Underground* *The author of the diary and the diary itself are, of course, imaginary. Nevertheless it is clear that such persons as the writer of these notes not only may, but positively must, exist in our society, when we consider the circumstances in the midst of which our society is formed. I have tried to expose to the view of the public more distinctly than is commonly done, one of the characters of the recent past. He is one of the representatives of a generation still living. In this fragment, entitled "Underground," this person introduces himself and his views, and, as it were, tries to explain the causes owing to which he has made his appearance and was bound to make his appearance in our midst. In the second fragment there are added the actual notes of this person concerning certain events in his life.--AUTHOR'S NOTE. II am a sick man.... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doctor for it, and never have, though I have a respect for medicine and doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to respect medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious). No, I refuse to consult a doctor from spite. That you probably will not understand. Well, I understand it, though. Of course, I can't explain who it is precisely that I am mortifying in this case by my spite: I am perfectly well aware that I cannot "pay out" the doctors by not consulting them; I know better than anyone that by all this I am only injuring myself and no one else. But still, if I don't consult a doctor it is from spite. My liver is bad, well--let it get worse! I have been going on like that for a long time--twenty years. Now I am forty. I used to be in the government service, but am no longer. I was a spiteful official. I was rude and took pleasure in being so. I did not take bribes, you see, so I was bound to find a recompense in that, at least. (A poor jest, but I will not scratch it out. I wrote it thinking it would sound very witty; but now that I have seen myself that I only wanted to show off in a despicable way, I will not scratch it out on purpose!) When petitioners used to come for information to the table at which I sat, I used to grind my teeth at them, and felt intense enjoyment when I succeeded in making anybody unhappy. I almost did succeed. For the most part they were all timid people--of course, they were petitioners. But of the uppish ones there was one officer in particular I could not endure. He simply would not be humble, and clanked his sword in a disgusting way. I carried on a feud with him for eighteen months over that sword. At last I got the better of him. He left off clanking it. That happened in my youth, though. But do you know, gentlemen, what was the chief point about my spite? Why, the whole point, the real sting of it lay in the fact that continually, even in the moment of the acutest spleen, I was inwardly conscious with shame that I was not only not a spiteful but not even an embittered man, that I was simply scaring sparrows at random and amusing myself by it. I might foam at the mouth, but bring me a doll to play with, give me a cup of tea with sugar in it, and maybe I should be appeased. I might even be genuinely touched, though probably I should grind my teeth at myself afterwards and lie awake at night with shame for months after. That was my way.

