Download PDF Some Tales of the Occult from Cornwall (Fantasy and Horror Classics)

Historical fantasy

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The Best Gothic Horror Books Of All-Time -

R min Drama, Horror. A young couple moves in to an apartment only to be surrounded by peculiar neighbors and occurrences. When the wife becomes mysteriously pregnant, paranoia over the safety of her unborn child begins to control her life. G 95 min Horror. R 87 min Horror. When his brother disappears, Robert Manning pays a visit to the remote country house he was last heard from. While his host is outwardly welcoming, and his niece more demonstrably so, Unrated 86 min Biography, Drama, Horror.

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R 90 min Drama, History, Horror. In s Austria, a witch-hunter's apprentice has doubts about the righteousness of witch-hunting when he witnesses the brutality, the injustice, the falsehood, the torture and the arbitrary killing that go with the job. Michael Armstrong , Adrian Hoven Stars: GP 91 min Horror. In Elizabethan England, a wicked lord massacres nearly all the members of a coven of witches, earning the enmity of their leader, Oona.

Oona calls up a magical servant, a "banshee", to PG 84 min Biography, Horror. Sir Christopher Lee plays the Lord Chief Justice of seventeenth century England who condemns women as witches to further his political and sexual needs. Cynthia Kyle enters puberty with a vengeance, murdering her parents as they make love: Eight years later, she's free and wants to marry, but Ray Dennis Steckler Stars: R min Biography, Drama, History.

In 17th-century France, Father Urbain Grandier seeks to protect the city of Loudun from the corrupt establishment of Cardinal Richelieu. Hysteria occurs within the city when he is accused of witchcraft by a sexually repressed nun. R 97 min Horror. Horror thriller set in 17th century England about the children of a village slowly converting into a coven of devil worshipers.

R 85 min Horror. A biker gang visits a monastery where they encounter black-robed monks engaged in worshipping Satan. When the monks try to persuade one of the female bikers, Helen, to become a satanic A religious sect led by Gustav Weil hunts all women suspected of witchcraft, killing a number of innocent victims. Young Katy, Gustav's niece, will involve herself in a devilish cult, and become an instrument of Justice in the region. R min Horror, Mystery, Thriller.

Alan Alda's character is a music journalist whose career as a piano player came to an end when his debut concert received undeservedly scathing reviews. R 99 min Horror. Simon, a young man with magic powers, invokes the help of the evil forces in order to take revenge on a man who cheated him with a bad cheque. R 88 min Horror. Christine gets her big chance at modeling when she applies at Sybil Waite's agency.

Together with Christine's sister Betty they go to a house in the country for the weekend for a photo PG min Horror. In the 13th century there existed a legion of evil knights known as the Templars, who quested for eternal life by drinking human blood and committing sacrifices. Executed for their unholy Amando de Ossorio Stars: R 86 min Horror. A coven of witches captures a young man traveling through the woods. He gets involved in a power struggle between a beautiful witch and the evil queen who heads the coven. R min Drama. R 88 min Horror, Thriller. The books include images, descriptions, and links.

The story is narrated by a young woman preyed upon by a female vampire named Carmilla, later revealed to be Mircalla, Countess Karnstein. No one could have anticipated the small but devoted following this terrifying story would soon command. Starting with an odd assortment of marginalized youth — musicians, tattoo artists, programmers, strippers, environmentalists, and adrenaline junkies — the book eventually made its way into the hands of older generations, who not only found themselves in those strangely arranged pages but also discovered a way back into the lives of their estranged children.

Now, for the first time, this astonishing novel is made available in book form, complete with the original colored words, vertical footnotes, and newly added second and third appendices. The story remains unchanged, focusing on a young family that moves into a small home on Ash Tree Lane where they discover something is terribly wrong: This remarkable collection of stories, first published in , includes Green Tea, The Familiar, Mr. The five stories are purported to be cases by Dr. Having grown up an orphan in the home of her cruel aunt and at a harsh charity school, Jane Eyre becomes an independent and spirited survivor-qualities that serve her well as governess at Thornfield Hall.

