Edgar Allan Poe's short story: The Black Cat. ________________________________________________Title: The Black CatAuthor: Edgar Allan Poe [More Titles by Poe] FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not - and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my own. This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree.
Pluto - this was the cat's name - was my favorite pet and playmate. One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. For a purpose such as this the cellar was well adapted. Rapunzel by Brothers Grimm. Rapunzel There were once a man and a woman who had long, in vain, wished for a child. At length it appeared that God was about to grant their desire. These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs.
It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to go into it because it belonged to an enchantress, who had great power and was dreaded by all the world. One day the woman was standing by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion, and it looked so fresh and green that she longed for it. She quite pined away, and began to look pale and miserable. Her husband was alarmed, and asked: 'What ails you, dear wife? ' 'Ah,' she replied, 'if I can't eat some of the rampion, which is in the garden behind our house, I shall die.' The man in his terror consented to everything. 'Ah! She let the hair down. 'Aha! ' The Veldt - Ray Bradbury. The Tell-Tale Heart. By Edgar Allan Poe Illustration of "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Harry Clarke, from Edgar Allan Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination, 1919.
TRUE! -NERVOUS--very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am! But why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses--not destroyed--not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. It is impossible to tell how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Now this is the point. I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out: "Who's there? " I kept quite still and said nothing. Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was open--wide, wide open--and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. "Villains! " The Monkey's Paw. By W. W. Jacobs "Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it. " --Anonymous Part I Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnum villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly.
"Hark at the wind," said Mr. "I'm listening," said the latter grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. "I should hardly think that he's come tonight, " said his father, with his hand poised over the board. "Mate," replied the son. "That's the worst of living so far out," balled Mr. "Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly; "perhaps you'll win the next one. " Mr. "There he is," said Herbert White as the gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door. The old man rose with hospitable haste and opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival. "Sargeant-Major Morris, " he said, introducing him. "Twenty-one years of it," said Mr. "He don't look to have taken much harm. " said Mrs.
"Nothing. " said the soldier hastily. "Monkey's paw? " Mr. The Bear Got Me by Matthew Licht. The Bear Got Me Garson Thayer didn't like driving at night, but since his internal clock, an expensive Swiss gadget, sent signals to the effect that it wasn't officially night yet, he kept going. He was on his way to do a job for Strategic Air Command. He worked for them fairly often, couldn't help wondering why they paid stratospheric consultation fees yet refused to spring for drivers. The US Military had a near-infinite pool of uniformed serfs with valid military licenses and civilian hot rod/speedway experience. He could've used expensive travel time to review classified documents and equipment diagrams in the back seat, in a cone of light from some highly engineered inner-automobile reading apparatus.
He also wondered why SAC never sent him to Hawaii. The answer was obvious. The bulky extreme low-temperature Olive Drab snorkle coat, Gov't Issue, which he'd found neatly folded on the webbing seat next to his on the transport airplane, sat humped in the back seat of the car. "Repeat! "