Download Coldheart Canyon by Clive Barker PDF

By Clive Barker

A recognized Hollywood actor loses his seems to be – and is drawn into the darkish and twisted global of Coldheart Canyon… Following vast plastic surgery, Hollywood celebrity Todd Pickett wishes someplace to conceal away whereas his scars heal. His supervisor reveals the best situation, Coldheart Canyon – a dream-palace hidden away in a nook of town so mystery it doesn’t even seem on a map. within the 20s, ‘A’ record stars got here to the Canyon to have the type of events not anyone used to be purported to find out about. It wasn’t simply the wild intercourse and the medicine that made Katya’s events so memorable. there has been a door within the bowels of the dream-palace, which seemingly opened onto one other international – the Devils’ nation – the place not anything used to be forbidden. not anything. along with his safe haven now a jail, Todd must get out of Coldheart Canyon. yet to do this he mustn't ever in basic terms remedy its mysteries but in addition face the powers that experience secure it for seven a long time, and that implies stepping in the course of the door… As a Hollywood insider with a prepared eye for its idiocies and horrors Clive Barker is uniquely located to jot down this vitriolic Tinseltown ghost tale. Coldheart Canyon is an impossible to resist and unmerciful photo of Hollywood and its demons, informed with all of the type and uncooked narrative energy that experience made Barker's books and flicks a world phenomenon.

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Sample text

I glanced at the clock. It was one fifteen in the morning. When the common room was quiet, I put a hand to the doorknob, twisted it, and carefully pulled open the door. The room was dark, but a line of light glowed beneath Scout’s door. I frowned. Where had she been until one fifteen in the morning? Exercise seemed seriously unlikely at this point. That mystery in hand, I closed the door again and went back to bed, staring at the star-spangled ceiling until sleep finally claimed me. 3 My bedroom was cold and dark when the alarm—which I’d moved next to the bed—went off.

I mean, they were headed to Germany for a two-year research sabbatical they’d spent months applying for, but despite what they’d said about the great “opportunity,” they didn’t seem thrilled about going. The whole thing was very, very strange. Anyway, my mom’s throwing out, “It’s for the best,” at the airport wasn’t a new thing. She and dad had both been repeating that phrase over the last few weeks like a mantra. I didn’t know that it was for the best, but I didn’t want a bratty comment to be the last thing I said to them, so I nodded at my mom and faked a smile, and let my dad pull me into a rib-breaking hug.

She pushed back her chair and picked up her tray. ” Although I had no clue what she was talking about, I finished my orange juice and followed her. ” I asked, as we slid our trays through a window at the end of the buffet line. “A St. Sophia’s tradition,” she said. I followed her out of the cafeteria, back into the main building, and then through another link into another gothic building, which, Scout explained, held the school’s classrooms. When we pushed through another set of double doors and into the building, we found ourselves in a knot of plaid-clad girls squealing before three rows of lockers.

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