...scary with their big shadows. The sky was completely pitch black. There was a haunted house. It had a purplish-blackish roof. The house was painted completely pitch black. The door was an indigo color. The lights were out, but the chimney was puffing out black puffy smoke. On the roof there were some very scary looking bats. They even looked real. On the front door there was a skeleton, and it kept on repeating, "Don't enter! Save Your Soul!" There were vines and plants growing over the haunted house. On a windowsill there was even a fake Chucky. When I started walking up to the door I felt like I was going to explode! I was so freaked out. I started sweating and started to shake. I was there, all alone. I wanted to scream, but it wouldn't come out. I was getting more freaked out by every step. I actually felt like I should turn back and run. But, the haunted house made me feel sort of drawn to it. A bat flew overhead and shrieked "eek!" I went to the doorknob and reached for it. It felt slimy and gooey. I looked and saw it had red stuff on it. I took the red stuff off my hand and then the doorknob. I felt the doorknob and it felt like soft wood. It was a dark maroon color and looked big compared to my little hand. When I opened the door it creaked louder and louder until I finally opened it the whole way. In the inside I smelled something burning. I saw spiders and cobwebs and dust. The light bulb was very dim. I wanted to turn back but I was drawn to it. I walked to the stairs...
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...NICHOLAS SPARKS Prologue When I was seventeen, my life changed forever. I know that there are people who wonder about me when I say this. They look at me strangely as if trying to fathom what could have happened back then, though I seldom bother to explain. Because I've lived here for most of my life, I don't feel that I have to unless it's on my terms, and that would take more time than most people are willing to give me. My story can't be summed up in two or three sentences; it can't be packaged into something neat and simple that people would immediately understand. Despite the passage of forty years, the people still living here who knew me that year accept my lack of explanation without question. My story in some ways is their story because it was something that all of us lived through. It was I, however, who was closest to it. I'm fifty-seven years old, but even now I can remember everything from that year, down to the smallest details. I relive that year often in my mind, bringing it back to life, and I realize that when I do, I always feel a strange combination of sadness and joy. There are moments when I wish I could roll back the clock and take all the sadness away, but I have the feeling that if I did, the joy would be gone as well. So I take the memories as they come, accepting them all, letting them guide me whenever I can. This happens more often than I let on. It is April 12, in the last year before the millennium, and as I leave my house, I glance around. The sky is...
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...Attempt Only Four NO. 1 MARKETING SPOTLIGHT- NIKE Nike hit the ground running in 1962. Originally known as Blue Ribbon Sports, the company focused on providing high-quality running shoes designed especially for athletes by athletes. Founder Philip Knight believer that high-tech shoes for runners could be manufactured at competitive prices if imported from abroad. The company’s commitment to designing innovative footwear for serious athletes helped it build a cult following among American consumers. By 1980, Nike had become the number-one athletic shoe company in the United States. From the start, Nike’s marketing campaigns featured winning athletes as spokespeople. The company signed on its first spokesperson, runner Steve Prefontaine, in 1973. Prefontaine’s irreverent attitude matched Nike’s spirit. Marketing campaigns featuring winning athletes made sense. Nike saw a `pyramid of influence’’ – it saw that product and brand choices are influenced by the preferences and behavior of a small percentage of top athletes. Using professional athletes in its advertising campaigns was both efficient and effective for Nike. In 1985, Nike signed up then-rookie guard Michael Jordan as a spokesperson. Jordan was still an up-and-comer, but he personified superior performance. Nike’s bet paid off: The Air Jordan line of basketball shoes flew off the shelves, with revenues of over $100 million in the first year alone. Jordan also helped build the psychological image of the Nike brand...
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...[pic] The Firm John Grisham [pic] • Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 • Chapter 17 • Chapter 18 • Chapter 19 • Chapter 20 • Chapter 21 • Chapter 22 • Chapter 23 • Chapter 24 • Chapter 25 • Chapter 26 • Chapter 27 • Chapter 28 • Chapter 29 • Chapter 30 • Chapter 31 • Chapter 32 • Chapter 33 • Chapter 34 • Chapter 35 • Chapter 36 • Chapter 37 • Chapter 38 • Chapter 39 • Chapter 40 • Chapter 41 • About the Arthor The Firm by John Grisham Chapter 1 The senior partner studied the resume for the hundredth time and again found nothing he disliked about Mitchell Y. McDeere, at least not on paper. He had the brains, the ambition, the good looks. And he was hungry; with his background, he had to be. He was married, and that was mandatory. The Firm had never hired an unmarried lawyer, and it frowned heavily on divorce, as well as womanizing and drinking. Drug testing was in the contract. He had a degree in accounting, passed the CPA exam the first time he took it and wanted to be a tax lawyer, which of course was a requirement with a tax firm. He was white, and The Firm had never hired a black. They...
