There She Lay: A Tale of Horror

Haunted Niagara: Screaming Tunnel
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Several persons negotiated for it; but, somehow, always before the bargain was closed they heard the unpleasant rumors and declined to treat any further. It was in this state of things that my landlady, who at that time kept a boarding-house in Bleecker Street, and who wished to move further up town, conceived the bold idea of renting No. Happening to have in her house rather a plucky and philosophical set of boarders, she laid her scheme before us, stating candidly everything she had heard respecting the ghostly qualities of the establishment to which she wished to remove us.

Our removal was effected in the month of May, and we were charmed with our new residence. The portion of Twenty-sixth Street where our house is situated, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues, is one of the pleasantest localities in New York. The gardens back of the houses, running down nearly to the Hudson, form, in the summer time, a perfect avenue of verdure. The air is pure and invigorating, sweeping, as it does, straight across the river from the Weehawken heights, and even the ragged garden which surrounded the house, although displaying on washing days rather too much clothes-line, still gave us a piece of greensward to look at, and a cool retreat in the summer evenings, where we smoked our cigars in the dusk, and watched the fire-flies flashing their dark-lanterns in the long grass.

Of course we had no sooner established ourselves at No. We absolutely awaited their advent with eagerness. Our dinner conversation was supernatural.

Lay vs. Lie (vs. Laid)

The man led a life of supreme wretchedness while he was reading this volume. A system of espionage was established, of which he was the victim.

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If he incautiously laid the book down for an instant and left the room, it was immediately seized and read aloud in secret places to a select few. I found myself a person of immense importance, it having leaked out that I was tolerably well versed in the history of supernaturalism, and had once written a story the foundation of which was a ghost. If a table or a wainscot panel happened to warp when we were assembled in the large drawing-room, there was an instant silence, and everyone was prepared for an immediate clanking of chains and a spectral form.

After a month of psychological excitement, it was with the utmost dissatisfaction that we were forced to acknowledge that nothing in the remotest degree approaching the supernatural had manifested itself. Once the black butler asseverated that his candle had been blown out by some invisible agency while he was undressing himself for the night; but as I had more than once discovered this colored gentleman in a condition when one candle must have appeared to him like two, I thought it possible that, by going a step further in his potations, he might have reversed this phenomenon, and seen no candle at all where he ought to have beheld one.

Things were in this state when an incident took place so awful and inexplicable in its character that my reason fairly reels at the bare memory of the occurrence. Featured image: Hotel Meade by Nomadic Lass.

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Darryl Jones has taught at Trinity College Dublin since Prior to this he taught in the University of Lodz, Poland. Murphy, Palgrave Macmillan , and M. Our Privacy Policy sets out how Oxford University Press handles your personal information, and your rights to object to your personal information being used for marketing to you or being processed as part of our business activities.

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Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of a martyr. Mecca A. Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended. Can I hope to convey it to you even as I saw it myself last Thursday? Nothing happened, but then he reached for the doorknob and walked in, surprising all of us. The episodes are presented like a play, with sliding screens taking the place of curtains.

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THERE SHE LAY: A Tale of Horror There is darkness in the human spirit that is inconceivable, and when that darkness reveals itself the results can be shocking. Find helpful customer reviews and review ratings for There She Lay: A Tale of Horror at mobsveberfimi.ml Read honest and unbiased product reviews from our.

Your email address will not be published. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Buy Now Read More. The thirty-thousand-foot level has been reached time after time with no discomfort beyond cold and asthma.

groupdeal346naveen.dev3.develag.com What does this prove? A visitor might descend upon this planet a thousand times and never see a tiger. Yet tigers exist, and if he chanced to come down into a jungle he might be devoured. There are jungles of the upper air, and there are worse things than tigers which inhabit them.

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I believe in time they will map these jungles accurately out. Even at the present moment I could name two of them. One of them lies over the Pau-Biarritz district of France. Another is just over my head as I write here in my house in Wiltshire. I rather think there is a third in the Homburg-Wiesbaden district. Of course, everyone said that they had fallen into the sea, but that did not satisfy me at all.

First, there was Verrier in France; his machine was found near Bayonne, but they never got his body. There was the case of Baxter also, who vanished, though his engine and some of the iron fixings were found in a wood in Leicestershire. In that case, Dr. Middleton, of Amesbury, who was watching the flight with a telescope, declares that just before the clouds obscured the view he saw the machine, which was at an enormous height, suddenly rise perpendicularly upwards in a succession of jerks in a manner that he would have thought to be impossible.

That was the last seen of Baxter. There was a correspondence in the papers, but it never led to anything. There were several other similar cases, and then there was the death of Hay Connor.

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What a cackle there was about an unsolved mystery of the air, and what columns in the halfpenny papers, and yet how little was ever done to get to the bottom of the business! He came down in a tremendous vol-plane from an unknown height.

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He never got off his machine and died in his pilot's seat. Died of what? Hay Connor's heart was as sound as mine is. What did Venables say? Venables was the only man who was at his side when he died. He said that he was shivering and looked like a man who had been badly scared. Only said one word to Venables, which sounded like 'Monstrous. But I could make something of it. That was the last word of poor Harry Hay Connor. And he did die of fright, just as Venables thought. Do you really believe - does anybody really believe - that a man's head could be driven clean into his body by the force of a fall?

Well, perhaps it may be possible, but I, for one, have never believed that it was so with Myrtle. And the grease upon his clothes - 'all slimy with grease,' said somebody at the inquest. Queer that nobody got thinking after that!

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I did - but, then, I had been thinking for a good long time. I've made three ascents - how Dangerfield used to chaff me about my shot-gun - but I've never been high enough. Now, with this new, light Paul Veroner machine and its one hundred and seventy-five Robur, I should easily touch the thirty thousand tomorrow.

I'll have a shot at the record. Maybe I shall have a shot at something else as well. Of course, it's dangerous. If a fellow wants to avoid danger he had best keep out of flying altogether and subside finally into flannel slippers and a dressing-gown. But I'll visit the air-jungle tomorrow - and if there's anything there I shall know it.

If I return, I'll find myself a bit of a celebrity.

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If I don't this note-book may explain what I am trying to do, and how I lost my life in doing it. But no drivel about accidents or mysteries, if you please. There's nothing like a monoplane when real work is to be done. Beaumont found that out in very early days. For one thing it doesn't mind damp, and the weather looks as if we should be in the clouds all the time. It's a bonny little model and answers my hand like a tender-mouthed horse.