Bücher veröffentlicht von Wildside Press

Literary scholar James Doig has assembled a thrilling new collection of rare and previously uncollected horror and dark fantasy stories by Australian authors, all from the 19th and early 20th centuries. Here are-THE BLIGHTED MEADOW, by Mary FortuneTHE SILENT SEPULCHRE, by Charles JunorWHAT THE RATS BROUGHT, by Ernest FavencON THE ISLAND OF SHADOWS, by Ernest FavencTHE ODIC TOUCH, by Hume NisbetTOLD IN THE 'CORONA'S' CABIN ON THREE EVENINGS, by J.A. BarryTHE HOUSE OF ILL OMEN, by Rosa PraedA THING OF WAX, by Morley RobertsTHE PROPHETIC HORROR OF THE GREAT EXPERIMENT, by James EdmundTHE PRECIPITOUS DETAILS OF THE HIGH MOUNTAIN AND THE THREE SKELETONS, by James EdmundTHE STRANGE CASE OF ALAN HERIOT, by Lionel SparrowTHE BLANKET FIEND, by Beatrice GrimshawTHE PHANTOM SHIP OF DIRK VAN TROMP, by James Francis DwyerTHE DEVIL'S BALL, by Dulcie DeamerTHE PLEDGE, by Helen SimpsonTHE WATCH, by Vernon KnowlesTHE HOUSE THAT TOOK REVENGE, by Vernon KnowlesTHE UNDYING ONE, by Roger Dard

A JOURNEY OF A BILLION LIFETIMESThere were seventy-two passengers crowded into the metal-walled cabin of the supersonic spacecraft, with no assurance they would ever see Earth again...and fear was contagious. Suddenly the blood rushed so swiftly to Ralph Sanford's brain that his eyes went out of focus and all was a great, indistinct blur. But Helen Arcularis remained steadfast: her vision was of other worlds...

IT CAME FROM THE SEA--huge, hairy, glowing, terrifying. On the beach, people gathered to stare-from a distance-at a creature unlike any they had ever seen.David, a young scientist, and his girlfriend, Joan, were among them. But David was not content with a distant look. At sundown, when the crowd had gone, David and Joan returned.And that's when it happened.A blinding light was all they remembered. Suddenly David and Joan were plunged through time into a world of towering glaciers and prehistoric beings-into an adventure of cataclysmic terror from which there seemed no escape!

The aliens were much better at their job than all the king's horses had been with Humpty Dumpty.First, they simply disassembled Edward Berner-tissue by tissue, nerve by nerve. In tanks they stored the million remnants and shreds that had been Berner, and they changed his brain into a fantastic recording device.Then they simply put him back together.Sinew by sinew, cell by cell.But it was not the same Ed Berner. The new Ed Berner was stronger, healthier-stronger and healthier than any other man. And with a sexual appetite and a promised lifespan greater than anyone on Earth.He was very nearly invincible.Very nearly.Unfortunately, there was a deadly law. The aliens had forgotten to make the new Ed Berner a wiser one...

Pete Sawyer is a private eye of a different kind. The son of a World War II American pilot and a brave French resistance fighter, he grew up on both sides of the Atlantic -- though he prefers his sun-dappled villa on the Riviera to most other places. He takes pleasure in a fine wine...and a good gun. His French name is Pierre-Ange, and it suits him. In English, it means Stone Angel.When a beautiful young woman, dripping wet and alone, wandered onto his patio, ex-cop and private eye Pete Sawyer knew he was looking at trouble. He also knew he would take the job. It sounded simple enough: deliver a letter to a local Riviera resident. But when Pete arrived, the man had vanished and his wife was being worked over by two thugs.That was only the beginning of a murderous trail of diamonds and death that led from the Code d'Azur into the exotic heart of Morocco. There, in the stark Sahara, Pete would spark a bloody showdown that few would live to talk about....