But when she finds love with her sardonic employer, Rochester, the discovery of his terrible secret forces her to make a choice. Should she stay with him whatever the consequences or follow her convictions, even if it means leaving her beloved? Created by an Irish clergyman, Melmoth is one of the most fiendish characters in literature.

In a satanic bargain, Melmoth exchanges his soul for immortality. The story of his tortured wanderings through the centuries is pieced together through those who have been implored by Melmoth to take over his pact with the devil. Tales of Terror and Mystery is a volume collecting 12 short stories written by Arthur Conan Doyle and first published in by John Murray.

The charismatic monk Medardus becomes implicated in a deadly mystery against his will. As he travels towards Rome he wrestles with the enigma of his own identity while pursued by his murderous doppelganger. In this lively and disturbing gothic tale, Hoffmann combines elements of the fantastic and the sublime to analyse the seductive ambiguities of art and the deeply divided nature of the human imagination.

It is the story of four seekers who arrive at a notoriously unfriendly pile called Hill House: At first, their stay seems destined to be merely a spooky encounter with inexplicable phenomena. But Hill House is gathering its powers—and soon it will choose one of them to make its own.

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The story of a man named Erik, an eccentric, physically deformed genius who terrorizes the Opera Garnier in Paris. He builds his home beneath it and takes the love of his life, a beautiful soprano, under his wing. Edgar Allan Poe was a great American writer during the early 19th century. Poe was one of the earliest authors of detective fiction and short stories. But as the harsh winter weather sets in, the idyllic location feels ever more remote. And the only one to notice the strange and terrible forces gathering around the Overlook is Danny Torrance, a uniquely gifted five-year-old.

Reclusive author Vida Winter, famous for her collection of twelve enchanting stories, has spent the past six decades penning a series of alternate lives for herself. Now old and ailing, she is ready to reveal the truth about her extraordinary existence and the violent and tragic past she has kept secret for so long. Calling on Margaret Lea, a young biographer troubled by her own painful history, Vida disinters the life she meant to bury for good. Together, Margaret and Vida confront the ghosts that have haunted them while becoming, finally, transformed by the truth themselves.

Demonstrating once again her gift for spellbinding stoyrtelling, Anne Rice makes real a family of witches—a family given to poetry and incest, to murder and philsophy, a family that is itself haunted by a powerful, dangerous and seductive being. The story is sometimes considered an early example of detective fiction with the hero, Walter Hartright, employing many of the sleuthing techniques of later private detectives.

One of the strangest and most unforgettable eighteenth-century novels, Vathek is a wild Gothic fantasy whose sensuous imagination and grotesque comedy have inspired writers from Byron to Lovecraft. The Caliph Vathek is dissolute and debauched, and hungry for knowledge.

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When the mysterious Giaour offers him boundless treasure and unrivalled power he is willing to sacrifice his god, the lives of innocent children, and his own soul to satisfy his obsession. An eating disorder starves her. She begins hearing voices. At once an unforgettable mystery and a meditation on race, nationality, and family legacies, White is for Witching is a boldly original, terrifying, and elegant novel by a prodigious talent.

She is delighted with her new acquaintances: There, her imagination influenced by novels of sensation and intrigue, Catherine imagines terrible crimes committed by General Tilney. In the slums of eighteenth-century France, the infant Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is born with one sublime gift—an absolute sense of smell. As a boy, he lives to decipher the odors of Paris, and apprentices himself to a prominent perfumer who teaches him the ancient art of mixing precious oils and herbs.

Told with dazzling narrative brilliance, Perfume is a hauntingly powerful tale of murder and sensual depravity. In this celebrated work, his only novel, Wilde forged a devastating portrait of the effects of evil and debauchery on a young aesthete in lateth-century England. Combining elements of the Gothic horror novel and decadent French fiction, the book centers on a striking premise: As Dorian Gray sinks into a life of crime and gross sensuality, his body retains perfect youth and vigor while his recently painted portrait grows day by day into a hideous record of evil, which he must keep hidden from the world.

