By Robert D. San Souci, Katherine Coville
Ghoulies, ghosties, and long-leggedy beasties inhabit those 30 chilling stories accumulated from worldwide. Creepy vintage and modern tales from Australia, Germany, India, El Salvador, and elsewhere--including a fit aiding of yank apparitions--will continue readers and listeners scared stiff. Do you dare stroll down the lane the place "Crooker Waits"? Or might you really shake "The bushy Hands"? Twenty eerie illustrations spotlight this better half to Robert D. San Souci's prior collections of frightening tales, which School Library Journal known as "an absolute satisfaction. . . . younger readers will gobble up those thirty exciting snacks and beg for more." get pleasure from this supernatural deal with for spine-tingling enjoyable!
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Extra info for A Terrifying Taste of Short & Shivery: Thirty Creepy Tales
The thing lurched closer, stepping onto the bed. Sebastien glanced about wildly, caught up a rug from the floor, and swung just as Garrett, half-pinned, shouted a word of magic and hurled her wand like a throwing knife. The rug came down on the dark thing’s crown, dashing candles out. Garrett’s wand vanished into its breast, silver tip first. The thing wailed, spinning wildly, reaching for Sebastien with groping, malformed paws. He skittered aside like a toreador, swinging the rug again, smashing the thing in the face.
The woeful exhalation of a late-arriving steamship, packet boat from England or places more distant, hung on the night. The black stone windowledge gouged a cold furrow across her belly. Mike shoved dustmop paws against the wall, too small to reach the windowledge. She reached down and ruffled his ears. When the first inch of liquor warmed the chill from her shoulders, Abigail Irene Garrett straightened from the window, unwound white fingers from her tumbler, and began to dress. “Grisly,” Garrett commented—an uncharacteristic sentiment.
After crossing the Elizabeth Bridge, her driver turned the rattling coach down Brewster Street, and Garrett smoothed her dress. The ELIZABETH BEAR | 43 mud had somewhat dried; she slipped her gloves off, cracking the powder off her hem. Then she dug in her reticule for lotion to smooth her face and disguise her exhaustion. Not that she had anything to hide from Richard, Duke of New Amsterdam, but old habits died hard. She was tugging the fingers of her gloves back into place when the carriage jolted to a halt on the gracious circular drive of the Duke’s massive white Colonial.
A Terrifying Taste of Short & Shivery: Thirty Creepy Tales by Robert D. San Souci, Katherine Coville