Night Of The Beast Read Online Free PDF

that, you greedy sumbitch." And they went back to drinking and swapping lies, just like that.
    Jason Smith shaded his striking grey eyes against the glare and located the Polson Hotel, an old adobe structure a bit farther down the street. He shifted his suitcase full of books to the other hand and continued on. A dust devil followed in his wake, as if on cue…
    He's missed Karen, but he'd lived. He had learned to conceal his rage, and his visions, from the medical consultants. After a while his birthmark had begun to improve, then almost come and go. Some days were worse than others, but overall it seemed to be receding. No one else noticed, and Jason took this as a sign. For weeks, he continued to steal into the chapel at night to pee in the holy water or smear excrement in hidden places. These acts gave him great pleasure.
    Father Thomas lectured all the boys on what to do if they ever got hard down below, but Jason already knew. He did not rush off to take cold showers and pray for guidance. He'd discovered how good it felt to play with his thing; stroke and rub it and watch it get bigger. Masturbation became his second favorite nocturnal activity and this, too, always took place in the church. Sometimes, just at climax, he thought he heard Dog barking outside. Calling; straining to get in, to be with him.
    Singing: What are you willing to do, boy? Are you willing to die?
    …Jason entered the old Two Trees hotel. Sultry shade.
    "I need a room," he said.
    "For how long?"
    "A night or two, most likely. Then I'll find something else."
    "Sure thing."
    Folks were nosey out here in Nevada. Balding, pot-bellied Hi Polson smiled as best he could, then flipped the register around for the new guest to sign. Hi had gotten pretty good at reading upside down.
    Jason Smith. Probably a bullshit name. Made sense a man might come here if he needed somewhere to hide, though. Who'd come looking?
    "Hotel's not exactly crammed," Polson joked. "I think we can find you something."
    "You have six floors?"
    "That's right, Mr. Smith."
    "Jason. Could I perhaps have a room on the highest? I enjoy the desert sky, especially at sunset."
    Polson shrugged and reached into the drawer. "How about sixty-five?"
    "Is that the very last one in the row?"
    Polson went back to the drawer. Jason held his breath. It seemed to take an eternity, but then the magic key was in his hand. Maybe he was being superstitious, but maybe this was actually…the right one.
    "Room sixty-six," Polson said. "Sixth floor. Elevator's not working, but the stairs are right over there. You want a hand with that bag?"
    "No, thank you," Jason said softly, a wry smile creeping across his twisted features. "I can manage. Right now I just need a long, hot bath."
    "I know the feeling. Tub is right down the hall."
    In the staircase, Jason released a deep sigh of satisfaction and leaned back against the peeling green wallpaper. So far so good, Dog. Perhaps my long journey is over. Make me mad, kill me again, I don't care. Just use me up, set me free, and tell me truth.
    Was it here that the battle would take place?

3 

    ROURKE
     
    "Where do I look?"
    "The camera is right here, beside me."
    Peter sighed with a mixture of apprehension and irritability. It seemed silly to have interrupted his busy work schedule to be interviewed, especially by a bald horror movie junkie who dressed all in black and had shirt buttons shaped like little silver skulls. It seemed to make even less sense now that he realized there was no camera crew, no makeup or lighting personnel, and that the whole thing was live over the internet. He stared at the small, phallic piece of blue plastic and sighed.
    "That's it?"
    John Emory Turi smiled and nodded. Turi had a back-alley, " hey meester, you want to see some dirty pictures?" kind of smile. It seemed appropriate considering his profession. He was the host of a weekly shock-rock talk show called "Grisley Gab." Rourke's young, orange-haired publicist swore the show was