In these times of ours, though concerning the exact year there is no need to be precise, a boat of dirty and disreputable appearance, with two figures in it, floated on the Thames, between Southwark bridge which is of iron, and London Bridge which is of stone, as an autumn evening was closing in. The figures in this boat were those of a strong man with ragged grizzled hair and a sun-browned face, and a dark girl of nineteen or twenty, sufficiently like him to be recognizable as his daughter. The girl rowed, pulling a pair of sculls very easily; the man, with the rudder-lines slack in his hands, and his hands loose in his waistband, kept an eager look out. He had no net, hook, or line, and he could not be a fisherman; his boat had no cushion for a sitter, no paint, no inscription, no appliance beyond a rusty boathook and a coil of rope, and he could not be a waterman; his boat was too crazy and too small to take in cargo for delivery, and he could not be a lighterman or river-carrier; there was no clue to what he looked for, but he looked for something, with a most intent and searching gaze. The tide, which had turned an hour before, was running down, and his eyes watched every little race and eddy in its broad sweep, as the boat made slight head-way against it, or drove stern foremost before it, according as he directed his daughter by a movement of his head. She watched his face as earnestly as he watched the river. But, in the intensity of her look there was a touch of dread or horror. Allied to the bottom of the river rather than the surface, by reason of the slime and ooze with which it was covered, and its sodden state, this boat and the two figures in it obviously were doing something that they often did, and were seeking what they often sought. Half savage as the man showed, with no covering on his matted head, with his brown arms bare to between the elbow and the shoulder, with the loose knot of a looser kerchief lying low on his bare breast in a wilderness of beard and whisker, with such dress as he wore seeming to be made out of the mud that begrimed his boat, still there was a business-like usage in his steady gaze. So with every lithe action of the girl, with every turn of her wrist, perhaps most of all with her look of dread or horror; they were things of usage. 'Keep her out, Lizzie. Tide runs strong here. Keep her well afore the sweep of it.' Trusting to the girl's skill and making no use of the rudder, he eyed the coming tide with an absorbed attention. So the girl eyed him. But, it happened now, that a slant of light from the setting sun glanced into the bottom of the boat, and, touching a rotten stain there which bore some resemblance to the outline of a muffled human form, coloured it as though with diluted blood. This caught the girl's eye, and she shivered. 'What ails you?' said the man, immediately aware of it, though so intent on the advancing waters; 'I see nothing afloat.' The red light was gone, the shudder was gone, and his gaze, which had come back to the boat for a moment, travelled away again. Wheresoever the strong tide met with an impediment, his gaze paused for an instant. At every mooring-chain and rope, at every stationery boat or barge that split the current into a broad-arrowhead, at the offsets from the piers of Southwark Bridge, at the paddles of the river steamboats as they beat the filthy water, at the floating logs of timber lashed together lying off certain wharves, his shining eyes darted a hungry look. After a darkening hour or so, suddenly the rudder-lines tightened in his hold, and he steered hard towards the Surrey shore. Always watching his face, the girl instantly answered to the action in her sculling; presently the boat swung round, quivered as from a sudden jerk, and the upper half of the man was stretched out over the stern.

Some writing classes caution their students to avoid first-person stories—too traditional, too dated, too difficult to sell. We’ve convinced 5-time Hugo Award winner Mike Resnick to show you how it’s done with two dozen of his best first-person stories. You want Hugo nominees? We got ’em. Humor? Them, too. Award winners and nominees? Yep. Fantasy? But, of course. Science fiction? Absolutely. Sherlock Holmes? We’ve even got one of them. Mike Resnick is, according to Locus magazine, the all-time leading award winner, living or dead, for short fiction. First Person Peculiar will explain why.

It's a war out there. In these pulse-pounding tales, the best (or worst) soldiers in the galaxy are pitted against powerful aliens on distant battlefields. Never before published stories about monsters, deadly combat tech, treachery, and honor: Big Plush by Aaron Allston (a novella from the Action Figures series)—The Dollgangers, artificial people made in mankind's image, take up arms in a desperate bid to win their freedom. Comrades in Arms by Kevin J. Anderson—A damaged cyborg soldier and an enemy alien fighter turn their backs on the war and try to escape. But the human and alien governments can't tolerate the two deserters working together, so they join forces to hunt them down. Shores of the Infinite by Loren L. Coleman (a novella from the ICAS File series)—Separated from command & control, Combat Assault Suit troopers force a beachhead to liberate a new planet from the cyborg threat. The Black Ship by B.V. Larson (a mech novella from the Imperium Series)—A human settlement on the deadliest planet ever colonized clings to life … but today new invaders are coming down from the stars. Out There by Michael A. Stackpole—The Qian have discovered humanity and welcomed them into their star-spanning empire. The benefits they offer humanity are many, and they don't want much in return: just the best human pilots available to take apart a most diabolical enemy.

Frank Herbert will forever be known as the “author of Dune,” the science fiction masterpiece that made his career and made his name. But he was an exceptionally diverse author who wrote in numerous genres. Even at the beginning of his writing career, Frank Herbert wrote whatever inspired him, irrespective of genre, market, or audience tastes. After the success of his first novel The Dragon in the Sea (1955), Herbert wrote numerous novels and short stories that failed to find a market. He persevered until finally, seven years later, he wrote the most unpublishable novel of all, Dune—which, once it finally found a home with an obscure publisher, finally made Frank Herbert a household name synonymous with science fiction. This volume collects four of those complete, never-before-published novels written before Dune: High-Opp, a dystopian science fiction novel; Angels’ Fall, a jungle survival adventure; A Game of Authors, a Cold War thriller; and A Thorn in the Bush, a mainstream novel based on some of Herbert’s experiences in Mexico.

