Conklin, Groff (ed) - The Supernatural Reader / Конклин, Грофф (ред) - О сверхестественном [1957, EPUB, ENG]

The Angel with Purple Hair short story by Herb Paul For the Blood Is the Life / Ибо кровь есть жизнь short story by F. Marion Crawford The Stranger / Незнакомец short story by Richard Hughes Mrs. Manifold short story by August Derleth (as by Stephen Grendon) Piffingcap short story by A. E. Coppard Shottle Bop / Борговля тутылками novelette by Theodore Sturgeon Gabriel-Ernest / Габриэль-Эрнест short story by Saki (as by H. H. Munro) The Lost Room / Потерянная комната short story by Fitz-James O'Brien The Traitor short story by James S. Hart Angus MacAuliffe and the Gowden Tooch / Ангус Макалиффи и жаватое прикошновение short story by Charles R. Tanner Are You Run-Down, Tired—? short story by Leonard M. Lake and Babette Rosmond The Nature of the Evidence / Несостоятельность улик short story by May Sinclair The Tree's Wife short story by Mary Elizabeth Counselman The Pavilion / Павильон short story by E. Nesbit Pick-Up for Olympus short story by Edgar Pangborn The Swap short story by Gerald Heard (as by H. F. Heard) The Tombling Day / Могильный день short story by Ray Bradbury Minuke short story by Nigel Kneale Bird of Prey / Хищная птица short story by John Collier The Thing in the Cellar / Существо в подвале short story by David H. Keller, M.D. Devil's Henchman short story by Murray Leinster (as by Will Jenkins) Lost Hearts / Погубленные сердца short story by M. R. James Thirteen at Table / Тринадцать за столом short story by Lord Dunsany Lights short story by Philip M. Fisher The Silver Highway / Серебряная дорога short story by Harold Lawlor The Moonlit Road / Дорога в лунном свете short story by Ambrose Bierce The Curate's Friend / Дружок для младшего священника short story by E. M. Forster

It was the Tombling day, and all the people had walked up the summer road, including Grandma Loblilly, and they stood now in the green day and the high sky country of Missouri, and there was a smell of the seasons changing and the grass breaking out in flowers. “Here we are,” said Grandma Loblilly, over her cane, and she gave them all a flashing look of her yellow-brown eyes and spat into the dust. The graveyard lay on the side of a quiet hill. It was a place of sunken mounds and wooden markers; bees hummed all about in quietudes of sound and butterflies withered and blossomed on the clear blue air. The tall sunburnt men and ginghamed women stood a long silent time looking in at their deep and buried relatives. . . .