Not a Creature Was Stirring

Dean Evans

Description

In this clever but decidedly un-jolly tale set at Christmastime, rough-and-tumble miner Tom Gannett emerges from a long stretch of work under the surface of the Earth to discover that a few things have gone awry in his absence. Under an ominously peculiar-looking sky, Gannett sets out to determine what's going on.

Sujets

• Science-fiction
• Science fiction

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 octobre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776672356
• Langue: English

Extrait

NOT A CREATURE WAS STIRRING
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DEAN EVANS
 
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Not a Creature Was Stirring First published in 1951 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-235-6 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-236-3 © 2016 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
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This could be a Christmas story. If it is, it shows one way peace on Earth can be attained!
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He was a tall, hard man with skin the color of very old iodine. When heclimbed up out of the vertical shaft of his small gold mine, The LousyDisappointment , he could have been taken for an Indian, he was thatdark. Except, of course, that Indians didn't exist any more in 1982.His name was Tom Gannett and he was about forty years old and he didn'trealize his own uniqueness.
When he made it to his feet, the first thing he did was to squint upat the sun. The second was to sneeze, and the third to blow his nose.
"Hey, you old sun!" he growled. "You old crummy sun, you look sicker'na dog."
Which was literally true, for the sun seemed to be pretty queer. Thewhole sky seemed to be pretty queer, for that matter. Skies shouldbe blue and the sun should be a bloated golden bauble driftingserenely across them. But the skies were not blue; they were a dirtypurplish-gray. And the sun wasn't a bloated golden bauble; somebodyhad it by the scruff of the neck and was dragging it.
Gannett planted his big feet wide apart and frowned sourly around andsniffed the air like a dog at a gopher hole. "The damn world smellssick," he grunted.
Which was also true. The world did smell sick. The world smelledsomething like that peculiar odor that comes from an old graveyardcarefully tended by an old man with dank moss sticking to the soles ofhis old shoes.