Pete Sawyer is a private eye of a different kind. The son of a World War II American pilot and a brave French resistance fighter, he grew up on both sides of the Atlantic -- though he prefers his sun-dappled villa on the Riviera to most other places. He takes pleasure in a fine wine...and a good gun. His French name is Pierre-Ange, and it suits him. In English, it means Stone Angel.On a midnight in December, Fritz Donhoff -- Pete's partner and surrogate father -- is shot down in Paris. Fritz has left a case behind that Pete can't turn his back on. Susan Kape, the beautiful young oil heiress, hungers for a foothold in the international art world -- and an Etruscan tomb filled with priceless relics may help her get it. All she needs is an easy eighteen million dollars and Pete's protection while she has the discovery authenticated in Italy. Pete Sawyer must call on all his creative powers as a sleuth and survivor to solve this inspired mystery -- while a gallery of murder victims collects artlessly around him...

Short Description

The girl had lost her guitar-playing boyfriend, but he had left her the most deadly legacy of all -- fear. And now it was up to me to protect her from the gun-carrying thugs who were relentlessly tracking her down. Hoodlums, hootenannies, and homicide!#10 in the Mac detective series!

Lemmy Caution investigates a counterfeiting case and a suspicious suicide. Are the two cases connected? Before the action is over, he'll travel from New York to the desert outside Palm Springs- encountering beautiful dames-and more than a few desperate men...who aren't afraid to kill!

Charlotte Perkins Gilman was an American author who wrote several works of historical and social fiction, including the classic short story "e;The Yellow Wallpaper."e;

In a future where interstellar space travel is commonplace, following the invention of the Nulgrav Drive, planetoids and meteorites pose the only threat to spacecraft. The solution: a space engineering company, Planetoid Disposals Ltd., is created to destroy rogue stellar bodies and sweep the space lanes clear of debris. With the Galactic Patrol enforcing peace throughout the galaxy, it is a time of prosperity. But when a non-human race finds a way to checkmate the Patrol, it means war with humanity. The Vendians launch their mighty fleet against an unearmed Earth, and only Planetoid Disposals' fleet of ships stands in their way...

Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine is back with a new issue and a new editor. Here are tales in mystery and detection in the classic manner, with a fine selection of new stories, features, and a classic Holmes reprint. Here are:BEAUTY AND THE BEYOTCH, by Barb GoffmanTHE CASE OF THE COLONEL'S SUICIDE, by Rafe McGregorTHE HOLMES IMPERSONATOR AND THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARS, by Janice LawTHE BODY IN THE BACKYARD, by Peter DiChellisThe Adventure of the Geek Interpreter, by Hal CharlesCEREAL KILLING, by J.P. SeewaldLAST WISH AND TESTAMENT, by V.P. KavaFROM GREEN TO RED, by Mike McHoneFAILURE TO OBEY, by Rebecca K. JonesTRACE EVIDENCE, by Keith BrookeTHE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN, by Sir Arthur Conan DoyleFeatures by Darrell Schweitzer, Kim Newman, and Martha Hudson.Now edited by Carla Kaessinger Coupe.

Robert Edmond Alter, best known as a mystery author, turns his considerable talents to stories of heroes and courage under difficult circumstances. These true-life historical retellings include tales of war, heroism, adventure, and survival-all of which required courage under extreme pressure or life-threatening circumstances.

One of famed crime author Robert Edmond Alter's less-well-known books, Henry M. Stanley: The Man from Africa concerns the life of Sir Henry Morton Stanley, explorer, journalist, soldier, colonial administrator, author and politician who was famous for his exploration of Central Africa and his search for missionary and explorer David Livingstone, whom he later claimed to have greeted with the now-famous line: "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?"

