Your stomach turns a slimy green. And pus pours out like whipping cream. You spread it on a slice of bread. And that's what you eat when you are dead. There was a graveyard down the street, and they were talking about how scary it was. He'll pull you under. She picked out a grave and stood on it. Then quickly she bent over and plunged the knife into the soil, and she started to leave.
But she couldn't get away.
Something was holding her back! She tried a second time to leave, but she couldn't move. She was filled with terror. When she didn't come back, the others went to look for her. They found her body sprawled across the grave. Without realizing it, she had plunged the knife through her skirt and had pinned it to the ground. It was only the knife that held her. She had died of fright. One slept at the back of the room. The other slept near the door. After a while, the one who slept near the door began to feel very tired early in the day. His friend asked what was wrong. She mumbled some strange words over the farmhand, and he found he couldn't move.
Then she slipped a bridle on him, and he turned into a horse. The next thing he knew, she was riding him across the fields at breakneck speed, beating him to make him go even faster. Soon they came to a house where a party was going on. There was a lot of music and dancing. They were having a big time inside. She hitched him to a fence and went in. While she was gone, the farmhand rubbed against the fence until the bridle came off, and he turned back into a human being.
Then he went into the house and found the witch. He spoke those strange words over her, and with the bridle he turned her into a horse. Then he rode her to a blacksmith and had her fitted with horseshoes. After that, he rode her to the farm where she lived. Would you like to trade? So they picked out another horse, and the farmhand rode away.
Her husband led his new horse to the barn. He took off the bridle and went to hang it up. But when he came back, the new horse was gone. Instead, there stood his wife with horseshoes nailed to her hands and feet. He was a nice fellow, and they got along pretty well together. There was only one problem. Every night he'd go swimming in the river.
Sometimes he would be gone all night long, and she would complain about how lonely she was. This couple had two young sons. As soon as the boys could walk, their father began to teach them how to swim. And when they got to be old enough, he took them swimming in the river at night. Often they would stay there all night long, and the young woman would stay home all by herself.
After a while, she began to act in a strange way — at least, that is what the neighbors said. She told them that her husband was turning into an alligator, and that he was trying to turn the boys into alligators. Everybody told her there was nothing wrong with a man taking his sons swimming. That was a natural thing to do. And when it came to alligators, there just weren't any nearby. Everybody knew that. Early one morning the young woman came running into town from the direction of the river.
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She was soaking wet. She said a big alligator and two little alligators had pulled her in and had tried to get her to eat a raw fish. They were her husband and her sons, she said, and they wanted her to live with them. But she had gotten away. After that nobody saw her husband and boys again.
They just disappeared. But now and then a fisherman would tell about seeing alligators in the river at night. Usually it was one big alligator and two small ones. But people said they were just making it up. Everybody knows there aren't any alligators around here. He stayed with friends in the big house they owned outside the city. That night they had a good time visiting. But when Blackwell went to bed, he tossed and turned and couldn't sleep. Sometime during the night he heard a car turn into the driveway. He went to the window to see who was arriving at such a late hour.
In the moonlight, he saw a long, black hearse filled with people. The driver of the hearse looked up at him. When Black- well saw his queer, hideous face, he shuddered. In the morning Blackwell told his friends what had happened. He spent the day high above the city in one of the new office buildings there. Late in the afternoon he was waiting for an elevator to take him back down to the street. But when it arrived, it was very crowded. One of the passengers looked out and called to him.
It was the driver of the hearse. The elevator had fallen to the bottom of the shaft. Every- one aboard was killed. He trav- eled to a trading post and tried to find a guide to take him. But no one would do it. It was too dangerous, they said. Finally, he found an Indian who needed money badly, and he agreed to take him. The Indian's name was DeFago. They made camp in the snow near a large frozen lake.
For three days they hunted, but they had nothing to show for it. The third night a windstorm came up. They lay in their tent listening to the wind howling and the trees whipping back and forth. To see the storm better, the hunter opened the tent flap. What he saw startled him. There wasn't a breath of air, stirring, and the trees were standing perfectly still. Yet he could hear the wind howling. And the more he listened, the more it sounded as if it were calling DeFago's name. But DeFago had gotten out of his sleeping bag.
