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Ghost Stories

The Roll-call Of The Reef
A. T. QUILLER-COUCH "Yes, sir," said my host, the ...

Keeping His Promise
It was eleven o'clock at night, and young Marriott wa...

An Explanation From The Tomb
In the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are certain intere...

Present At A Hanging
An old man named Daniel Baker, living near Lebanon,...

The Spectre Bridegroom
Long, long ago a farmer named Lenine lived in Bosc...

"put Out The Light!"
The Rev. D. W. G. Gwynne, M.D., was a physician in holy...

Farm House 5 Ground Plan
Plans in original orientation INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. ...

The Miraculous Case Of Jesch Claes
In the year 1676, about the 13th or 14th of this M...

A Haunted Island
The following events occurred on a small island of is...

Half-past One O'clock
In October, 1893, I was staying at a town which we shal...





Black Spirits And White






No 252 Rue M Le Prince
When in May, 1886, I found myself at last in Paris, I naturally determined to throw myself on the charity of an old chum of mine, Eugene Marie d'Ardeche, who had forsaken Boston a year or more ago on receiving word of the ...

In Kropfsberg Keep
To the traveller from Innsbrueck to Munich, up the lovely valley of the silver Inn, many castles appear, one after another, each on its beetling cliff or gentle hill,--appear and disappear, melting into the dark fir trees ...

The White Villa
When we left Naples on the 8.10 train for Paestum, Tom and I, we fully intended returning by the 2.46. Not because two hours time seemed enough wherein to exhaust the interests of those deathless ruins of a dead civilizati...

Sister Maddelena
Across the valley of the Oreto from Monreale, on the slopes of the mountains just above the little village of Parco, lies the old convent of Sta. Catarina. From the cloister terrace at Monreale you can see its pale walls a...

Notre Dame Des Eaux
West of St. Pol de Leon, on the sea-cliffs of Finisterre, stands the ancient church of Notre Dame des Eaux. Five centuries of beating winds and sweeping rains have moulded its angles, and worn its carvings and sculpture do...

The Dead Valley
I have a friend, Olof Ehrensvaerd, a Swede by birth, who yet, by reason of a strange and melancholy mischance of his early boyhood, has thrown his lot with that of the New World. It is a curious story of a headstrong boy a...