The Lottery - a short story by Shirley Jackson

"Neighbours" By Robert Raymer Robert Raymer was born in Pennsylvania, studied in Ohio at Miami University, and lived in Colorado and Wisconsin (USA) before moving to Penang, Malaysia, in 1985. He has backpacked solo to 34 countries, taught tennis, modeled, played Santa Claus for an international school, managed a stage crew for Penang Players (an amateur theater group), danced the tango in the Oscar-winning French film Indochine, and was an extra in three other Hollywood films shot in Penang. He has written a play (adapted from the story "Neighbors"), four novels, and four screenplays. His short stories and articles have appeared in such publications as The Literary Review, Thema, Press, Aim, London Magazine, Frank, Going Places, Silver Kris, Far East Traveler, The Expat, The Writer, and Reader's Digest. Neighbors is part of his soon to be published collection of 'Malaysian' short stories called Lovers and Strangers - Revisited. "I suppose there's a mess in the back seat," Mrs. Mrs. Mrs. "Dead? "All right? "Wah!

The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar by Edgar Allan Poe by Edgar Allan Poe(published 1845) Of course I shall not pretend to consider it any matter for wonder, that the extraordinary case of M. Valdemar has excited discussion. It would have been a miracle had it not -- especially under the circumstances. Through the desire of all parties concerned, to keep the affair from the public, at least for the present, or until we had farther opportunities for investigation -- through our endeavors to effect this -- a garbled or exaggerated account made its way into society, and became the source of many unpleasant misrepresentations; and, very naturally, of a great deal of disbelief. It is now rendered necessary that I give the facts -- as far as I comprehend them myself. In looking around me for some subject by whose means I might test these particulars, I was brought to think of my friend, M. When the ideas to which I have alluded first occurred to me, it was of course very natural that I should think of M. You may as well come now. Mr. We left M.

The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry Originally published on Dec 10, 1905 in The New York Sunday World as "Gifts of the Magi." ONE DOLLAR AND EIGHTY-SEVEN CENTS. There was clearly nothing left to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. "Will you buy my hair?" New Feature!

Jonathan Lethem: “The Porn Critic” Kromer couldn’t operate hedonism but these days it operated him, in the way that a punctuated cylinder operates a player piano. What he knew came mostly from books—Anaïs Nin, William S. Burroughs, “The Hite Report,” stuff gleaned as a teen-ager from his parents’ shelves. Yet, in his current circle of Manhattan friends, who were mostly graduate students and legal proofreaders, Kromer played the role of satyr. The more he protested that it was only a single heroin-laced cigarette that had happened to be placed in his hand, or that his so-called threesome had consisted of scarcely more than heavy petting and a brush with sleep apnea, the more they looked to Kromer as their saint of degeneracy. Kromer’s reputation had its origin in the parties he was dragged to by a former schoolmate: a raven-haired, baggy-eyed heiress named Greta. Greta was, in her desultory way, the real thing. From Greta’s many aspiring transsexual acquaintances Kromer remained terrified of accepting even a blow job.

The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe Illustration of "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Harry Clarke, from Edgar Allan Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination, 1919. TRUE! It is impossible to tell how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Now this is the point. I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out: "Who's there?" I kept quite still and said nothing. Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little--a very, very little crevice in the lantern. It was open--wide, wide open--and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. But even yet I refrained and kept still. The officers were satisfied.

Harrison Bergeron French Translation from Avice Robitaille. Hindi Translation by Ashwin.Urdu Translation by RealMSRussian translation THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. The Monkey's Paw by W. W. Jacobs "Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it." Part I Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnum villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. "Hark at the wind," said Mr. "I'm listening," said the latter grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. "I should hardly think that he's come tonight, " said his father, with his hand poised over the board. "Mate," replied the son. "That's the worst of living so far out," balled Mr. "Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly; "perhaps you'll win the next one." Mr. "There he is," said Herbert White as the gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door. The old man rose with hospitable haste and opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival. "Sargeant-Major Morris, " he said, introducing him. "Twenty-one years of it," said Mr. "He don't look to have taken much harm." said Mrs. "Better where you are," said the Sargeant-Major, shaking his head.

The Naughty Boy by Hans Christian Andersen Along time ago, there lived an old poet, a thoroughly kind old poet. As he was sitting one evening in his room, a dreadful storm arose without, and the rain streamed down from heaven; but the old poet sat warm and comfortable in his chimney-corner, where the fire blazed and the roasting apple hissed. "Those who have not a roof over their heads will be wetted to the skin," said the good old poet. "Oh let me in! "Poor thing!" "Poor child!" The old poet seated himself beside his hearth, and took the little fellow on his lap; he squeezed the water out of his dripping hair, warmed his hands between his own, and boiled for him some sweet wine. "You are a merry fellow," said the old man. "My name is Cupid," answered the boy. "Why, your bow is quite spoiled," said the old poet. "That were sad indeed," said the boy, and he took the bow in his hand and examined it on every side. The poor poet lay on the earth and wept, for the arrow had really flown into his heart. "Fie!"

Rapunzel by Brothers Grimm Rapunzel There were once a man and a woman who had long, in vain, wished for a child. At length it appeared that God was about to grant their desire. These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs. One day the woman was standing by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion, and it looked so fresh and green that she longed for it. Her husband was alarmed, and asked: 'What ails you, dear wife?' 'Ah,' she replied, 'if I can't eat some of the rampion, which is in the garden behind our house, I shall die.' The man, who loved her, thought: 'Sooner than let your wife die, bring her some of the rampion yourself, let it cost what it will.' At twilight, he clambered down over the wall into the garden of the enchantress, hastily clutched a handful of rampion, and took it to his wife. 'Ah! she let the hair down. 'Aha!'

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button by F. Scott Fitzgerald by F. Scott Fitzgerald Chapter 1 As long ago as 1860 it was the proper thing to be born at home. I shall tell you what occurred, and let you judge for yourself. The Roger Buttons held an enviable position, both social and financial, in ante-bellum Baltimore. On the September morning consecrated to the enormous event he arose nervously at six o'clock, dressed himself, adjusted an impeccable stock, and hurried forth through the streets of Baltimore to the hospital, to determine whether the darkness of the night had borne in new life upon its bosom. When he was approximately a hundred yards from the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen he saw Doctor Keene, the family physician, descending the front steps, rubbing his hands together with a washing movement – as all doctors are required to do by the unwritten ethics of their profession. Mr. The doctor heard him, faced around, and stood waiting, a curious expression settling on his harsh, medicinal face as Mr. "What happened?" Mr.

The Bear Got Me by Matthew Licht The Bear Got Me Garson Thayer didn't like driving at night, but since his internal clock, an expensive Swiss gadget, sent signals to the effect that it wasn't officially night yet, he kept going. He was on his way to do a job for Strategic Air Command. He also wondered why SAC never sent him to Hawaii. The answer was obvious. The bulky extreme low-temperature Olive Drab snorkle coat, Gov't Issue, which he'd found neatly folded on the webbing seat next to his on the transport airplane, sat humped in the back seat of the car. He turned up the radio. Most military outpost honchos had a decent sense of humor about squandering taxpayer dough on senseless, even ridiculous outings that sounded good on official reports, on the off-chance such reports were ever demanded or, when delivered, scrutinized. The gray-lit spaces in the car's beaming eyesight were punctuated with grim, straight, black trees. The radio frazzed out. Alaska's undeniable beauty involved the silence wrought by cold. "Repeat!"