Résultats de "John Skipp" dans Toutes les catégories

Charley Brewster is a horror movie fan, a kid with an active imagination. So, when he begins telling people that his new next-door neighbor is a vampire, no one believes him. Not the police, not his girlfriend Amy, not even the school weirdo Evil Ed. But Charley's seen the coffin and the bodies drained of blood and knows he will be the vampire's next victim.

An adrenaline-charged tale of unrelenting suspense that sparks with raw and savage energy... The newspapers scream out headlines that spark terror across the city. Ten murders on the New York City subway. Ten grisly crimes that defy all reason -- no pattern, no m.o., no leads for police to pursue. The press dubs the fiend the “Subway Psycho”; the NYPD desperately seeks their quarry before the city erupts in mass hysteria. But they won't find what they're looking for.

His name is Bily Rowe. Yesterday, he was just another tragically talented loser that the city had chewed up and spat back down on the streets - a failed musician, failed lover, failed friend. But that was before a young woman was brutally murdered before his eyes. That was before the hideous creatures crawled out of the shadows to call him by name. That was before Billy Rowe discovered the power.

They've been with us forever - prowling the smoky roadhouse dives that are their watering holes and hunting grounds. Predators, lurking amidst the human herd. Changing shape at will. Lusting for blood and meat they are gods in the wild. Gods in disguise. And they feed on the spark inside each of us. Syd was just another lonely working class guy singing the steel-town blues. Then he met Nora. She's sensual, Erotic. Amoral.

Dead Lines is about a young writer and artist type named Jack Rowan, who lives in NYC and whose career never took off. His life is in the toilet. He's broken up with his girlfriend and is crashing on the couch in the loft of his more successful photographer friend, Glen, while Glen is off in LA on a shoot.

Una serie di omicidi tinge di rosso i tunnel della metropolitana di New York. Crimini efferati, che sfuggono a ogni tentativo di comprensione: nessun movente, nessuna logica, nessuna pista da seguire. I giornali, impegnati a diffondere il terrore nella città con i loro titoli tetri e altisonanti, parlano di un feroce serial killer. La polizia, al lavoro per scongiurare altre morti, non può permettere che la città cada in preda a un isterismo di massa.

Meet The Scream. Just your average everyday mega-cult band. Their music is otherworldly. Their words are disturbing. Their message is unholy. Their fans are legion. And they're not kidding. They're killing. Themselves. Each other. Everyone. Their gospel screams from the lips of babes. Their backbeat has a body count. And their encore is just the warm-up act to madness beyond belief. It emerged from a war-torn jungle, where insanity was just another word for survival. It arrived in America with an insatiable lust for power and the means to fulfill it.