Leo's mother, Madam Sara Bresson, wasn't good with babies. She never claimed to be. She had her Gift, her charisma, her successful career as a Spiritualist medium, and there simply wasn't room in her life for sleepless nights or soggy nappies. Therefore, with her husband (Leo's father Maurice Moon, a music hall conjuror and xylophone player) out of the picture having recently decamped, she donated Leo as soon as was decent to her widowed mother Clare.An agreeably wealthy woman, Clare had conveniently just returned from India following the alcohol-related death of her husband, a senior officer in the British army there. Clare welcomed a grandchild. It was good to be needed.Now, today, eighty-odd years later, Leo is living again in the house in Cheltenham that his grandmother Clare bought all those years ago. And D. G. Compton, previously better known perhaps as a science fiction writer, has set himself a biographical task here, charting at least a few of the more significant vicissitudes, big and little, that have shaped Leo's nature and life, and have left us with this slightly wise (he hopes) old gent.

The masked woman called herself Madame Madcap, and she gathered a gang ofcutthroats determined to loot high society of all its riches... starting withthe notorious womanizer Hamilton Brone. She worked her criminal magic... andgrew rich as millionaires swooned at her feet. Members of her gang worshippedher. She could do no wrong. And yet a curious pattern began to emerge, and astrange vengeance took shape -- not just against the men of high society, but against the men of her own brave band of criminals!

The Willows is a novella by Algernon Blackwood, first published in 1907. It is often considered one of Blackwood's greatest works and a classic of supernatural fiction. The story is renowned for its atmospheric tension and exploration of the unknown.Two friends, the unnamed narrator and his companion known as "The Swede," embark on a canoe trip down the Danube River. They venture into a remote and desolate region filled with dense willows, far from civilization. The landscape is eerie and otherworldly, with the river seeming to possess a life of its own.As they set up camp on a small island surrounded by willows, they begin to experience strange and unsettling phenomena. The willows seem to move and whisper, creating an overwhelming sense of unease. The natural environment appears hostile and alive, contributing to the growing tension.The protagonists soon realize they are not alone. They sense the presence of malevolent, unseen entities that inhabit the area. These forces are beyond human understanding and defy logical explanation. The isolation, coupled with the oppressive atmosphere, drives the men to the brink of madness.Throughout the story, Blackwood masterfully builds a sense of dread through his vivid descriptions of the landscape and the psychological effects on the characters. The story's power lies in its ability to evoke the unknown and the inexplicable, leaving readers with a lingering sense of fear and wonder.

It is customary, I have noticed, in publishing an autobiography to preface it with some sort of apology. But there are times, and surely the present is one of them, when to do so is manifestly unnecessary. In an age when every standard of decent conduct has either been torn down or is threatened with destruction; when every newspaper is daily reporting scenes of violence, divorce, and arson; when quite young girls smoke cigarettes and even, I am assured, sometimes cigars; when mature women, the mothers of unhappy children, enter the sea in one-piece bathing-costumes; and when married men, the heads of households, prefer the flicker of the cinematograph to the Athanasian Creed -- then it is obviously a task, not to be justifiably avoided, to place some higher example before the world. For some time -- I am now forty-seven -- I had been feeling this with increasing urgency. And when not only my wife and her four sisters, but the vicar of my parish, the Reverend Simeon Whey, approached me with the same suggestion, I felt that delay would amount to sin. That sin, by many persons, is now lightly regarded, I am, of course, only too well aware. That its very existence is denied by others is a fact equally familiar to me. But I am not one of them. On every ground I am an unflinching opponent of sin. I have continually rebuked it in others. I have strictly refrained from it in myself. And for that reason alone I have deemed it incumbent upon me to issue this volume.

As vacation time approached, Dick and Doc had become as hard as nails and as active as a couple of manus, which you will know, if your education has not been neglected, is the ape-word for monkeys. Then it was that the big surprise came in a letter that Dick received from his mother. Tarzan of the Apes had invited them all to visit him and spend two months on his great African estate! The boys were so excited that they talked until three o'clock the next morning and flunked in all their classes that day.

