Peter once saw two ags of nuts lying in a garden-house. “This is lucky,” thought he to himself; and determined to steal them. As it was now daylight, when such tricks are not so easily played, he waited till night, the time for evil deeds; though wicked people forget that the eye of God is on them in the dark as well as in the light. Continue reading →
There once was a Queen who had a little baby daughter, and one day the child was naughty and would not be quiet. Now, there were some ravens flying round and round the castle, and when the Queen saw them she opened the window, and said impatiently,
“I wish you were a raven–I might have a little peace then.”
She had scarcely spoken the words when the child changed into a raven, and flew from her arms, out through the window. It flew away to a dark wood, where it Continue reading →
This inconspicuous looking text was the impetus behind a rash of suicides in the late 18th century. Written by Goethe, this epistolary novel followed the sorrows of a young man whose true love is betrothed to another. The book accounts the man’s decent into depression and ultimately suicide.
Excerpts of H.P. Lovecraft’s The Rats in the Walls, 1924
visions of the legendary Rattenkönig, the Rat King, 1683
God! those carrion black pits of sawed, picked bones and opened skulls! Those nightmare chasms choked with the pithecanthropoid, Celtic, Roman, and English bones of countless unhallowed centuries! Some of them were full, and none can say how deep they had once been. Others were still bottomless to our searchlights, and peopled by unnameable fancies. What, I thought, of the hapless rats that stumbled into such traps amidst the blackness of their quests in this grisly Tartarus?
My searchlight expired, but still I ran. I heard voices, and yowls, and echoes, but above all there gently rose that impious, insidious scurrying; gently rising, rising, as a stiff bloated corpse gently rises above an oily river that flows under the endless onyx bridges to a black, putrid sea. Something bumped into me — something soft and plump. It must have been the rats; the viscous, gelatinous, ravenous army that feast on the dead and the living …
A hand-written page from Lewis Carrol’s original manuscript copy of what would be Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. In 1863, when this page was written, the story was known as Alice’s Adventures Under Ground. Illustrations are by the author himself. From the British Library.