Even the author of DUNE—the best-selling science fiction novel of all time—had trouble getting published. At first. Frank Herbert wanted to be a writer, and though today his name is practically synonymous with world-building and epic science fiction, Herbert didn’t start out with a particular genre in mind. He wrote mainstream stories, mysteries, thrillers, mens’ adventure pieces, humorous slice-of-life tales. And, yes, some science fiction. For the first time, this collection presents 13 completed short stories that Frank Herbert never published in his lifetime. These tales show a great breadth of talent and imagination. Readers can now appreciate the writing of one of the field’s masters in a kaleidoscope of new stories.

Wes Rockville, a disgraced law-enforcement agent, gets one last chance to prove himself and save his career when he’s reassigned to a 232-year-old secret government organization. The Witches Protection Program. His first assignment: uncover a billion-dollar cosmetics company’s diabolical plan to use witchcraft for global domination, while protecting its heiress Morgan Pendragon from her aunt’s evil deeds. Reluctantly paired with veteran witch protector, Alastair Verne, Wes must learn to believe in witches…and believe in himself. Filled with adventure and suspense, Michael Okon creates a rousing, tongue-in-cheek alternate reality where witches cast spells and wreak havoc in modern-day New York City.

Cal, Letty, Tony, Opi, and Sasha were thrust together when they were kidnapped by the Molethian civilization and forced to become a fighter crew to battle against The Horde, the most vicious, predatory enemy in all the Milky Way galaxy. At first, only Letty could get along with the rest of them, and they basically hated each other. However, due largely to Letty’s efforts, they became not only the top fighting crew in the Shadow Warriors, but also a close family that love and support each other. Due to Opi’s amazing strategic thinking, Letty’s organizational skills, Sasha’s unparalleled ability as a weapons officer, Tony’s crack talent as a navigator, and Cal’s icy nerve as a battle leader, they have found a way to defeat two major Horde invasions. Opi, already becoming the chief strategist for an entire wing of the Molethian space forces, decides that an entirely new way of fighting Horde forces must be put in place. Her audacious plan is to search a central volume of the Milky Way through which the Horde always travels, discover the military bases they have no doubt established, and destroy them all. She is convinced that a huge base has been built by The Horde on the opposite side of the galaxy, very near The Horde’s own small galactic home, the Dwarf Spheroidal Sagittarius Galaxy. In the meantime, a third Horde invasion of about 40,000 ships nears Molethan’s home planet. Using Opi’s old strategies, Molethian forces manage to destroy it, but the new, highly capable Horde fighters make this victory far more difficult. In addition, Tony is reported missing and presumed lost. Grieving over Tony, whom she loved, Opi refuses to succumb to her grief, immediately commissioning the search for the other Horde home bases in the Milky Way. A search party finds the monstrous Horde base almost 70,000 lightyears across the galaxy. Molethan appeals to the other Alliance systems, and a major attack on the base is started, with Cal the attack leader. Things seem to be going well when suddenly, in the midst of the battle, a new enemy strikes, heavily damaging not only Shadow Warriors fighters but also many of the Alliance carriers. The fate of the battle hangs on a razor’s edge. Can the Alliance, led by Cal, Opi, and the rest of their team, manage to win over two opponents, or are they destined to be destroyed by the combined forces of two enemies?

