Amy H. Sturgis (eldritchhobbit) wrote,
Amy H. Sturgis
eldritchhobbit

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Halloween Countdown, Day 14


winter gothic
Originally uploaded by perseverando
LINK OF THE DAY: Today's link is for a terrific publication that's free to all readers: The Irish Journal of Gothic and Horror Studies. Each online issue includes articles, book, film and television reviews, and a special "Lost Souls" section dedicated to resurrecting the neglected and underrated personages of horror (from the 19th-century Gothic novelist Francis Lathom to 1950s "Scream Queen" Susan Cabot).

Here is a sample of some of the most recent articles:
- "'The Great Disillusionment': H.G. Wells, Mankind, and Aliens in American Invasion Horror Films of the 1950s"
- "No Trespassing: The Post-Millennial Road-Horror Movie"
- "Irish Gothic Revisited"

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LITERATURE OF THE DAY: Today's very spooky story is a classic: "The Signalman" by Charles Dickens (1812-1870).

Excerpt from "The Signalman" by Charles Dickens:
"One moonlight night," said the man, "I was sitting here, when I heard a voice cry, 'Halloa! Below there!' I started up, looked from that door, and saw this Some one else standing by the red light near the tunnel, waving as I just now showed you. The voice seemed hoarse with shouting, and it cried, 'Look out! Look out!' And then attain, 'Halloa! Below there! Look out!' I caught up my lamp, turned it on red, and ran towards the figure, calling, 'What's wrong? What has happened? Where?' It stood just outside the blackness of the tunnel. I advanced so close upon it that I wondered at its keeping the sleeve across its eyes. I ran right up at it, and had my hand stretched out to pull the sleeve away, when it was gone."

"Into the tunnel?" said I.

"No. I ran on into the tunnel, five hundred yards. I stopped, and held my lamp above my head, and saw the figures of the measured distance, and saw the wet stains stealing down the walls and trickling through the arch. I ran out again faster than I had run in (for I had a mortal abhorrence of the place upon me), and I looked all round the red light with my own red light, and I went up the iron ladder to the gallery atop of it, and I came down again, and ran back here. I telegraphed both ways, 'An alarm has been given. Is anything wrong?' The answer came back, both ways, 'All well.'"

Resisting the slow touch of a frozen finger tracing out my spine, I showed him how that this figure must be a deception of his sense of sight; and how that figures, originating in disease of the delicate nerves that minister to the functions of the eye, were known to have often troubled patients, some of whom had become conscious of the nature of their affliction, and had even proved it by experiments upon themselves. "As to an imaginary cry," said I, "do but listen for a moment to the wind in this unnatural valley while we speak so low, and to the wild harp it makes of the telegraph wires."

That was all very well, he returned, after we had sat listening for a while, and he ought to know something of the wind and the wires,-- he who so often passed long winter nights there, alone and watching. But he would beg to remark that he had not finished.

I asked his pardon, and he slowly added these words, touching my arm, --

"Within six hours after the Appearance, the memorable accident on this Line happened, and within ten hours the dead and wounded were brought along through the tunnel over the spot where the figure had stood."


Read the complete story.
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