Thrawn Janet

---

Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Thanks for telling us about the problem.

Find a Review

Return to Book Page. Thrawn Janet by Robert Louis Stevenson. This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original.

Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions that are true to the original work. Paperback , 48 pages. Published December 8th by Kessinger Publishing first published To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about Thrawn Janet , please sign up. Lists with This Book.

Mar 13, Quirkyreader rated it it was amazing. This was a lovely story written by Stevenson in Scots dielect.

Collection online

If you are unfamiliar with the dielect and words be patient with it. Take it slow and enjoy the story. Jan 08, Epiero rated it liked it. Mis notas en Epsilon-literario. S'appisolava un po', ma subito dopo era desto; sentiva battere le ore, poi l'ululato d'un cane nella brughiera che sembrava annunciare la morte di qualcuno; talora gli pareva di percepire all'orecchio il brusio degli spiriti, talaltra di scorgere folletti per tutta la stanza. E malato lo era davvero Aug 29, Philip Yao rated it it was ok. This was an extremely difficult read. Reading aloud did not help me at all.

Although I only understood a tiny portion of the ending, this small part made the plot appear somewhat interesting. Jun 16, Madeline Noelle rated it liked it Shelves: Luckily I had hardly any problem with the Scottish accent, except for the word "ken" which was used quite often. I may have to look over it again today because I read it last night in a rather sleepy state. Slightly on the creepy side. One reviewer said she felt like she kept hearing noises in her house that night and I must say I did as well.

If I hadn't have been so tired it probably would have freaked me out too. This short story is written in Scottish dialect, and it is one of the hardest things I have ever read! At times I felt that Scottish was an entirely different language. I still understood the story.

I drew upon every little bit of knowledge hanging out in the back of my head from Shakespeare, the Bible, Middle English, and who knows what else. I sounded out the words in my head, and I did get it in the end, even though some words still eluded me.

Eve though I didn't understand every word, I This short story is written in Scottish dialect, and it is one of the hardest things I have ever read! Eve though I didn't understand every word, I was still able to understand what was happening in the story.

This is a scary story! I should have saved it for Halloween.

It involves a bargain with the devil and some other creepy stuff. I still can't decide if the dialect made it spookier, because it increased the mystery, or if it kept me from having nightmares by blurring over the details.

Nov 02, Stephanie Bookish Plans rated it it was ok. Fifty years syne, when Mr. There was nae doubt, onyway, but that Mr. Soulis had been ower lang at the college. He was careful and troubled for mony things besides the ae thing needful. Whiles she wad try to say it, but it michtnae be. Weel, time gaed by: Soulis that something had put them frae their ordinar.

And he aye minded sinsyne, when first he set his een upon her, he had the same cauld and deidly grue. He drew back a pickle and he scanned her narrowly. Gude guide us, but it was a fearsome face. It had been het afore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was hetter than ever. Soulis wad get muckle sleep. There was a time when he thought the black man was at his elbow, and the sweat stood upon him as cold as well water; and there was other times when he came to himself like a christened babe and was troubled by nothing.

The upshot was that he went to the window and stood glowering at Dule Water. The trees were unnaturally thick, and the water lies deep and black under the manse; and there was Janet washing the clothes with her cloak pinned up in kilt fashion. She had her back to the minister, and he for his part, hardly knew what he was looking at. Then she turned around and showed her face; Mr Soulis had the same cold shiver as twice that day before, and it dawned upon him what the people said: He drew back a bit and scanned her narrowly.

She was stomp-stomping the clothes, crooning to herself; and oh! God preserve us, but it was a fearsome face. Soon she sang louder, but there was no man born of woman that could tell the words of her song; and all the while she looked sideways down, but there was nothing there for her to look at. That was a night that has never been forgotten in Balweary, the night of the seventeenth of August, It had been hot before, as I have said, but that night was hotter than ever. With all that he had upon his mind, it was very unlikely Mr Soulis would get much sleep.

He lay and he tossed and turned; the good, cool bed that he got into burned his very bones; sometimes he slept and sometimes he woke; sometimes he heard the time of night, and sometimes a hound yowling up the moor, as if somebody was dead; sometimes he thought he heard ghosts chattering in his ear, and sometimes he saw phantom lights in the room.

Thrawn Janet

He behooved, he judged, to be sick; and sick he was — little he suspected the cause of the sickness. As the night waned, he got a clearness of mind, sat up in his nightshirt on the bedside, and began to once more think of the black man and Janet. Mr Soulis was afraid of neither man nor devil. It was unlocked, and he pushed it open, and peeked boldly in. But no Janet could Mr Soulis see, nor any sign of a struggle. But there was nothing to be heard inside the parsonage nor in all Balweary parish, and nothing to be seen but the great shadows turning around the candle. For there was Janet hanging from a nail beside the old oak cabinet; her head always lay on her shoulder, her eyes bulged out, the tongue protruded from her mouth, and her heels were two feet clear above the floor.

He came a step nearer to the corpse; and then his heart nearly tottered inside his chest. For — by what contraption it would hardly seem fir for a man to judge — she was hanging from a single nail and by a single worsted thread for darning hose. He turned and went his way out of that room, and locked the door behind him; and step by step down the stairs, as heavy as lead; and set down the candle on the table of the stair-foot. He might maybe have stood there an hour, or maybe two, he minded so little; when all of a sudden he heard a low, unnatural bustle upstairs; a foot went to and fro in the chamber where the corpse was hanging; then the door was opened though he knew well that he had locked it; and then there was a step upon the landing, and it seemed to him as if the corpse was looking over the rail and down upon him where he stood.

By this time the step was coming through the passage of the door; he could hear a hand sweep along the wall, as if the fearsome thing was feeling for its way. The willows tossed and moaned together, a long sigh came over the hills, the flame of the candle was blown about; and there stood the corpse of Twisted Janet, with her grosgrain gown and her black nightcap with the head still upon the shoulder, and the grin still upon the face of it — living, you would have thought — but dead, as Mr Soulis well knew — upon the threshold of the parsonage.

Reviews of books…and occasional other stuff.

All the life of his body, all the strength of his spirit, were glowering from his eyes. It seemed she was going to speak, but lack words, and made a sign with the left hand. That same morning John Christie saw the black man pass the great tomb just before six; before eight he went by the change-house at Knockdow, and not long afterwards, Sandy McLellan saw him rushing smartly down the hills from Kilmackerlie.

But it was a bitter dispensation for the minister; long, long he lay raving in his bed; and from that hour to this, he was the man you know today.

• The Shepherd of Guadaloupe
• Last Laughs: Cartoons About Aging, Retirement...and the Great Beyond
• TRIPPER: When a man takes a fall, who takes the blame? (MAD CAREW)
• Echo du corail perdu roman (French Edition)
• Life without it
• Zoo
• Ocean City: Volume II (Images of America Book 2)