Gamearth: It was supposed to be just another Sunday night fantasy role-playing game for David, Tyrone, Scott, and Melanie. But after years of playing, the game had become so real that all their creations—humans, sorcerers, dragons, ogres, panther-folk, Cyclops—now had existences of their own. And when the four outside players decide to end their game, the characters inside the world of Gamearth—warriors, scholars, and the few remaining wielders of magic—band together to keep their land from vanishing. Now they must embark on a desperate quest for their own magic—magic that can twist the Rules enough to save them all from the evil that the players created to destroy their entire world.

Marcus Barber is a two-thousand-year old immortal, a former Roman Centurion who now works as a bounty hunter for supernatural creatures from the ancient world. When he’s not pounding the pavement as a private investigator for mortal clients, Marcus chases down missing mythological creatures for the Ancients. Now, in the heat of San Antonio, Marcus must search for Nemesis's missing Griffin while trying to rescue a melting Ice Pixie from an eccentric collector. His adventures put him on the trail of a cult that has kidnapped a Daughter of Frejya. All in a day’s work. While roaming the sprawling metroplex, Marcus is tasked with obtaining Chaac's lightning axe from the grasp of Tawhaki. Working under a tight deadline from the Ancients (who treat him as a pawn in their games), Marcus enlists a friend's help, but he has to hide the strange events and creatures. On top of the Ancients’ demands, Marcus is also hired by an assistant district attorney who wants him to track down a missing mistress…a woman with whom Marcus has his own turbulent past. By leveraging his stubbornness and his specialized skills, Marcus has to accomplish everything within 24 hours … or else the Ancients will have his immortal soul.

Mike Resnick is, according to Locus , the all-time leading award winner for short fiction, having won 5 Hugos, a Nebula, and other major awards from around the world. This boxed set includes four novels and 41 of his best science fiction short stories Race through pages filled with the Dark Lady, the Moby Dick of space, robot basketball, tall tales, and galaxy-hopping assassins for the ride of your life. This boxed set includes six volumes— First Person Peculiar, Away Games, The Dark Lady, The Soul Eater, The Outpost, and Walpurgis III.

Inspirational Poetry. Touches The Places Words Rarely Reach Poetry: there are times in life when nothing else will do. At such times, you need a certain kind of poem, the kind of poems that are contained in Orna Ross's poetry pamphlet series. The kind of poems that tell the truth about life while providing consolation and inspiration. Here are some of the things that are being said about this short book of inspirational poems: - "Reaches into the corners of your soul and pulls out all that is beautiful." - "Masterfully crafted poetry". - "These poems' many beauties are at the service of elusive truths." - "A little book of very big poems." If you never read poetry, this little pamphlet is a great place to start. Without ever straying into superficiality, Orna Ross's poetry is compelling and accessible. If you are a poetry lover, then you're sure to appreciate these poems about love, poems about life. poems about loss, and faith, and redemption — all delivered in simple, yet achingly beautiful, words. Poetry this powerful and profound is rarely so simple and compelling, which is why inspirational quotes from these poems are turning up all over the Internet, people drawn to their wise and uplifting insights.

Чортова дванадцятка — досить змстовна й влучна характеристика збрки жахв за редакцю неперевершеного Ствена Джонса! Пд одню обкладинкою збран 12 гостроцкавих оповдань менитих майстрв горору. Дж. Гаррс, К. Ньюман, М. рей, Р. Кемпбелл та нш гарантують вам безсонну нч в атмосфер тамничост й мстики… Подейкують, що в паризькому Театр Жаху влаштовують кривав вистави. Тридцятидвохрчна Кейт Рд пдбралася надто близько до розгадки… (Гньоль) Вдомий актор Даррен Ловр на пку популярност… був, аж доки не розгнвав вдьму! (Забуття)Chortova dvanadcjatka — dosit' zmstovna j vluchna harakteristika zbrki zhahv za redakcju neperevershenogo Stvena Dzhonsa! Pd odnju obkladinkoju zbran 12 gostrockavih opovdan' menitih majstrv gororu. Dzh. Garrs, K. N'juman, M. rej, R. Kempbell ta nsh garantujut' vam bezsonnu nch v atmosfer tamnichost j mstiki… Podejkujut', shho v pariz'komu Teatr Zhahu vlashtovujut' krivav vistavi. Tridcjatidvohrchna Kejt Rd pdbralasja nadto bliz'ko do rozgadki… (Gn'ol') Vdomij aktor Darren Lovr na pku populjarnost… buv, azh doki ne rozgnvav vd'mu! (Zabuttja)