He was huddled in a corner of the tent, his head buried in his arms. But the wind continued to call to him. And DeFago became more tense and more restless. But the hunter grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. Then the wind called again, and DeFago broke loose and ran into the darkness. The hunter could hear him screaming as he went. Again and again he cried, "Oh, my fiery feet, my burning feet of fire.
At daybreak, the hunter followed DeFago's tracks in the snow. They went through the woods, down toward the lake, then out onto the ice. But soon he noticed something strange. The steps DeFago had taken got longer and longer. They were so long no human being could have taken them. It was as if something had helped him to hurry away. The hunter followed the tracks out to the middle of the lake, but there they disappeared. At first, he thought that DeFago had fallen through the ice, but there wasn't any hole. Then he thought that something had pulled him off the ice into the sky. But that made no sense.
Soon it was howling as it had the night before. Then he heard DeFago's voice. My fiery feet, my burning feet. Now the hunter wanted to leave that place as fast as he could. He went back to camp and packed. Then he left some food for DeFago, and he started out. Weeks later he reached civilization. The following year he went back to hunt in that area again.
He went to the same trading post to look for a guide. The people there could not explain what had hap- pened to DeFago that night. But they had not seen him since then. It drags you along at great speed until your feet are burned away, and more of you than that. Then it carries you into the sky, and it drops you. It's just a crazy story, but that's what some of the Indians say.
An Indian came in and sat by the fire. He had a blanket wrapped around him, and he wore his hat so that you couldn't see his face. The hunter thought there was something familiar about him. But he couldn't see his face. No answer. To get a look at him, he lifted the Indian's hat. Then he screamed. There was nothing under the hat but a pile of ashes. But it can be played whenever the spirit moves you. The players sit in a circle in a darkened room and listen to a storyteller describe the rotting remains of a corpse.
Each part is passed around for them to feel. In one version, a player is out if he or she screams or gasps with fright. In another version, everybody stays to the end, no matter how scared they get. Here is the story: Once in this town there lived a man named Brown. It was years ago, on this night, that he was murdered out of spite.
We have here his remains. First, let's feel his brains. A wet, squishy tomato Now here are his eyes, still frozen with surprise. Two peeled grapes This is his nose. A chicken bone Here is his ear. A dried apricot And here is his hand, rotting flesh and bone. A cloth or rubber glove filled with mud or ice But his hair still grows. A handful of corn silk or wet fur or yarn And his heart still beats, now and then. A piece of raw liver And his blood still flows.
Dip your fingers in it. It's nice and warm. A bowl of catsup thinned with warm water That's all there is, except for these worms. They are the ones that ate the rest of him. It was about midnight when they finished their game, and he started home. Outside it was icy cold and as quiet as the grave. As he came around a turn in the road, he was surprised to see a woman walking ahead of him.
She was carrying a basket covered with a white cloth. When he caught up to her, he looked to see who it was. But she was so bundled up against the cold, it was hard to see her face. Then he said, "May I carry your basket? From under the cloth, a small voice said, "That's very nice of you," and that was fol- lowed by wild laughter. Sam was so startled that he dropped the basket — and out rolled a woman's head. He looked at the head, and he stared at the woman. And he started to run, and the woman and her head began to chase him.
Soon the head caught up to him. It bounded into the air and sunk its teeth into his left leg. Sam screamed with pain and ran faster. But the woman and her head stayed right behind. Soon the head leaped into the air again and bit into his other leg. Then they were gone. But the ones in this chapter have been told only in recent times. They are stories that young people often tell about dangers we face in our lives today. Then they went for a ride in Donald's car. They parked up on a hill at the edge of town. From there they could see the lights up and down the valley.
Donald turned on the radio and found some music. But an announcer broke in with a news bulletin. A murderer had escaped from the state prison. He was armed with a knife and was headed south on foot. His left hand was missing. In its place, he wore a hook. Why would he do that?
Even if he did, all the doors are locked. How could he get in? I want to go home. As he started the car, Sarah thought she heard some- one, or something, scratching at her door. Soon they got to her house. Hanging on the door handle was a hook. But she was very poor, and she could not afford to buy the evening gown she needed for such an occasion. So she went to a pawnshop not far from where she lived.
