Book : Phantoms - Koontz, Dean

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“Phantoms is gruesome and unrelenting…It’s well realized, intelligent, and humane.”-Stephen KingThey found the town silent, apparently abandoned. Then they found the first body, strangely swollen and still warm. One hundred fifty were dead, 350 missing. But the terror had only begun in the tiny mountain town of Snowfield, California.At first they thought it was the work of a maniac. Or terrorists. Or toxic contamination. Or a bizarre new disease.But then they found the truth. And they saw it in the flesh. And it was worse than anything any of them had ever imagined... Review “Scary and stylish.”-Los Angeles Times“First-rate…scary and plausible.”-Publishers Weekly“Gruesome and unrelenting.”-Stephen King“Stunning.Phantoms is an instant classic.”-Chicago Sun-Times“Koontz has outdone himself.”-Philadelphia Daily NewsMore Praise for Dean Koontz“Dean Koontz is a prose stylist whose lyricism heightens malevolence and tension. [He creates] characters of unusual richness and depth.”-The Seattle Times“Tumbling, hallucinogenic prose....‘Serious’ writers...might do well to examine his technique.”-The New York Times Book Review“Lyrical writing and compelling characters...Koontz stands alone.”-Associated Press“In every industry there exist ‘artists’ that are not only unforgettable, but know their craft better than the rest. Dean Koontz...is among these artisans.”-Suspense Magazine“[Koontz] has always had near-Dickensian powers of description, and an ability to yank us from one page to the next that few novelists can match.”-Los Angeles Times“Perhaps more than any other author, Koontz writes fiction perfectly suited to the mood of America...novels that acknowledge the reality and tenacity of evil but also the power of good...[and that] entertain vastly as they uplift.”-Publishers Weekly About the Author Dean Koontz, the author of many #1 New York Times bestsellers, lives in Southern California with his wife, Gerda, their golden retriever, Elsa, and the enduring spirit of their goldens, Trixie and Anna. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. chapter one The Town Jail The scream was distant and brief. A womans scream. Deputy Paul Henderson looked up from his copy of Time. He cocked his head, listening. Motes of dust drifted lazily in a bright shaft of sunlight that pierced one of the mullioned windows. The thin, red second hand of the wall clock swept soundlessly around the dial. The only noise was the creak of Hendersons office chair as he shifted his weight in it. Through the large front windows, he could see a portion of Snowfields main street. Skyline Road, which was perfectly still and peaceful in the golden afternoon sunshine. Only the trees moved, leaves aflutter in a soft wind. After listening intently for several seconds, Henderson was not sure he had actually heard anything. Imagination, he told himself. Just wishful thinking. He almost would have preferred that someone had screamed. He was restless. During the off season, from April through September, he was the only full-time sheriffs deputy assigned to the Snowfield substation, and the duty was dull. In the winter, when the town was host to several thousand skiers, there were drunks to be dealt with, fistfights to be broken up, and room burglaries to be investigated at the inns, lodges, and motels where the skiers stayed. But now, in early September, only the Candleglow Inn, one lodge, and two small motels were open, and the natives were quiet, and Henderson-who was just twenty-four years old and concluding his first year as a deputy-was bored. He sighed, looked down at the magazine that lay on his desk-and heard another scream. As before, it was distant and brief, but this time it sounded like a mans voice. It wasnt merely a shriek of excitement or even a cry of alarm; it was the sound of terror. Frowning, Henderson got up and headed toward the door,
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