Psycho: A Novel
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Robert Bloch's Psycho captivated a nation when it appeared in 1959.
The story was all too real-indeed this classic was inspired by the real-life story of Ed Gein, a psychotic murderer who led a dual life. Alfred Hitchcock too was captivated, and turned the book into one of the most-loved classic films of all time the year after it was released.
Norman Bates loves his Mother. She has been dead for the past twenty years, or so people think. Norman knows better though. He has lived with Mother ever since leaving the hospital in the old house up on the hill above the Bates motel. One night Norman spies on a beautiful woman that checks into the hotel as she undresses. Norman can't help but spy on her. Mother is there though. She is there to protect Norman from his filthy thoughts. She is there to protect him with her butcher knife.
nice to be seven feet tall, but the question was—would she be able to fit inside the shower stall? And that’s what she was going to do right now, take a nice, long hot shower. Get the dirt off her hide, just as she was going to get the dirt cleaned out of her insides. Come clean, Mary. Come clean as snow. She stepped into the bathroom, kicking off her shoes, stooping to slip her stockings off. Then she raised her arms, pulled the dress over her head, tossed it into the next room. It missed the
spoken. Because he was suffering too. It wasn’t conscience that plagued him—it was fear. All week long he’d waited for something to go wrong. Every time a car drove into the motel driveway, he just about jumped out of his skin. Even when cars merely drove past on the old highway, it made him nervous. Last Saturday, of course, he’d finished cleaning up back there at the edge of the swamp. He took his own car down there and loaded the trailer with wood, and by the time he’d finished there wasn’t
That wasn’t bad; just the second bottle. Drinking the first one had gotten him into all this trouble, but it wouldn’t happen that way again. Not now, when he could be sure Mother was safely out of the way. In a little while, when it got dark, he’d see about fixing her some dinner. Maybe tonight they could talk. But right now, he needed this drink. These drinks. The first didn’t really help, but the second did the trick. He was quite relaxed now. Quite relaxed. He could even take a third one if he
Ghastly! She had her choice of three doors to enter here. The first led to the bathroom. Lila had never seen such a place except in a museum—no, she corrected herself, they don’t have bathroom exhibits in museums. But they should have had this one. An upright bathtub on legs; open pipes under the washstand and toilet seat; and dangling from the high ceiling next to the toilet, a metal pull-chain. There was a small mirror, flawed and flecked, over the washbowl, but no medicine cabinet behind it.
it contained two suits on hangers, a jacket, an overcoat, a pair of soiled and paint-spotted trousers. There was nothing in any of the pockets of these garments. Two pairs of shoes and a pair of bedroom slippers on the floor completed the inventory. The bookshelves now. Here Lila found herself pausing, puzzling, then peering in perplexity at the incongruous contents of Norman Bates’s library. A New Model of the Universe, The Extension of Consciousness. The Witch-Cult in Western Europe,