Gaslight Arcanum: Uncanny Tales of Sherlock Holmes
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
"MY NAME IS SHERLOCK HOLMES. IT IS MY BUSINESS TO KNOW WHAT OTHERS DO NOT."
In the dark lurk horrible secrets. Long buried and hidden from prying eyes are the twilight tales of the living and the dead - and those that lie in between.
From the comfort of the Seine to the chill blast of arctic winds, from candlelit monasteries to the callous and uncaring streets of Las Vegas are found arcane tales of men, monsters and their evil...
THERE IS A MYSTERY ABOUT THIS WHICH STIMULATES THE IMAGINATION; WHERE THERE IS NO IMAGINATION THERE IS NO HORROR.
The stink of a Paris morgue, the curve of a devil's footprint, forbidden pages torn from an infernal tome, madness in a dead woman's stare, a lost voice from beneath the waves and the cold indifference of an insect's feeding - all hold cryptic clues for Sherlock Holmes, the original dark-knight detective, as he drags the hidden horrors kicking and screaming into the light!
"Gaslight Arcanum: Uncanny Tales of Sherlock Holmes" features twelve new stories of the supernatural that push the Great Detective outside the conventional into the fantastic, written by:
Simon K. Unsworth
Lawrence C. Connolly
Cover art by Academy Award winner Dave Elsey (Wolfman). Frontispiece by Mike Mignola (Hellboy). Interior illustrations by Luke Eidenschink
Gaslight Arcanum is the fifth anthology these editors have devoted to Sherlock Holmes' stories. Two previous volumes, Gaslight Grimoire: Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes, and Gaslight Grotesque: Nightmare Tales of Sherlock Holmes also explored the dark-side of Holmes' pastiches.
Milanese Nightingale performs ‘the Jewel Song’, the unkind have been known to venture she would look lovelier still with a potato sack over her head. However, la Castafiore had a devoted clique of ferocious admirers. I knew the type: several of Mrs. Halifax’s regulars couldn’t get enough of the Welsh trollop known as Tessie the Two-Ton Taff. As I entered the foyer of the Opera House, I thought the banshee associated with the Eye of Balor had pursued me. A wailing resounded throughout the
an Egyptian sarcophagus, trussed like a mummy. “Apologies for the ‘rush job’, Colonel Moran,” said my hostess. “Before wrapping, you should have had your heart, lights and liver removed to be placed in canoptic jars and your brains pulled out through your nostrils. Revival of the arts of Egypt proceeds slower than I would like.” Why had they wrapped and entombed me, then taken the trouble to re-open the sarcophagus? Miss Trelawny must want something from me before I was buried for the
voice identical to yours. I sent it to your brother. It was a perfect forgery, though the minuteness of your hand required me to employ the use of a pantograph device. I tend to write large. Indeed, I do everything large. The sins of the father visited upon the child.” He smiled again, more broadly than before; giving the impression that he had just revealed something about his origins. I might have asked for clarification, but the matter of his forgery was more pressing. “So you wrote to my
never forgotten and then he said, more serious than I have ever heard him, “Watson, tomorrow evening I would ask that you kill me.” The logistics of Holmes’ plan will soon become apparent, but you can appreciate my asking him to elaborate on his statement. However, he would not, merely indicating that the following night he would require me to end his life by stopping his heart. “I simply refuse,” I told him. “Then more innocent people will die before this is all over,” Holmes said to me. “The
conclusion of the case. “You should not see any more deaths like those,” I assured him. I could not promise him the madness of the population would not continue, as indeed it did in the final days of the 19th century until everyone was certain the world would not end. Of the murders committed by loved ones and subsequent suicides, there were no more. Due note had obviously been taken of the repercussions. As I already mentioned, the matter was put down to the singular time of the year and our