: Fred M. White
: Rafat Allam
: The Doom of London Short Stories
: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
: 9789656846477
: 1
: CHF 5.60
:
: Spannung
: English
: 280
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
The Doom of London by Fred M. White is a riveting and atmospheric thriller that plunges readers into a city on the brink of destruction. When a series of bizarre and deadly events begin to unfold across London, panic spreads as rumors of an ancient curse and a sinister plot surface. As the city's most brilliant minds scramble to make sense of the chaos, they uncover a chilling conspiracy that threatens not just the city, but the very fabric of civilization. Will they uncover the truth in time to prevent an unprecedented catastrophe, or will London fall to doom? Prepare for a heart-pounding journey through suspense and mystery.

Fred M. White (1859-1935) was a British author known for his prolific output of mystery, adventure, and speculative fiction. He is most famous for his early science fiction disaster novels, particularly 'The Doom of London' series, which depicted catastrophic events befalling the city. White wrote hundreds of short stories and serialized works, which were popular in magazines during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. His works contributed significantly to the development of early science fiction and thriller genres.

The Four Days' Night


A STORY IN THE"DOOM OF LONDON" SERIES

First published in Pearson's Magazine, February 1903, with illustrations by Warwick Goble

Reprinted in Science Fiction By The Rivals Of H.G. Wells, Castle Books, 1979

I


THE weather forecast for London and the Channel was"light airs, fine generally, milder." Further down the fascinating column Hackness read that"the conditions over Europe generally favoured a continuance of the large anti-cyclonic area, the barometer steadily rising over Western Europe, sea smooth, readings being unusually high for this time of the year." Martin Hackness, B.Sc., London, thoughtfully read all this and more. The study of the meteorological reports was part of his religion almost. In the laboratory at the back of his sitting-room were all kinds of weird-looking instruments for measuring sunshine and wind pressure, the weight of atmosphere and the like. Hackness trusted before long to be able to foretell a London fog with absolute accuracy, which, when you come to think of it, would be an exceedingly useful matter. In his queer way Hackness described himself as a fog specialist. He hoped some day to prove himself a fog-disperser, which is another word for a great public benefactor.

The chance he was waiting for seemed to have come at last. November had set in, mild and dull and heavy. Already there had been one or two of the dense fogs under which London periodically groans and does nothing to avert. Hackness was clear-sighted enough to see a danger here that might some day prove a hideous national disaster. So far as he could ascertain from his observations and readings, London was in for another dense fog within the next four-and-twenty hours.

Unless he was greatly mistaken, the next fog was going to be a particularly thick one. He could see the yellow mists gathering in Gower Street, as he sat at his breakfast.

The door flew open and a man rushed in without even an apology. He was a little man, with sharp, clean-shaven features, an interrogative nose and assertive pince-nez. He wa