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...Chapter 1 I Get What I Pay For Welcome to Red Grove. Population 200 “Now, two hundred and one,” I murmured as I passed the painted wooden sign in my trusty red Jeep. Small towns like Red Grove always made me think of horror movies as if a gap-toothed, overall-wearing butcher might hobble out of his deep woods shanty, pitchfork in hand, at any moment. The town had an off the charts creepy factor. On my right, a dark forest worthy of the Brothers Grimm. On my left, a cemetery edged in a weathered wrought iron fence. I think there were more than two hundred headstones. More dead than living. Nice. There must be some mistake. I came here to start over. Could a new life be hiding behind the unappealing rural exterior? My promised house remained a mystery. I double-checked the notebook with my father’s scrawled directions resting on the passenger’s seat next to me. Technically, I’d lived in Red Grove as a child, but we’d moved before I turned two. I didn’t remember the town at all or the residents, living or dead. I shifted my attention back to my driving. “Holy shit!” I proclaimed as I overcorrected the wheel, and my foot drifted from the gas. The man on the side of the road was so attractive I could’ve died—literally. He was planting something. A tree, I think. Every time his shovel hit the dirt, a ripple coursed through his shoulders and down his stomach. I raised an eyebrow at the glint of sun on tanned, shirtless skin. Dark hair, low slung jeans. I tried not to...
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...Good Guys Last of the Good Guys Last of the Mark Irwin Copyright 2008 by Mark Irwin All rights Reserved No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author or publisher. There is one exception. Brief passages may be quoted in articles or reviews. Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Irwin, Mark, 1944Last of the good guys / Mark Irwin. ISBN 978-1-926582-04-7 I. Title. PS8617.R87L37 2008 C813'.6 C2008-907141-7 Dedication LCDR WB IRWIN MMM CD CHAPTER ONE Shipside A Bayou In Southeast Louisiana Early Monday Evening Bobby identified the second shot from the here and now, the first staying webbed into his dream. He knew without pleasure what the gunshots meant. Though he hadn’t known Howie more than a couple of days, he had become predictable. The lunacy of the disconnected. He pushed the tarp from his head and realized it was still daylight, with the sun backing decisively into evening. Uncomfortably covered with two days of sweat and grime he headed astern without thinking about it. Slowly, getting his legs under him, he moved in favor of the aches in his body. He hoped that everything would take care of itself by the time he got there. When he got to the aft quarterdeck he found Gomez sitting where he’d slept. Their eyes met and Bobby saw without speaking that Gomez didn’t want to...
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...Good Guys Last of the Good Guys Last of the Mark Irwin Copyright 2008 by Mark Irwin All rights Reserved No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author or publisher. There is one exception. Brief passages may be quoted in articles or reviews. Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Irwin, Mark, 1944Last of the good guys / Mark Irwin. ISBN 978-1-926582-04-7 I. Title. PS8617.R87L37 2008 C813'.6 C2008-907141-7 Dedication LCDR WB IRWIN MMM CD CHAPTER ONE Shipside A Bayou In Southeast Louisiana Early Monday Evening Bobby identified the second shot from the here and now, the first staying webbed into his dream. He knew without pleasure what the gunshots meant. Though he hadn’t known Howie more than a couple of days, he had become predictable. The lunacy of the disconnected. He pushed the tarp from his head and realized it was still daylight, with the sun backing decisively into evening. Uncomfortably covered with two days of sweat and grime he headed astern without thinking about it. Slowly, getting his legs under him, he moved in favor of the aches in his body. He hoped that everything would take care of itself by the time he got there. When he got to the aft quarterdeck he found Gomez sitting where he’d slept. Their eyes met and Bobby saw without speaking that Gomez didn’t want to...
Words: 66282 - Pages: 266
...HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN BY J.K. ROWLING CHAPTER ONE OWL POST Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard. It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. Harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write his essay, ‘Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless — discuss.’ The quill paused at the top of a likely looking paragraph. Harry pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose, moved his flashlight closer to the book, and read: Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various...
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...ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CHAPTER THIRTY ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS FOLLOW PENGUIN For my grandmother, Betty McKee chapter one The big man at the end of the bar is sweating. He holds his head low over his double Scotch, but every few minutes he glances up and out, behind him, towards the door. A fine sheen of perspiration glistens under the strip-lights. He lets out a long, shaky breath, disguised as a sigh, and turns back to his drink. ‘Hey. Excuse me?’ I look up from polishing glasses. ‘Can I get another one here?’ I want to tell him it’s really not a good idea, it won’t help, it might even put him over the limit. But he’s a big guy and it’s fifteen minutes till closing time and, according to company guidelines, I have no reason to tell him no, so I walk over, take his glass and hold it up to the optic. He nods at the bottle. ‘Double,’ he says, and slides a fat hand down his damp face. ‘That’ll be seven pounds twenty, please.’ It’s a quarter to eleven on a Tuesday night and the Shamrock and Clover, East City Airport’s Irishthemed pub, which is as Irish as Mahatma Gandhi, is winding down for the night. The bar closes ten minutes after the last plane takes off, and right now it’s...