In 1861 Captain Grant succeeded Captain Burgess on Matinicus, taking his son with him as assistant. The old keeper left Abby on the rock to instruct the newcomers in their duties, and she performed the task so well that young Grant fell in love with her, and asked her to become his wife. Soon after their marriage she was appointed an assistant keeper. A few years later the husband was made keeper and the wife assistant keeper of White Head, another light on the Maine coast. There they remained until the spring of 1890, when they removed to Middleborough, Mass., intending to pass the balance of their days beyond sight and hearing of the rocks and the waves. But the hunger which the sea breeds in its adopted children was still strong within them, and the fall of 1892 found them again on the coast of Maine, this time at Portland, where the husband again entered the lighthouse establishment, working in the engineers' department of the first lighthouse district. With them until his death lived Captain Grant, who in the closing months of 1890, being then aged eighty-five, retired from the position of keeper of Matinicus light, which he had held for nearly thirty years. Not less lonely, but far more perilous than the life of the keepers of a light like that on Matinicus is the lot of the crew of the South Shoal lightship, whose position twenty-six miles off Sankaty Head, Nantucket Island, makes it the most exposed light-station in the world. Anchored so far out at sea, it is only during the months of summer and autumn that the lighthouse tender ventures to visit it, and its crew from December to May of each year are wholly cut off from communication with the land. It is this, however, that makes the South Shoal lightship a veritable protecting angel of the deep, for it stands guard not only over the treacherous New South Shoal, near which it is anchored, but over twenty-six miles of rips and reefs between it and the Nantucket shore—a wide-reaching ocean graveyard, where bleach the bones of more than a half thousand wrecked and forgotten vessels. The lightship is a stanchly built two-hulled schooner of 275 tons burden, 103 feet long over all, equipped with fore-and-aft lantern masts 71 feet high, and with two masts for sails, each 42 feet high. The lanterns are octagons of glass in copper frames, so arranged that they can be lowered into houses built around the masts. In the forward part of the ship is a huge fog bell, swung ten feet above the deck, which, when foggy weather prevails, as it frequently does for weeks at a time, is kept tolling day and night. A two-inch chain fastened to a "mushroom" anchor weighing upward of three tons holds the vessel in eighteen fathoms of water, but this, so fiercely do the waves beat against it in winter, has not prevented her from going adrift many times. She was two weeks at sea on one of these occasions, and on another she came to anchor in New York Harbor. Life on the South Shoal lightship is at all times a hard and trying one, and, as a matter of fact, the crew are instructed not to expose themselves to danger outside their special line of duty. This, however, does not deter them from frequently risking their lives in rescuing others, and when, several years ago, the City of Newcastle went ashore on one of the shoals near the lightship, all hands, twenty-seven in number, were saved by the South Shoal crew and kept aboard of her over two weeks, until the story of the wreck was signalled to a passing vessel. Isaac H. Grant holds a silver medal given him by the Government for rescuing two men from drowning while he was keeper at White Head; while Frederick Hatch, keeper of the Breakwater station at Cleveland was awarded the gold bar. The last mentioned badge of honor is granted only to one who has twice distinguished himself by a special act of bravery. It was given Hatch in the winter of 1898.

Prepare for an ocean of tales! ? Imagination comes alive in this collection of stories. From the struggles of everyday life to the far reaches of outer space, these tales are sure to delight. ? So come aboard and share the adventure!