For over a century, this mesmerizing tale of horror and suspense has enjoyed wide popularity. Aubrey, a young Englishman, meets Lord Ruthven, a man of mysterious origins who has entered London society. Aubrey accompanies Ruthven to Rome, but leaves him after Ruthven seduces the daughter of a mutual acquaintance. Out there, on the fields, rising from the dead bodies.

Occasionally a low moan floats over the ground but I cannot tell if it is them or the dead that is calling. Several times I have caught them staring at me. Across the dead, we glare at each other, daring the other to make a move. I have sat this way for hours, feeling their fingers reach across and tug at my mind. Once, I caught myself bringing my revolver up close to my head. Unaware, I was about to fire when my senses returned. Since that point, I keep my ammunition in a separate pocket.

Once, these fields were green and alive with flowers and birds. Now only corpses are planted here and the only singing comes from the mortar shells as they descend upon us. Their high pitched screeches echoed across the fields in an unnatural mechanic choir punctuated by the explosions. The sounds of our artillery were different and with a lower timbre so the shelling would become a strange symphony of fighting voices. Worth had stopped over to see me and brought a warning. He had seen the units preparing the guns for movement. We were either preparing for a push or a defense. There seemed to be little difference between the two.

I walked to the rear where the draft horses were quartered but each step I took was like sinking into a soft sponge which took almost all of my strength to step through. In truth, he was right. Once I had written a story where a ship had become lost in sea and, through the mixture of chemicals in its hold and the centuries of elements upon it, had become alive. The seamen who found the ship were attacked by it like an invading germ. Only a few escaped alive. The parallels were disturbing.

Around midday, the Germans attacked with a sudden ferocity. Their guns began with a devastating barrage on our front line making our soldiers retreat quickly while their fellows were blasted to bits. The order came to withdraw and I led our men onto our horses as we pulled the guns back to the pullback position. The horses strained as the guns sank in the mud and I had to order several foot soldiers to push the wheels forward. The German army ran up quickly when their shelling subsided and pushed their line forward. In a matter of minutes, the ground that we had found and died to defend for most of fell back to the Hun.

We had to move the guns quickly into position and the artillery teams were there waiting. There was barely any time to take the measurements before they fired their barrages into the German troops. The shelling slowed their advance but did not stop it. That task fell to the British Army who, after retreating, set up a new line further in back of Mont Kemmel.

For hours, the air was filled with the high pitched screeches of the shells and the screams of the men and machines exploding. The men enforced their positions and we moved the horses further back. I spent as much time as I could with my own horse, Monarch, cleaning and feeding him. This was my third horse since being in France. Most could only take so much of the sounds of the shells and the screams and the dying.

I could look them in the eye and see when they were about to break. My lifetime with horses had come into good use but, lately, I had seen the same looks in the eyes of the soldiers around me. So much so that there were only a few men who did not have that look and Worth was one of them. I sought him out during dinner and found him, once again, alone and not eating.

I admonished him for not eating and keeping up his strength. Without another word, I set to and quickly ate my own dinner as he stared at me in disbelief. I laughed and told him that this food was a luxury compared to what I had eaten in my youth at sea. Often the officers would bet on which of the starving seamen would break down first and eat from the open barrel. With pride, I remembered striding defiantly to the barrel, breaking off a large piece of tack and biting down to the cheers of the cabin boys and sneers of the officers.

The vomiting and bowel distress after had been worth it. That night, I told Worth the tales of my own hunting ground, the Sargasso Sea.

I told him of the ships caught helplessly in the grip of the seaweed choked sea and the monstrous creatures that lived there. The story of the survivors of the Homebird , which had been one of my early successes, touched him deeply. I looked in his eyes and saw the real meaning of his question. Instead of the truth I told him that their escape was a story that I had simply not written yet but would someday. But, in truth, there was no escape from the Sargasso. One tacked on because my editor had requested an uplifting end that would please readers. Like those helpless, doomed characters, so were we marching towards an inevitable end.

