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Zusatztext “ Fear Nothing will make you fear almost everything.”—San Francisco Examiner “[An] adrenaline-pumping . . . breakneck chiller . . . Fear Nothing demonstrates a master of darkness’s continuing power to scare the daylights out of us.”— People “An eerie! captivating thriller . . . packs more suspenseful excitement than a dozen novels.” —The Flint Journal “ Fear Nothing is among the best the author has written! and it certainly whets the appetite for [more].”— Rocky Mountain News Informationen zum Autor Dean Koontz, the author of many #1 New York Times bestsellers, lives in Southern California with his wife, Gerda, their golden retriever, Anna, and the enduring spirit of their golden, Trixie. Klappentext If you're different enough, the night is not your enemy, the darkness is not intimidating, the shadows are not terrifying. You fear nothing. Christopher Snow is different from all the other residents of Moonlight Bay, different from anyone you've ever met. For Christopher Snow has made his peace with a very rare genetic disorder that leaves him dangerously vulnerable to light. His life is filled with the fascinating rituals of one who must embrace the dark. He knows the night as no one else can-its mystery, its beauty, its terrors, and the eerie silken rhythms that seduce one into believing anything-even freedom-is possible. Until the night Christopher Snow witnesses a series of disturbing incidents that sweep him into a violent mystery only he can solve, a mystery that will force him to rise above all fears and confront the many-layered secrets of Moonlight Bay and its strange inhabitants. A place, like all places, that looks a lot different after dark. Leseprobe Chapter One On the desk in my candlelit study, the telephone rang, and I knew that a terrible change was coming. I am not psychic. I do not see signs and portents in the sky. To my eye, the lines in my palm reveal nothing about my future, and I don't have a Gypsy's ability to discern the patterns of fate in wet tea leaves. My father had been dying for days, however, and after spending the previous night at his bedside, blotting the sweat from his brow and listening to his labored breathing, I knew that he couldn't hold on much longer. I dreaded losing him and being, for the first time in my twenty-eight years, alone. I am an only son, an only child, and my mother passed away two years ago. Her death had been shock, but at least she had not been forced to endure a lingering illness. Last night just before dawn, exhausted, I had returned home to sleep. But I had not slept much or well. Now I leaned forward in my chair and willed the phone to fall silent, but it would not. The dog also knew what the ringing meant. He padded out of the shadows into the candleglow, and stared sorrowfully at me. Unlike the others of his kind, he will hold any man's or woman's gaze as long as he is interested. Animals usually stare directly at us only briefly—then look away as though unnerved by something they see in the human eyes. Perhaps Orson sees what other dogs see, and perhaps he, too, is disturbed by it, but he is not intimidated. He is a strange dog. But he is my dog, my steadfast friend, and I love him. On the seventh ring, I surrender to the inevitable and answer the phone. The caller was a nurse at Mercy Hospital. I spoke to her without looking away from Orson. My father was quickly fading. The nurse suggested I come to his bedside without delay. As I put down the phone, Orson approached my chair and rested his burly black head in my lap. He whimpered softly and nuzzled my hand. He did not wag his tail. For a moment I was numb, unable to thi...
