In The Dead Of Night

Anthologies of classic ghost stories -- especially including such spine-tingling tales as *The Mezzotint* by M.R. James, *The Upper Berth* by F. Marion Crawford, and *Christmas Eve On A Haunted Hulk* by Frank Cadogan Cowper -- have abounded since the late 19th century, proliferating as the 20th advanced and copyrights expired, and multiplying a thousand-fold with the advent of the Internet, when first anyone with a scanner could resurrect them out of a book and publish them on a web site; then still ever-increasing as people copied the text from their screens and re-posted it on other sites. So common has this become, that today anyone with Web access can read these stories free. So. why should anyone want to pay for this anthology? Jess Mowry answers: "Aside from stubbornly clinging (despite all apparent contrary evidence) to the belief that a few decent people still think a living author deserves to be paid for their work -- even if, in this case, that work is merely compiling, copyediting and formatting the work of authors long dead -- one reason, I hope, is that my readers are interested in what I think makes a great and scary ghost tale." Mowry illustrates with anecdotes form his childhood: "Most (books) in our home were mouldy old junk-shop hard-backs, dusty and musty, their covers tattered, gnawed by rodents; their brittle and time-yellowed pages often perforated by... yes, book-worms do exist, and they're not the stereotypical nerds in high-water pants and 'Potter glasses. Squashed spiders, as well as other small, long-deceased life-forms -- not to mention interesting objects, ranging from pressed flowers and passionate love-letters, to Model-T Ford repair receipts, newspaper clippings about the *Titanic*, faded photographs of kids who looked like *The Little Rascals*. and locks of hair (presumably human) -- were also often found inside like Paleozoic Cracker-Jack prizes." As to where and how he acquired those books: "The (junk-shop's) dusty front window was cracked, held together by plywood patches, and displayed the usual crappy collection of tarnished trumpets, cheap and often inoperative switch-blades, and obsolete, sprung, and rusty tools. The shop's interior was dark and dank, and smelled like a million discarded dreams. A single small bulb dangled from wires, its yellow glow casting weirdly shaped shadows among the tottering labyrinth of shelves filling the high-ceilinged room. The cash register counter was shrouded in darkness as if the old

Year

2015

Language

English

Publisher

Anubis

Editions

1

Pages

227

ISBN

9781979613231

Data source: Wikidata