe I was always telling them stuff and asking too many questions, and they just wanted to get rid of me. Kids really do ask a lot of seemingly silly questions, but this is the way they learn. I didn’t get all the answers, but I did ask. Maybe some or even a lot of kids don’t, or can’t, ask all that many questions. That’s just too bad, as this is how you have to learn when you are too young to read well, and you can’t really do much else.
Learning to walk is a challenge, and learning to get around the house, yard and then the neighborhood can be challenging too when you are young. There always has to be some help from parents, relatives and siblings, or you will not learn what you need to learn before you get into school. Maybe some parents are not smart enough to answer the questions the kids are asking, or are too busy to raise the kids who are their responsibility to rear to the best of their ability. This can be a serious problem. If you are a parent, take the time to teach your kids all you can. This is your job; your responsibility. If kids do not ask questions and get answers, they cannot learn. Parents should know this. Parents must be willing to answer the questions. If your life is so busy, why do you have kids? You must make time for them. I suspect too many people have not made time for their kids, and this is really sad, as now there are a lot of dumb people as a result.
What will the next generation of kids be like? This can create a vicious cycle for perpetuating dumb people. It doesn’t have to be this way though. I found other ways of learning. How about you? Considering all the dumb people around, someone needs to help these poor souls. I cannot replace your parents, but I am going to try to tell you everything I know, though this will be impossible, and you may already know some of the things I will cover, but it never hurts to repeat. I will also tell some pretty good stories about my life as I go, and share my beliefs and frustrations, all with a good measure of sarcasm and a little humor too. You will get some insight into my life and why I do things. I will also try to give you the strength you need to make better decisions, and get you started down a path which will lead to better finances, more happiness and hopefully to a better life, which will lead you to a greater respect for yourself and those around you. I will try to motivate you, and show you there is hope despite your parents, and it is never too late to learn, but you have to be willing to learn. I will help as much as I can, and maybe, just maybe, helping some dumbass to smarten up a bit, will save me from one of his or her stupid mistakes. That is my goal.
If you have a college degree, are living a good life and are happy with your life, this book is probably not for you. If you are mentally stable, know what you want out of life and are working in the direction of improving your life, then you probably do not need this book, but maybe this book can still help you a little anyway. I expect you will learn a few things you did not know before, and you might also find an interesting story or two along the way, as this book is also an autobiography of my life, with a lot of pretty good stories about as much of my life I can remember. I believe you will be glad you read the book, even if you really did not need it. I’m also sure you probably know someone this book can help, and maybe you might want to buy a copy to help him or her out a little. Maybe this book will save you from your dumb friends, and the stupid things they do. Think about that.
If on the other hand, you are not happy, if you are not moving forward with your life, if you do not know where your life is headed, you may really need a helping hand, and that is what this book is, a helping hand. Maybe your kids do not listen to you, as few teenagers do. Maybe you need to try to get them to read this book, if you can. This book is for anyone stuck in a rut and needing direction. Everyone knows someone like this, and even if this book cannot help you, give a copy to someone you care about, so you can help them. You will be glad you did.
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La sirena negra by Emilia Pardo Bazán Narrator: Esperanza de la Encarnación Published by Edelae Genres: Fiction , Historical Length: 4 horas 42 minutos Format:
La Jolla, California is widely known for the "Seven Caves" and most visitors go inside the caves through kayaking tours, but there's also another way