There she found a white satin evening gown in her size. She looked lovely in it, and she was able to rent it for very little. When she arrived at the dance with her friend, she was so attractive, everyone wanted to meet her. She danced again and again and was having a wonderful time. But then she began to feel dizzy and faint, and she asked her friend to take her home. When she got home, she lay down on her bed. The next morning her mother found that her daughter had died. The doctor did not understand what had caused her death. So he had the coroner perform an autopsy. The coroner found that she had been poisoned by em- balming fluid.
It had stopped her blood from flowing. There were traces of the fluid on her dress. He decided it had entered her skin when she perspired while she was dancing. The pawnbroker said he bought the dress from an un- dertaker's helper. It had been used in a funeral for another young woman, and the helper had stolen it just before she was buried. She lived on a farm about eight miles away and used the car to drive back and forth. She had driven into town that night to see a basketball game.
Now she was on her way home. As she pulled away from the school, she noticed a red pick-up truck follow her out of the parking lot. A few minutes later the truck was still behind her. She began to watch the truck in her mirror. When she changed her speed, the driver of the truck changed his speed. When she passed a car, so did he. He left them on for almost a minute.
But she was becoming uneasy. Usually she drove home over a back road. Not too many people went that way. But when she turned onto that road, so did the truck. Then he turned his high beams on again. After a minute, he turned them off. Then he turned them on again and off again. She drove even faster, but the truck driver stayed right behind her. Once more her car was ablaze with light. But a minute later he had them on again, and he left them on.
At last she pulled into her driveway, and the truck pulled in right behind her. She jumped from the car and ran to the house. Out in the driveway she could see the driver of the truck. He had a gun in his hand. When the police arrived, they started to arrest him, but he pointed to the girl's car. As the driver of the truck explained it, the man slipped into the girl's car just before she left the school. He thought about getting the police, but he was afraid to leave her.
So he followed her car. Each time the man in the back seat reached up to over- power her, the driver of the truck turned on his high beams. Then the man dropped down, afraid that someone might see him. Everybody was sitting on the couch in front of the TV. There were Richard, Brian, Jenny, and Doreen, the babysitter. The telephone rang. She picked up the phone. Before she could say a word, a man laughed hysterically and hung up. Doreen an- swered it. It was the man who had called before. About ten o'clock the telephone rang again. Jenny got to it first.
It was the same man. About ten-thirty the telephone rang once more. At eleven o'clock the telephone rang again. Doreen answered it. Doreen called the operator. Almost at once she called back. I'll get the police. A man they had never seen before started down the stairs toward them. As they ran from the house, he was smiling in a very strange way.
A few minutes later, the police found him there and arrested him. This chapter has the same title as the first chapter. But the stories in the first chapter are meant to scare you. The ones in this chapter are meant to make you laugh. One morning her telephone rang. A half-hour later the telephone rang again. Once more the telephone rang. Again it was the viper. She quickly called the police. They said they would be right over. When the doorbell rang, she sighed with relief.
But when she opened the door, there stood a little old man with a bucket and a cloth. Rupert was a hunter and a trapper. The dog was a big German shepherd named Sam. Rupert had raised Sam from a pup. Almost every morning Rupert went hunting, and Sam stayed behind and guarded the house. One morning, as Rupert was checking his traps, he got the feeling that something was wrong at home. He hurried back as fast as he could, but when he got there he found that Sam was missing.
He searched the house and the woods nearby, but Sam was nowhere to be seen. He called and he called, but the dog did not answer. For days Rupert looked for Sam, but he could find no trace of him. Finally he gave up and went back to his work. But one morning he heard something moving in the attic. He picked up his gun. Then he thought, "I'd better be quiet about this. And in his bare feet he began to climb the attic stairs. He slowly took one step — then another — then another, until at last he reached the attic door.
He stood outside listening, but he didn't hear a thing. Then usually somebody will ask, "Why did Rupert scream? He came out of the sea; He ate all the others. But he didn't eat me. The slithery-dee, He came out of the sea; He ate all the others. They bought him a coffin and had a funeral and buried him. But that night he got out of his coffin, and he came home. His family was sitting around the fire when he walked in.
He sat down next to his widow, and he said, "What's going on? You all act like somebody died. Who's dead? You'd better get back to the grave where you belong. Since Aaron wouldn't go back, his widow couldn't col- lect his life insurance. Without that, she couldn't pay for the coffin.
And the undertaker said he would take it back. Aaron didn't care. But his joints were dry and his back was stiff, and every time he moved, he creaked and cracked. One night the best fiddler in town came to court the widow. Since Aaron was dead, the fiddler wanted to marry her.