Samuel Moore is living a dystopian lie… ? After a civil war, the North American Commonwealth now dominates the eastern half of the former United States. Controlled by a totalitarian regime called the Directorate, the NAC demands compliance, awareness, and unity. A Directorate member and teacher, Sam enjoys the benefits while skirting the forbidden. ? Then Sam encounters Katie Spencer. S Katie also reveals a video she captured of NAC death camps. Sam realizes he’s involved in a nightmare that could shake every foundation. ? With the video broadcast date approaching and several students desperate to escape to the Western Alliance, Sam is forced to decide. Remain loyal to the Directorate? Or abandon all he’s ever known to fight for freedom?

Children with no birth records and a soldier with PTSD together must define the value of human life. Jenna Mosier is on a mission to save her murdered sister’s child. Estranged for ten years after a bitter fight, the trail is as cold as her dead sibling. The only glimmer of hope is the place her sister’s body and a ten-year old boy were abandoned…the backyard of Reed Adler, retired Marine Special Ops. Working together, Jenna and Reed piece together a mystery involving missing children and biogenetics research..and find they have more than justice and revenge in common. But the closer they get to answers, and each other, the more deadly the game becomes. With their hearts and lives on the line, they must decide what they are willing to risk to save one young boy. This is the first book in a new suspense series where a group of former Marines become Shadow Finders. They help find those who have disappeared, have no identity, or are presumed dead.

"Hypnos" is a short story by H.P. Lovecraft, penned in March 1922 and first published in the May 1923 issue of National Amateur. The narrator, a sculptor, recounts meeting a mysterious man in a railway station. The moment the man opened his "immense, sunken and widely luminous eyes", the narrator knew that the stranger would become his friend-–"the only friend of one who had never possessed a friend before". In the eyes of the stranger he saw the knowledge of the mysteries he always sought to learn

Sailors kill a 50-foot creature at sea after a lengthy battle. The creature bears strange anatomical irregularities such as a single large eye and rudimentary forelegs and six-toed feet in place of pectoral fins. After inspection by marine biologists, it is revealed to be just a juvenile. The captain who captured the creature tours the coast and profits from the corpse of the deceased creature. As the captain attempts to finish his business at Martin's Beach, a group of swimmers are attacked. The captain and others attempt to rescue the victims but it is too late. The rescuers and the captain are hypnotized and pulled into the water by the creature's apparently vengeful mother, to the horror of an onlooking crowd.

Yazar, bandan geen gizemli olaylar okuyucusuyla paylamaktadr.Yazar yal bir kadn tesadüfen kaldrmda baygn vaziyette bulur hastaneye kaldrr fakat daha sonra hastane odasnda brakr ve mutsuz ekilde Bodrum’a geri dner. ünkü yaynevlerinden bekledii ilgiyi grmez.Doktor hemire ve hastalar kadn ok sever ve sahip karlar.Yal kadna daha sonra devlet sahip kar ve onu bir huzur evine yatrr. Yal kadn orada da ok sevilir. Fakat huzur evi müdürü kadndan üphelenir. Yazar ise bir türlü istedii eseri yazamamaktadr. stelik ok sevdii ruh eine kavuamamaktadr. Bütün skntlarn zecek gü yal kadndr fakat yazar bunu bilmez. Fakat yazarn kader dngüsü deimek üzeredir ve yal kadn onu kendisine doru arr.Yazar balarda bununla mücadele etmeye alr fakat daha sonra pes eder. stanbul’a doru yolculuk yapmaya karar verir. Yolculuk esnasnda rüyasnda gerilim ve gizemli olaylar grür bilmedii ey aslnda bu olaylarn gerekte yaanddr. Yal kadn düündüü kii deildir.Yazarn gizemli bir ekilde tant yal kadnn srlar vardr. Yazar gerek grevi iin armaktadr.Aslnda yazar kayp halkadan birisidir.

"The Descendant" is a story fragment by American horror fiction writer H. P. Lovecraft, believed to have been written in 1927.[1] It was first published in the journal Leaves in 1938, after Lovecraft's death.