‘It’s really a very good piece of work. . . The light is admirably managed, it seems to me, and the figure, though it’s rather too grotesque, is somehow very impressive.’
There is probably a smell of roasted chestnuts and other good comfortable things all the time, for we are telling Winter Stories— Ghost Stories, or more shame for us—round the Christmas fire...
"Stay, then; stay and brave the Curse; we may yet be happy!"
I was determined not to lose my night’s rest—ghosts or no ghosts
"Let me hear your story: I have a passion for these sort of horrors; and the time, the season, and the place we are in, are all admirably suited for a narrative of the supernatural school."
“So great is my love, that not in this world, nor with this mortal body, can I give it fit and full expression.”
“It was the seventeenth of December,” I said, “the day before my uncle’s birthday.”
Being the Deposition of Mr. Audenried's Valet.
The ghost stories we had laughed at while sunshine flooded the room, became less unreal, when we had nothing but blazing fires and wax candles to dispel the gloom.
“I don’t want to have to drive ten miles to see somebody else’s ghost. I want one of my own on the premises. Is there a ghost at Lyng?”
‘You must come out,’ he said; and again, ‘You must come, you must.’
Eldritch Tale of New England Witchcraft