I knew in my heart that those fictional characters on my stranded ships would eventually succumb to the sea monsters around them or starvation. That was why I never wrote the final chapter. It was too much to deal with characters who, no matter their efforts or their enthusiasm or hopes, would never escape. There were Watchers out there, in the dark, just waiting beyond the firing line.

Paul StJohn Mackintosh

Later that day, the Commanding Officer gathered us all together. We were a rag-tag group, standing in the mud and the blood, patched together with bandages and grit. The line would be retreating in the night, he said, but that we needed to set up a Forward Observation Post on the base of Mont Kemmel. He could barely look us in the eye because he knew what he was asking of us. Volunteers were needed, he explained, he would not order any man to take the risk.

It would surely mean death for any who stayed. Finally Northrup also volunteered and we set out to prepare. He was a strong, strapping lad when he joined the 84 th. His eyes were dull and, though he would follow any order you gave him, the rest of his mind had walked away in the hopes of coming out again someday when the sun shined again and there were birds singing in the air instead of bombs.

The 84 th has retreated further back from the line. We watched them leave with a sense of stern resignation. Under darkness, we moved forward and set up our post. Northrup said nothing and I lost interest in speaking to him. I put him in charge of sending our messages back to the company and tried to get some sleep. When I awoke, a grey dawn had already broken and I was surprised to find Worth sitting by my side. I laughed and he asked me to tell him one of my Carnacki stories. Worth asked if it was the same atmosphere as the one we felt there, dug into Mont Kemmel like ticks on a dog.

I replied simply that it was the same atmosphere as I have felt all my life whether in Ireland, on the deck of a ship sailing around the Horn, on a stage in Blackburn as I faced down the greatest escape-artist of all time, at a typewriter wrestling with my inability to express in words what I dreamed in my mind or here, on a battlefield that had lost all meaning. I carried it with me always. The Germans made another advance with a volley of artillery later that day. The rest of the night was spent hiding low from the bursts and the singing bombs. We sent back several messages that alert the 84 th with no idea if they were ever received.

Through the night, we tried to sleep as much as possible but little rest was claimed. I feel old and that is not something I have ever felt. I look at Northrup and I feel our lives draining away from us. Only Worth remains upbeat. Sometimes his nature keeps me going but, other times, I swear I could kill him. The barrage has been endless. I do not know how we have not been killed already. By the afternoon, a haze falls over the battlefield and all we can see are vague shapes moving back and forth. Northrup has been busy sending messages back to the 84 th and I find myself praying that we will receive withdrawal orders soon but the C.

I have no more words. Worth asks for more but I have none to give him. My sight is riveted to the grey shapes coming closer in the mist and haze. The Ghost Pirates are there, running back and forth, stopping, running, crouching and crawling. Their eyes penetrate me. I cannot tell if they are stalking me or beckoning me to join them.

Then, in the dim background, behind the grey shapes and booming crashes, I see it moving forward like a mountain walking. I have seen it before in my mind and in my dreams but now it stumbles towards me. I see the Watching Thing of the North-West from my land of future night eclipsing the dull circle of the sun. The sounds of the exploding bombs echo his footsteps. I try to tell Northrup but he sees nothing.

I cry out for Worth to bear witness and then Northrup finally speaks. There is no Worth, he says, who am I talking to? But Worth is there beside him, smiling. I point at him but, again, Northrup sees nothing. I tell you there is nothing there! I look back at the battlefield and see the Watcher even closer this time. So close that I can see its huge maw opening and closing to the sounds of battle. Suddenly, as if he had moved behind a curtain, Worth is gone and Northrup is pulling on my sleeve.

We have to leave, he says, withdrawal or not. It comes in a high pitched shriek. I look back in a terrified peace as I see the great mouth screeching at me. The sound of the bombs comes closer. I stand still, arms outstretched. Northrup grabs at me but I do not move.

The Best Gothic Horror Books Of All-Time -

The Watcher speaks me out of existence. On April 19 th , , William Hope Hodgson and another officer sustained a direct hit from German artillery. They were blown to pieces. Coming up — something light; something heavy.