While I was attached to the Malakand Field Force I wrote a series of letters for the London Daily Telegraph. The favorable manner in which these letters were received, encouraged me to attempt a more substantial work. This volume is the result. The original letters have been broken up, and I have freely availed myself of all passages, phrases, and facts, that seemed appropriate. The views they contained have not been altered, though several opinions and expressions, which seemed mild in the invigorating atmosphere of a camp, have been modified, to suit the more temperate climate of peace. -- Sir Winston S. Churchill

For the twenty-second time since the great wave had washed him from the steamer's deck and hurled him, choking and sputtering, upon this inhospitable shore, Waldo Emerson saw the sun sinking rapidly toward the western horizon. Suddenly Waldo became conscious from the corner of his eye that something was creeping upon him from behind out of the dark cave before which he had fought. Simultaneously with the realization of it he swung his cudgel in a wicked blow at this new enemy as he turned to meet it. The creature dodged back and the blow that would have crushed its skull grazed a hairbreadth from its face. Waldo struck no second blow and the cold sweat sprang to his forehead when he realized how nearly he had come to murdering a young girl. She crouched now in the mouth of the cave, eying him fearfully. Waldo removed his tattered cap, bowing low. "I crave your pardon," he said. "I had no idea that there was a lady here. I am very glad that I did not injure you." But now his attention was required by more pressing affairs -- the cave men were returning to the attack. They carried stones this time, and, while some of them threw the missiles at Waldo, the others attempted to rush his position. It was then that the girl hurried back into the cave, only to reappear a moment later carrying some stone utensils in her arms.

El Kudz, as Arabs call Jerusalem, is, from a certain distance, as they also call it, shellabi kabir. Extremely beautiful. Beautiful upon a mountain. El Kudz means The City, and in a certain sense it is that, to unnumbered millions of people. Ludicrous, uproarious, dignified, pious, sinful, naïvely confidential, secretive, altruistic, realistic. Hoary-ancient and ultra-modern. Very, very proud of its name Jerusalem, which means City of Peace. Full to the brim with the malice of certainly fifty religions, fifty races, and five hundred thousand curious political chicaneries disguised as plans to save our souls from hell and fill some fellow's purse. The jails are full.

Anyone could say of any short story, "A mere anecdote," just as anyone can say "Incoherent!" of any novel or of any sonata that isn't studiously monotonous. The recession of enthusiasm for this compact, amusing form is closely associated in my mind with that discouraging imputation. One felt hopelessly open to a paralyzing and unanswerable charge, and one's ease and happiness in the garden of one's fancies was more and more marred by the dread of it. It crept into one's mind, a distress as vague and inexpugnable as a sea fog on a spring morning, and presently one shivered and wanted to go indoors . . . It is the absurd fate of the imaginative writer that he should be thus sensitive to atmospheric conditions. But after one has died as a maker one may still live as a critic, and I will confess I am all for laxness and variety in this as in every field of art. Insistence upon rigid forms and austere unities seems to me the instinctive reaction of the sterile against the fecund. It is the tired man with a headache who values a work of art for what it does not contain. I suppose it is the lot of every critic nowadays to suffer from indigestion and a fatigued appreciation, and to develop a self-protective tendency towards rules that will reject, as it were, automatically the more abundant and irregular forms. But this world is not for the weary, and in the long-run it is the new and variant that matter. -- From Wells's introduction to THE COUNTRY OF THE BLIND AND OTHER STORIES.

Before she tried to be a good woman she had been a very bad woman ' so bad that she could trail her wonderful apparel up and down Main Street, from the Elm Tree Bakery to the railroad tracks, without once having a man doff his hat to her or a woman bow. You passed her on the street with a surreptitious glance, though she was well worth looking at ' in her furs and laces and plumes. She had the only full-length mink coat in our town, and Ganz's shoe store sent to Chicago for her shoes. Hers were the miraculously small feet you frequently see in stout women.