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...Cullens, including her beloved Edward, leave Forks rather than risk revealing that they are vampires, it is almost too much for eighteen-year-old Bella to bear, but she finds solace in her friend Jacob until he is drawn into a cult and changes in terrible ways ISBN-13 978-0 316-16019-3 ISBN-10 0-316-16019-9 [1 Vampires—Fiction 2 Werewolves—Fiction 3 High schools—Fiction 4 Schools—Fiction 5 Washington (State)—Fiction ] 1 Title PZ7 M57188New2006 [Fic]—dc22 2006012309 1098 7 6 5 43 2 1 Q-FF Printed in the United States of America For my dad, Stephen Morgan— No one has ever been given more loving and unconditional support than I have been given by you. I love you, too. These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume. Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI PREFACE I FELT LIKE I WAS TRAPPED IN ONE OF THOSE TERRIFYING nightmares, the one where you...
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...unconditional support than I have been given by you. I love you, too. These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume. Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI PREFACE I FELT LIKE I WAS TRAPPED IN ONE OF THOSE TERRIFYING nightmares, the one where you have to run, run till your lungs burst, but you can't make your body move fast enough. My legs seemed to move slower and slower as I fought my way through the callous crowd, but the hands on the huge clock tower didn't slow. With relentless, uncaring force, they turned inexorably toward the end—the end of everything. But this was no dream, and, unlike the nightmare, I wasn't running for my life; I was racing to save something infinitely more precious. My own life meant little to me today. Alice had said there was a good chance we would both die here. Perhaps the outcome would be different if she weren't trapped by the brilliant sunlight; only I was free to run across this bright, crowded square. And I couldn't run fast enough. So it didn't matter to me that we were surrounded by our extraordinarily dangerous enemies. As the clock began to toll out the hour, vibrating under the soles of my sluggish feet, I knew I was too late—and I was glad something bloodthirsty waited in the wings. For in failing at this, I forfeited any desire to live. The clock tolled again, and the sun beat down from the exact center point of the sky. 1. PARTY I WAS NINETY-NINE POINT...
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...Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban By J.K. Rowling CHAPTER ONE Owl Post Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard. It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. Harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write his essay, ‘Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless — discuss.’ The quill paused at the top of a likely looking paragraph. Harry pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose, moved his flashlight closer to the book, and read: Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various...
Words: 108651 - Pages: 435
...by the author Meyer, Stephenie, 1973–New Moon a novel / b) Stepheme Meyer–1st ed p cm Summary When the Cullens, including her beloved Edward, leave Forks rather than risk revealing that they are vampires, it is almost too much for eighteen-year-old Bella to bear, but she finds solace in her friend Jacob until he is drawn into a cult and changes in terrible ways ISBN-13 978-0 316-16019-3 ISBN-10 0-316-16019-9 [1 Vampires–Fiction 2 Werewolves–Fiction 3 High schools–Fiction 4 Schools–Fiction 5 Washington (State)–Fiction ] 1 Title PZ7 M57188New2006 [Fic]–dc22 2006012309 1098 7 6 5 43 2 1 Q-FF Printed in the United States of America For my dad, Stephen Morgan– No one has ever been given more loving and unconditional support than I have been given by you. I love you, too. These violent delights...
Words: 134814 - Pages: 540
...by the author Meyer, Stephenie, 1973–New Moon a novel / b) Stepheme Meyer–1st ed p cm Summary When the Cullens, including her beloved Edward, leave Forks rather than risk revealing that they are vampires, it is almost too much for eighteen-year-old Bella to bear, but she finds solace in her friend Jacob until he is drawn into a cult and changes in terrible ways ISBN-13 978-0 316-16019-3 ISBN-10 0-316-16019-9 [1 Vampires–Fiction 2 Werewolves–Fiction 3 High schools–Fiction 4 Schools–Fiction 5 Washington (State)–Fiction ] 1 Title PZ7 M57188New2006 [Fic]–dc22 2006012309 1098 7 6 5 43 2 1 Q-FF Printed in the United States of America For my dad, Stephen Morgan– No one has ever been given more loving and unconditional support than I have been given by you. I love you, too. These violent delights...
Words: 134814 - Pages: 540
...Also by J.K. Rowling Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (in Latin) Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (in Welsh, Ancient Greek and Irish) Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them Quidditch Through the Ages The Tales of Beedle the Bard Copyright First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Little, Brown and Hachette Digital Copyright © J.K. Rowling 2012 The moral right of the author has been asserted. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. ‘Umbrella’: Written by Terius Nash, Christopher ‘Tricky’ Stewart, Shawn Carter and Thaddis Harrell © 2007 by 2082 Music Publishing (ASCAP)/Songs of Peer, Ltd. (ASCAP)/March Ninth Music...
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