conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a description for a book titled Occasional Demons about Reed, I>Bedbugs</I, Nephews with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction? Start with the sentence 'All the stories in the author's second horror collection (after 2000's <I>Bedbugs</I>) are competently told, though they lack the sense of discovery that accompanies great horror fiction'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: All the stories in the author's second horror collection (after 2000's <I>Bedbugs</I>) are competently told, though they lack the sense of discovery that accompanies great horror fiction. The mere jangle of a presumably nonexistent piano in "The Nephews" has the lobstermen at a Maine bar advising immediate flight. An insomniac, possibly a murderer, is unable to sleep without a newly committed act of horror in "Nightmare Transcript." A fussy bookstore employee who foolishly ordered a mysterious leather-covered book finds that it possesses vampirish tendencies that gradually consume a small rug, her cat, her lover and herself in "Non-returnable." Science fiction and horror mix a little uneasily in "The Man Who Looked Like Murphy," while "Toxic Shock" takes a distinctively unusual approach to the politics of abortion. Eight brief but potent Untcigahunk Indian stories and three collaborative efforts round out the volume. Glenn Chadbourne's illustrations perfectly complement the text. <I>(May)</I> <BR>Copyright &copy; Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Occasional Demons
  Just like every other Friday night, The Wheelwell—a working man's bar just up from the docks in Cape Harvest, Maine—was filled with rafts of drifting cigarette smoke. It hung, suspended in the air in several clearly defined strata—some charcoal gray, some as blue as the ocean at dawn. Glenn Chadwick had always suspected that on any given night, with a careful analysis of the layers of smoke, you could tell which of the locals was there without even looking around or listening for any particular voice. On this chilly, late-September night, however, such ruminations were the furthest thing from his mind when he burst through the barroom door a half hour before closing time.
  Perched on stools in their regular place at the brass rail were his buddies, Tony Miller and Jake 'Butter' McPherson. Tony nodded and raised his forefinger, which was pretty much the extent of his "good to see yah" greeting for anyone. Even if he did smile, you never would have seen it behind the thick tangle of his salt 'n pepper beard. Butter, who was clean-shaven, spun around and smiled widely, exposing the single large front tooth of his which was stained yellow from nicotine and internal decay. It was the bright yellow color of that damaged tooth that inspired his nickname "Butter Tooth"—or "Butter" for short.
  Although he tried to sound casual, he could hear the slight tremor in his voice and wondered if his friends noticed it, too.
  Again, Glenn shifted uncomfortably on the barstool. His throat felt suddenly dry again in spite of the beer. "I didn't exactly leave him out there. He just never showed up."
  In response, Glenn slung the carrying case off his shoulder and placed it carefully onto the bar. A few of the regulars moved closer, no longer trying to mask their interest as Glenn unzipped the black leather case.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know four more paragraphs? Start with the sentence 'Go away, now! Before you regret it, he wanted to call out, but horrible images of his dead mother and the father he had never known filled his mind'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Go away, now! Before you regret it, he wanted to call out, but horrible images of his dead mother and the father he had never known filled his mind.
  He felt curiously weighed down as he moved toward the door. It was like being trapped in a dream. No matter how many steps he took forward, the front door seemed to withdraw from him, getting farther away rather than closer.
  Martin shook his head and slapped himself on the cheek, trying to convince himself that he was awake. This was real. It was really happening. And all the while, the heavy pounding on the door continued without letting up.
  Watching like a dissociated observer, Martin raised his hand and reached out for the door lock. The other hand held the shotgun at chest level, his finger on the trigger and already starting to squeeze.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Finn stared at the cooler. "You found it," he said, almost in a whisper. "Where the hell did you find it?"
  The Finn didn't even acknowledge Hellboy's gruff comments. He looked closely at the cooler a moment, then put it on the floor next to his chair.
  She got up shakily from the table. Her first and strongest impulse was to turn and run out of there, but she stood there for a moment, making sure her legs weren't going to give out on her when she started walking.
  Lorraine licked her lips, all too aware of the sour churning deep down in her stomach. She didn't know if she wanted to run away or pass out or what, but now that the head was, mercifully, out of sight, she didn't quite feel so bad.
  For the first time that evening, Hellboy smiled as he raised the empty pitcher above his head to signal Kyle that they were ready for another round. Outside, the cold, autumn rain lashed against the window as the late October storm blew toward the distant Maine coast.