David Wong has updated the Lovecraft tradition and infused it with humor that rather than lessening the horror, increases it dramatically. Every time I set the book down down, I was wary that something really was afoot, that there were creatures I couldn't see, and that because I suspected this, I was next. Engaging, comic, and terrifying.-- Joe Garden, Features Editor, The Onion
"Wong is like a mash-up of Douglass Adams and Stephen King... 'page-turner' is an understatement."
--Don Coscarelli, director, Phantasm I-V, Bubba Ho-tep
"That rarest of things--a genuinely scary story."--David Wellington, author of Monster Island, Vampire Zero
"JOHN DIES AT THE END has a cult following for a reason: it's horrific, thought-provoking, and hilarious all at once. This is one of the most entertaining and addictive novels I've ever read."--Jacob Kier, Publisher, Permuted Press
STOP. You should not have touched this flyer with your bare hands. NO, don't put it down. It's too late. They're watching you. My name is David Wong. My best friend is John. Those names are fake. You might want to change yours. You may not want to know about the things you'll read on these pages, about the sauce, about Korrok, about the invasion, and the future. But it's too late. You touched the book. You're in the game. You're under the eye. The only defense is knowledge. You need to read this book, to the end. Even the part with the bratwurst. Why? You just have to trust me.
The important thing is this: The drug is called Soy Sauce and it gives users a window into another dimension. John and I never had the chance to say no. You still do. I'm sorry to have involved you in this, I really am. But as you read about these terrible events and the very dark epoch the world is about to enter as a result, it is crucial you keep one thing in mind: None of this was my fault.
About the Author
DAVID WONG is the pseudonym of Jason Pargin, New York Times bestselling author and executive editor at the hugely popular comedy site Cracked.com. His first book, John Dies at the End, lives forever as a cult-classic movie directed by Don Coscarelli, and his second, This Book is Full of Spiders, scares people on a daily basis. He is also the author of the award-winning science fiction novel Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits.
Read an Excerpt
Prologue Solving the following riddle will reveal the awful secret behind the universe, assuming you do not go utterly mad in the attempt. If you already happen to know the awful secret behind the universe, feel free to skip ahead. Let’s say you have an ax. Just a cheap one, from Home Depot. On one bitter winter day, you use said ax to behead a man. Don’t worry, the man was already dead. Or maybe you should worry, because you’re the one who shot him. He had been a big, twitchy guy with veiny skin stretched over swollen biceps, a tattoo of a swastika on his tongue. Teeth filed into razor-sharp fangs—you know the type. And you’re chopping off his head because, even with eight bullet holes in him, you’re pretty sure he’s about to spring back to his feet and eat the look of terror right off your face. On the follow-through of the last swing, though, the handle of the ax snaps in a spray of splinters. You now have a broken ax. So, after a long night of looking for a place to dump the man and his head, you take a trip into town with your ax. You go to the hardware store, explaining away the dark reddish stains on the broken handle as barbecue sauce. You walk out with a brand new handle for your ax. The repaired ax sits undisturbed in your garage until the spring when, on one rainy morning, you find in your kitchen a creature that appears to be a foot-long slug with a bulging egg sac on its tail. Its jaws bite one of your forks in half with what seems like very little effort. You grab your trusty ax and chop the thing into several pieces. On the last blow, however, the ax strikes a metal leg of the overturned kitchen table and chips out a notch right in the middle of the blade. Of course, a chipped head means yet another trip to the hardware store. They sell you a brand new head for your ax. As soon as you get home, you meet the reanimated body of the guy you beheaded earlier. He’s also got a new head, stitched on with what looks like plastic weed trimmer line, and it’s wearing that unique expression of “you’re the man who killed me last winter” resentment that one so rarely encounters in everyday life. You brandish your ax. The guy takes a long look at the weapon with his squishy, rotting eyes and in a gargly voice he screams, “That’s the same ax that beheaded me!” Is he right?