By Fred Chappell
Usually brought up in lists of the world's most sensible horror novels, Dagon tells the tale of Peter Leland whose ancestral secrets and techniques emerge to plunge him right into a international of terror and degradation. using the Mythos constructed via America's nice fantasist, H. P. Lovecraft, this novel transforms conventional Gothic parts into an severe, scarifying, smooth paintings. a global bestseller, Dagon used to be provided the easiest overseas booklet prize through the French Academy and has ignited lively debate approximately its innovative method of its fabrics. Readers were identified to maintain their condominium lighting fixtures burning all evening whereas examining this tale. "I am in truth confident that Fred Chappell is without doubt one of the most interesting writers of this time, one of many infrequent and invaluable few who're actually 'major.'" - George Garrett, writer of loss of life Of The Fox and The Succession. writer of thirty volumes of fiction, poetry, and nonfiction, Fred Chappell has two times gained international myth Awards, has seemed in over fifty anthologies, and has accrued a few dozen or so literary prizes together with Poet Laureate of the nation of North Carolina. Retired after 40 years of college instructing, he lives in Greensboro, North Carolina, and worships cats.
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He began to turn away to go back into the house. Coke Rymer put a wet hand on his shoulder. Wait a minute, feller. It ain't polite to go walking off while somebody's talking to you. I don't much like it when people don't treat me polite. He turned again. Get your hand off, he said. His voice was drowsy. I don't much like people giving me orders, neither. Especially when it's some chicken bastard like you. I don't know what you're doing, hanging around here anyhow. Why don't you just cut out while you got the chance?
But surely it was obvious, even to the boy, the superiority… Go on, go at it. I want to see you kill each other off. Mina, of course. She stood on the porch watching and now began to let herself gently down into the broken rocking chair. She rocked complacently, enfolding the whole scene with her still gaze. Go on, she said. Kill each other off, why don't you? Ain't neither one of you worth what it takes to keep you alive. It's been a long time since I seen a good fight. Let's see you do it. They looked at one another helplessly.
The simple fact that she countenanced Coke Rymer at all was unfathomable. All her motives were buried under the ocean. He sighed. Moving to the left still, still trying to get out of his sight every part of Coke Rymer and the knife, he struck with his foot something solid and metal. At first he couldn't find it; buried in the deep dust. He dug in and dredged it out: a handle for a water pump: It was lovely, it was about two and a half feet long, dull iron. It had a very slight S curve and the end of the handle was smooth, his hand fitted it perfectly.