By David Brookover
An historical evil has woke up . . .
Police leader Dexter Lowe enjoys his humdrum task within the sleepy little city of Gator Creek, Florida, until eventually a kidnapper starts terrorizing the neighborhood ladies. FBI certain Agent Teddi McCoy arrives to aid him seek out the mysterious kidnapper. After failing to safe any leads, they're compelled to recruit the FBI's ace-in-the-hole psychic from the Louisiana Bayou, Jackson "Swamp Jack" Lafevre.
Aided through the eccentric LaFevre's outstanding visions, they song the kidnapper to an remoted island at the japanese fringe of the Florida Everglades. A key with an eerie and violent earlier. Demon Key. a spot the place the kidnapper's sufferers have mysteriously vanished. Forever.
After ultimately dispatching the kidnapper, their excitement quickly plummets to the depths of terror because the key unearths its maximum horror . . . a sinister creature so robust and vile that Gator Creek's in basic terms wish of survival . . . needs to come from the previous.
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Additional resources for Demon Key
With this he smote at Morrison's head. Morrison's head ducked under the resounding impact, but he clung on and so did Mr. Garvace. The door came open, and then Mr. Garvace was staggering back, hand to head; his autocratic, his sacred baldness, smitten. Parsons was beyond all control—a strangeness, a marvel. Heaven 46 knows how the artistic struggle had strained that richly endowed temperament. "Say I can't dress a window, you thundering old Humbug," he said, and hurled the huckaback at his master.
His only rule was not to be misled by the spelling. That was no guide anyhow. He avoided every recognised phrase in the language and mispronounced everything in order that he shouldn't be suspected of ignorance, but whim. "Sesquippledan," he would say. " said Platt. " asked Platt. "In the warehouse, O' Man. All among the table-cloths and blankets. Carlyle. He's reading aloud. Doing the High Froth. Spuming! Windmilling! Waw, waw! It's a sight worth seeing. " 35 He held an imaginary book in one hand and waved an eloquent gesture.
He liked to sit in the nave during the service, and look through the great gates at the candles and choristers, and listen to the organ-sustained voices, but the transepts he never penetrated because of the charge for admission.