The two of them sat on one side of the fire, and Aaron sat on the other side, creaking and cracking. Aaron stretched himself, shook himself, got up, took a step or two, and began to dance. With his old bones rattling, and his yellow teeth snap- ping, and his bald head wagging, and his arms flip-flop- ping — around and around he went. With his long legs clicking, and his kneebones knock- ing, he skipped and pranced around the room. How that dead man danced! But pretty soon a bone worked loose and fell to the floor.
The fiddler played faster. Crickety-crack, down and back, the dead man went hopping, and his dry bones kept dropping — this way, that way, the pieces just kept popping. The fiddler fiddled, and dead Aaron danced. The family gathered up Aaron's bones and put them back in the coffin. They mixed them up so he couldn't fit them together. After that, Aaron stayed in his grave. But his widow never did get married again. Aaron had seen to that.
When a storm came up, he looked for a place to take shelter. Soon he came to an old house. He ran up on the porch and knocked on the door, but nobody answered. By now rain was pouring down, thunder was booming, and lightning was flashing. So he tried the door. When he found it was unlocked, he went inside. Except for a pile of wooden boxes, the house was empty. He broke up some of the boxes and made a fire with them.
Then he sat down in front of the fire and dried himself. It was so warm and cozy that he fell asleep. When he woke up a black cat was sitting near the fire. It stared at him for a while.
Then it purred. But this one was as big as a wolf. It looked at him very closely, and it asked, "Shall we do it now? He closed his eyes again. Then he took another look. But now there was a third cat in the room, and this one was as big as a tiger. It looked the old man over, and it asked, "Shall we do it now? The room clerk told him the hotel was all filled up. He unpacked his things, and he went to bed. As soon as he did, a ghost came out of the closet. Bloody fingers! The next night a woman arrived very late. Again, all the rooms were taken except the haunted room.
Its fingers still were bleeding. It still was moan- ing, "Bloody fingers! A week later another guest arrived very late. He also took the haunted room. After he unpacked, he got out his guitar and he began to play. Soon the ghost appeared. As before, its fingers were bleeding, and it was moaning, "Bloody fingers! He just kept strumming his guitar.
But the ghost kept moaning, and its fingers kept bleeding. Finally, the guitar player looked up. In "The Golden Arm," a man marries a woman who wears a beautifully crafted golden arm. When she dies, he steals it from her grave, only to have her ghost return to claim it.
In some variants, it is a golden heart he steals or golden hair or diamond eyes. Or it is a natural organ, usually the liver or the heart, that he eats, despite the cannibalism involved. The Grimm brothers reported a version of it early in the nineteenth century, but the tale predates that period. Mark Twain used to tell "The Golden Arm" in his public performances. Here is some advice he once gave on delivering the jump lines that he once gave. It also applies to the telling of "The Big Toe. When it has reached exactly the right length, jump suddenly at that girl and yell, You 've got it!
There are three approaches to telling these jump stories. Two are found in Chapter 1.
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In the third approach, the ghost returns to search for what has been stolen. Feigning innocence, the grave robber asks what has become of various parts of the ghost's body. Ghosts pp. They are said to come back for various reasons. Their lives were ended before their allotted time. They had important business to finish or a responsibility to meet. They wished to punish somebody or to take revenge. Or they wanted to comfort or advise someone, or obtain forgiveness.
It is said that some return as human beings. In fact, they may look just as they did when they were alive, and people they meet may not realize they are ghosts. It usually is late at night that a motor- ist encounters her. She is standing on a street corner or at the side of a road, and she asks to be taken home.
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She sits in the back seat of the car. But when the driver finds the address he has been given, he discovers that she has vanished. When he informs her family of this, he learns that she died on that night several years before at the spot where he picked her up. Other ghosts may have a spectral quality. Or they may appear as a ball of fire or as a moving light. Or they may make their presence known through sounds they make or actions they take, such as slamming a door, rattling a key in a lock, or moving furniture. The ghosts of animals also have been reported, as have the ghosts of objects such as guns, boots, and rifles, and trains and cars associated with death.
