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Colin and Ishmael in the Dark [MultiFormat]
eBook by William Shunn
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$0.65 |
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$0.55 |
eBook Category: Horror
eBook Description: Colin is a feckless medieval jailer, keeping watch over hardened criminals in the depths of the local dungeon. But when the lights go out and the tables are turned, will he survive a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse with the diabolical Ishmael?
eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Science Fiction Age, 1993
Fictionwise Release Date: March 2006
7 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [29 KB]
, ePub (EPUB) [34 KB]
, Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [16 KB]
, Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [214 KB]
, Palm Doc (PDB) [16 KB]
, Microsoft Reader (LIT) [76 KB]
, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [87 KB]
, hiebook (KML) [101 KB]
, Sony Reader (LRF) [40 KB]
, iSilo (PDB) [14 KB]
, Mobipocket (PRC) [17 KB]
, Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [45 KB]
, OEBFF Format (IMP) [27 KB]
Words: 4819
Reading time: 13-19 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
 
In the total darkness, the incessant drip! drip! of limewater on stone was the only sound to be heard. Steady as the beating of a heart, ceaseless as the motion of the stars, that sound filled the darkness, fed the darkness, became the darkness. It stitched the seconds together loosely into minutes, the minutes into long ragged hours, and the hours into great tattered sheets that flapped like ghosts in an unseen wind, leaving behind only gray threads of time to mark their passage as they unraveled. In all of creation there was only dripping water, and beyond the reach of its echoes the world no longer existed.
This changed only twice a day, when metal ground harshly against metal and the bolt sprang back from the rusted lock with the sound of a crossbow quarrel being loosed. This particular day began like every other--the resonant creak of the hinges, the crushing reverberation as the door slammed shut, the tread of steel-toed boots crossing the damp stone floor and then pausing. "Breakfast, Ishmael," said a voice worn into a sing-song by the repetitiveness its daily routine.
"Just put it there on the settee, will you?" This dry voice spoke wryly and precisely.
"Of course." The first voice chuckled, and those ringing footsteps crossed the remainder of the distance without hesitation. "Would you like your serviette tucked into your collar, as well?"
"No, no, that won't be necessary." Stoneware clinked as the tray was set down. "Now, what have we today? Oh, feels like ... eggs ... fresh, I'd say, and over-easy ... hmm, but bigger than usual.... Colin, you haven't been dipping into the goose nests again, have you?"
"Who, me? Why, of course not."
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