Explore Flipsnack. Transform boring PDFs into engaging digital flipbooks. Share, engage, and track performance in the same platform.
From magazines to catalogs or private internal documents, you can make any page-flip publication look stunning with Flipsnack.
Check out examples from our customers. Digital magazines, zines, ebooks, booklets, flyers & more.
Pre-made templates to create stunning publications in minutes
Here are eight reasons why you should consider choosing interactive, digital flipbooks instead of boring and static PDFs. Check them out!
a few feet from the door, and from where he stood in the entrance, Greg could see a squarish patch of light on the floor. He entered the room, frowning at the musty smell. It was a large room that might have been someone’s parlor at one time. Squinting, Greg could see an old table on its side against one wall, what looked like a pile of rags or a torn mattress in the corner, and a couch, with one side broken, in front of the window. He went to the couch. The side that wasn’t broken was comfortable enough, though a little creaky. From the spot he could see the blinking neon sign over the bodega on the corner. He sat awhile, watching the sign blink first green then red, allowing his mind to drift to the Scorpions, then to his father. His father had been a postal worker for all Greg’s life, and was proud of it, often telling Greg how hard he had worked to pass the test. Greg had heard the story too many times to be interested now. For a moment Greg thought he heard something that sounded like a scraping against the wall. He listened carefully, but it was gone. Outside the wind had picked up, sending the rain against the window with a force that shook the glass in its frame. A car passed, its tires hissing over the wet street and its red taillights glowing in the darkness. Greg thought he heard the noise again. His stomach tightened as he held himself still and listened intently. There weren’t any more scraping noises, but he was sure he had heard something in the darkness— something breathing! He tried to figure out just where the breathing was coming from; he knew it was in the room with him. Slowly he stood, tensing. As he turned, a flash of lightening lit up the room, frightening him with its sudden brilliance. He saw nothing, just the overturned table, the pile of rags and an old newspaper on the floor. Could he have been imagining the sounds? He continued listening, but heard nothing and thought that it might have just been rats. Still, he thought, as soon as the rain let up he would leave. He went to the window and was about to look when he heard a voice behind him. “Don’t try nothin’ ‘cause I got a razor sharp enough to cut a week into nine days!” Greg, except for an involuntary tremor in his knees, stood stock still. The voice was high and brittle, like dry twigs being broken, surely not one he had ever heard before. There was a shuffling sound as the person who had been speaking moved a step closer. Greg turned, holding his breath, his eyes straining to see in the dark room. The upper part of the figure before him was still in darkness. The lower half was in the dim rectangle of light that fell unevenly from the window. There were two feet, in cracked, dirty shoes from which rose legs that were wrapped in rags. “Who are you?” Greg hardly recognized his own voice.
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