Ghosts of human beings do many things a human does. They eat, drink, ride on trains and buses, play the piano, and go fishing. They also laugh, cry, shout, whisper, and make all sorts of noises. When it has completed what it set out to do, a ghost is likely to return to its grave. If you wish to see or hear a ghost, these are some recom- mended approaches: Look back over your left shoulder. Look through either one of a mule's ears.
Look in a mirror with another person. Arrange six pure white dinner plates around a table, then go to a cemetery at noon and call the name of someone you once knew who is buried there. If you encounter a ghost, it is advised that you speak to it. If you do so, you may be able to help it finish whatever it is doing and return to its grave. However, most ghosts are not regarded as dangerous.
The warning is a skeletonlike figure that appears, then chases the principal characters. But the most commonly re- ported forerunners are heard, not seen. They are sounds like a knock on the door or the striking of a clock. See Creighton pp. There are many versions of this story, but the theme never changes. In this book there are four disparate variants of this tale: "Me Tie Dough-ty Walker! One version went this way: "Did you ever think as the hearse rolls by That some of these days you must surely die?
They'll take you away in a big black hack; They'll take you away but they won't bring you back. And your eyes drop out and your teeth fall in And the worms crawl over your mouth and chin; And the worms crawl out and the worms crawl in And your limbs drop off limb by limb. Worms now play pinochle on your snout. There is jelly between your toes. And pus, like whipping cream, pours out of your stom- ach.
With children as the audience, it is a more gruesome song, but it is not as grim. One scholar associates the change of words with a change of function. During World War I, the song helped servicemen deal with the fear they felt. These days it helps children confirm the reality of death, yet through satire and humor deny its reality for them. The song is part of an old poetic tradition.
During the Mid- dle Ages many of the poems written in European countries dealt with death and decay. Here is a verse of this type from a twelfth-century poem, which has been translated from the Middle English: "A vicious worm lives in my backbone; My eyes are dazed and very dim; My guts rot, my hair is green. My teeth grin very grimly.
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According to this legend, the Wendigo attracts victims by calling to them in an irresistible way, then bears them away at great speed, finally sweeps them into the sky, then drops them, leaving them with frozen stumps where their feet once were. As they are carried off, they characteristically scream, " My fiery feet, my burning feet of fire! But the spirit then tries to entice whoever is holding him. In the lore of some northern tribes, the Wendigo functions not as the spirit of the cold, but as a cannibal giant that kills for human flesh.
Some nineteenth-century Indians also suf- fered a compulsion to eat human flesh, an illness anthropolo- gists later described as a "Windigo psychosis. Belief legends pp. They deal with ordinary people. They describe incidents that do not seem beyond the realm of possibility. But the same incidents are reported again and again at loca- tions in different parts of the country. And it is never possible to trace these stories to the actual participants. The closest one usually comes is a report from someone who knew some- one who knew those involved. The one known exception involves the legend of a "death car, a late model automobile that was sold for virtually noth- ing because of the smell of a corpse that cannot be removed.
The folklorist Richard M. Dorson traced the origins of the story to Mecosta, Michigan, where the incident occurred in Most of these stories are expressions of the anxiety people have about certain aspects of their lives. They evolve from incidents and rumors that reinforce these fears, and around which stories are constructed.
They are among the most vigorous of modern folklorist forms. All the stories in Chapter 4 are belief legends about some of the dangers that might confront a young person. The story "Room for One More," in Chapter 3, is another belief legend. It is concerned with the supernatural, but it has been reported in several locations in the United States and the British Isles.
These legends also are concerned with violence, horror, threats posed by technology, impurity of food, relationships with friends and relatives, personal embarrassment, and other sources of anxiety. They circulate by word of mouth, but at times the media carry reports that further disseminates them. See Brunvand, American, pp. Hercules dies when he wears a robe his wife poisoned with the blood of his rival, the centaur Nessus. Medea sends a gift of a poisoned robe to Creusa, the woman her former husband, Jason, intends to marry.
When Creusa tries on the robe, she dies. See Hime- lick, HF Where available, the names of collectors C and informants I are given. Publications cited are de- scribed in the Bibliography. The lines quoted have been rearranged slightly for clarity. See Shakespeare, p. I learned them while serving in the U. Navy during World War II. My informant was a sailor from either Virginia or West Virginia. The tales are retold from memory. The informant was Mrs. Otis Milby Melcher. For Dr. Halpert's transcription of the tale and an interview with the informant, see HFB The ending also has been modified slightly.
