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Throughout the world is found myriad out-of-the-way places, unsettling vistas that travelers pass through quickly, if unable to avoid entirely. Sometimes, the fears dredged up by such places are unfounded, a mere symptom of an unfamiliar road. Of course, there are actual places to be feared too. Masked by vagaries and altered names, a careful listener may find some clue - subtle to the uninitiated, bold elsewise - that a macabre tale comes from such a place, one stranger and to be feared beyond all others. Shiver at the revelation and hope someone similarly knowledgeable has merely latched…mehr

Produktbeschreibung
Throughout the world is found myriad out-of-the-way places, unsettling vistas that travelers pass through quickly, if unable to avoid entirely. Sometimes, the fears dredged up by such places are unfounded, a mere symptom of an unfamiliar road. Of course, there are actual places to be feared too. Masked by vagaries and altered names, a careful listener may find some clue - subtle to the uninitiated, bold elsewise - that a macabre tale comes from such a place, one stranger and to be feared beyond all others. Shiver at the revelation and hope someone similarly knowledgeable has merely latched onto the rumors, deciding by their own twisted purview to attach a lie to something so horribly true. In short, Hope It's Fiction. Thirteen more stories widen the scope of the Hope It's Fiction series, featuring worlds removed by distance from that old, misty country. Distance but not danger. That forest-choked region is not the only place where you might find strange creatures lurking, fear mounting, and sanity waning. Night falls, in its time, over every land. You must not think yourself safe merely because you think that old, misty country far from your own. You might be surprised how far its influence extends. Do not be overly entranced by these tales of unsettling and thought-provoking horror, even with their subtle suggestions toward even grander terrors. All you need to do is Hope It's Fiction.
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Autorenporträt
Even as a young child, Pendleton Weiss exhibited signs of being the melancholic, creative type. Intelligent and shy, he kept to myself throughout school; never partied in college and graduation came upon him during one of his country's economic lows. Thus, he found very mundane work not at all in line with his degrees. For a full seven years, for the lack of a vehicle, he walked five miles to work at the early hours between two and five AM, with little but his own pocket flashlight to guide him along the dark trail. This gave him plenty of time to stir his creative juices and grew his appreciation of horror, one beyond the simple affinity for the creature features of his young. The repetition - day after day - walking that same path until its twists and turns became second nature; every change became inescapably noticeable, revealing the effects of weather, alterations for landscaping projects, or another lonesome traveler out during those grim hours. There was plenty of time to fester and plenty of imagery to corrupt.