The King in Yellow (Barnes & Noble Library of Essential Reading)
Robert W. Chambers
Language: English
Pages: 169
ISBN: 1503364127
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
First published in 1895, this collection of short stories by Robert W. Chambers takes its title from The King in Yellow, a fictional drama so laced with "the essence of purest poison" that it drives anyone foolish enough to read it insane. Although suppressed by authorities shortly after publication, copies of the play continue to seduce and destroy unsuspecting men and women who fall under its spell.
The King in Yellow was a bestseller in its day, and was later praised by horror emeritus H.P. Lovecraft as a book that "really achieves notable heights of cosmic horror." Its ten stories include "The Yellow Sign," considered by many critics to be one of the greatest tales of horror in the English language.
This edition features an introduction and notes by horror fiction scholar S.T. Joshi.
dream.” She smiled faintly. “What about the man in the churchyard?” “Oh, he’s only an ordinary unhealthy, everyday creature.” “As true as my name is Tessie Reardon, I swear to you, Mr. Scott, that the face of the man below in the churchyard is the face of the man who drove the hearse!” “What of it?” I said. “It’s an honest trade.” “Then you think I did see the hearse?” “Oh,” I said diplomatically, “if you really did, it might not be unlikely that the man below drove it. There is nothing in
you any news, Monsieur Jack?” “I haven’t been out to-day. I will bring you any rumor I may hear, though goodness knows I’ve got enough of rumors,” he muttered to himself. Then aloud: “Cheer up; you’re looking better.” “And the sortie?” “Oh, the sortie, that’s for this week. General Trochu sent orders last night.” “It will be terrible.” “It will be sickening,” thought Trent as he went out into the street and turned the corner toward the rue de Seine; “slaughter, slaughter, phew! I’m glad I’m
grief;—“I—that is, I must explain that things are changed. Colette and I—are to be married—” “What—what about the chicken?” groaned Fallowby. “Shut up!” laughed Trent, and slipping his arm through West’s, walked to the stairway. “The poor little thing,” said West, “just think, not a splinter of firewood for a week and wouldn’t tell me because she thought I needed it for my clay figure. Whew! When I heard it I smashed that smirking clay nymph to pieces, and the rest can freeze and be hanged!”
mind,—never mind about that! You must not sit in judgment—you of all men. Why are you here to-night? Oh,” she cried, “I will tell you why! Monsieur receives a little note; he sends a little answer; he dresses in his conquering raiment—” “I don’t,” said Clifford, very red. “You do, and it becomes you,” she retorted with a faint smile. Then again, very quietly, “I am in your power, but I know I am in the power of a friend. I have come to acknowledge it to you here,—and it is because of that that
tingling with suppressed glee. He made a desperate effort to master the situation, and jumped up to reach for some Russian cigarettes as an incentive to conversation, but was foiled by the cactus, to whom again he fell a prey. The last straw was added. “Damn the cactus.” This observation was wrung from Selby against his will,—against his own instinct of self-preservation, but the thorns on the cactus were long and sharp and at their repeated prick his pent-up wrath escaped. It was too late now;