In the original ending, the storyteller pauses after the dog dies, then shouts "BOO! Motif: H. In this book, see "The Haunted House," pp. The informant learned this from his En- glish father around the turn of the century. For an English parallel, see Blakesborough, p. For variants, see Belden, pp. It is based on the English ballad "The Suffolk Miracle.
For a text of the tale as it was told in Virginia, see Gainer, pp. Motif: E. Motifs: E. He collected it in Wise County, Virginia, prior to Abridged slightly for clarity.
At one time it was well known in the area around Albany, New York. The version in this book is based on two sources: the recollection of my wife, Barbara Carmer Schwartz, who grew up in the Albany area, and an account reported by Louis C. Jones's infor- mant was Sunna Cooper. New York, s. In other versions, the victim is pinned by a stick, a post, a croquet stake, a sword, and a fork. Motifs: H. The retelling in this book is based on a tale from the Kentucky mountains reported by Leon- ard Roberts. In that version the old man takes a gun and blows his wife's brains out after he realizes she is a witch.
See Roberts, Up Cutshin, pp. Medical tests shed no light on her symptoms, but it is as if a different personality has invaded her body. A Jesuit priest is called in. Is it possible that a demonic presence is within the child? Exorcism seems to be the only answer, but do they understand the true nature of what they are about to unleash? Soon after, disturbing incidents unfold in England.
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In the ensuing battle of wits between the sinister Count and a determined group of adversaries, Bram Stoker created a masterpiece of the Gothic horror genre, probing into questions of identity, sanity and the dark corners of Victorian sexuality and desire. Buy the book. The horror writer that Stephen King applauds. This is the collection that true fans of horror fiction have been waiting for: 16 of H. Lovecraft's most horrifying visions, including Lovecraft's masterpiece, The Shadow Out of Time, the shocking revelation of the mysterious forces that hold all mankind in their fearsome grip.
A young governess is sent to a country house to take charge of two enigmatic orphans, Miles and Flora. As the story opens, a mysterious plague has fallen upon the quiet village of Meryton — and the dead are returning to life!
In , when Rosemary's Baby was first published, Ira Levin's masterpiece gave horror an innocent new face. It startled critics, stunned readers with its unique and deceptively calm voice, and caused a worldwide sensation. Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse move into an ancient Manhattan apartment building and are immediately befriended by a pushy older couple, Minnie and Roman Castavet. When Rosemary becomes pregnant, she begins to suspect that the people in her building are satanists and that she may be carrying a demon's baby.
Truman Capote captured the experience of readers around the world: "A darkly brilliant tale of modern deviltry that induces the reader believe the unbelievable. I believed it and was altogether enthralled. The shocking true story of an American dream that turned into a nightmare. In December , the Lutz family moved into their new home on suburban Long Island. George and Kathleen Lutz knew that one year earlier, Ronald DeFeo had murdered his parents, brothers, and sisters in the house, but the luxurious property and the price had been too good to pass up.
Twenty-eight days later, the entire Lutz family fled in terror The American Gothic writer Edgar Allan Poe is credited with having pioneered the short story, having perfected the tale of psychological horror and the macabre, and having revolutionised modern poetry. Considered by many to be the most terrifying writer in English, M.
James was an eminent scholar who spent his entire adult life in the academic surroundings of Eton and Cambridge.
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His classic supernatural tales draw on the terrors of the everyday, in which documents and objects unleash terrible forces, often in closed rooms and night-time settings where imagination runs riot. Lonely country houses, remote inns, ancient churches or the manuscript collections of great libraries provide settings for unbearable menace, from creatures seeking retribution and harm. These stories have lost none of their power to unsettle and disturb. A true classic, bursting with cautionary tales and gruesome punishment, Struwwelpeter has been a favourite of children all over the world since its publication in The anonymous English translation of these rhymes, published in Leipzig in , became an instant success in Britain.
Widely acknowledged as one of the most popular and influential children's books ever written, Struwwelpeter also known as Shock-Headed Peter has been translated into at least thirty languages, and is widely popular among generations of readers who shrank back in horror at the tales of Conrad Suck-a-Thumb who has his fingers cut off by the Red-legg'd Scissor-man , Harriet who suffers a dreadful fate after playing with matches, and Fidgety Philip who just won't keep still.
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