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  OTHER YEARLING BOOKS YOU WILL ENJOY

  SHORT & SHIVERY, Robert D. San Souci

  MORE SHORT & SHIVERY, Robert D. San Souci

  A TERRIFYING TASTE OF SHORT & SHIVERY Robert D. San Souci

  MURDERED, MY SWEET, Joan Lowery Nixon

  THE FAIRY REBEL, Lynne Reid Banks

  A NECKLACE OF RAINDROPS, Joan Aiken

  MIDWINTER NIGHTINGALE, Joan Aiken

  TYLER ON PRIME TIME, Steve Atinsky

  Published by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books a division of Random House, Inc., New York

  Text copyright © 1997 by Robert D. San Souci

  Illustrations copyright © 1997 by Jacqueline Rogers

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  eISBN: 978-0-307-78175-8

  Reprinted by arrangement with Delacorte Press

  v3.1

  To my good friends Cherie and Larry Jung,

  who also enjoy exploring the dark fantastic

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Appointment in Samarra

  (Persia)

  Deer Woman

  (United States—Ponca tribe)

  The Maggot

  (British Isles—England)

  Witch Woman

  (United States—African American traditional)

  The Berbalangs

  (Philippines)

  The Dancing Dead of Shark Island

  (British Isles—Ireland)

  “That I See, but This I Sew”

  (British Isles—Scotland)

  La Guiablesse

  (West Indies—Martinique)

  The Blood-Drawing Ghost

  (British Isles—Ireland)

  Guests from Gibbet Island

  (United States—from Washington Irving)

  The Haunted House

  (China)

  “Never Far from You”

  (British Isles—England)

  The Rose Elf

  (Denmark—from Hans Christian Andersen)

  The Wind Rider

  (Poland)

  The Skull That Spoke

  (Nigeria)

  The Monster of Baylock

  (British Isles—Ireland)

  The New Mother

  (British Isles—England)

  Rokuro-Kubi

  (Japan)

  Dicey and Orpus

  (United States—African American traditional)

  Chips

  (British Isles—from Charles Dickens)

  The Skeleton’s Revenge

  (Mexico)

  Lullaby

  (British Isles—England)

  Death and the Two Friends

  (United States—South Carolina)

  Forest Ghosts

  (France)

  A Carolina Banshee

  (United States—North Carolina)

  The Deadly Violin

  (Germany—Jewish traditional)

  A Night of Terrors

  (United States—urban folklore)

  The Sending

  (Iceland)

  The Hand of Fate

  (British Isles—Wales)

  Old Raw Head

  (United States—the South)

  Notes on Sources

  About the Author

  Introduction

  They’re baaaaack! A fresh selection of “ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties”—and their cousins—from legends and folktales all around the world. I hope they’ll please all you readers who have enjoyed the haunts and monsters that have flown, shambled, swum, crawled, slithered, or flobbered* across the pages of Short & Shivery and More Short & Shivery. And I hope anyone unfamiliar with this series will also find plenty of shivers in these thirty new stories.

  Many writers argue that a scary tale ought to be short. Now, I don’t necessarily agree with this. Two novels that I first read in high school still chill me, though I’ve read each book more than a dozen times: The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson and The House on the Borderland by William Hope Hodgson.

  But the short form can give a payoff as fast and powerful as a karate chop. Look at how the two shortest ghost stories in the world take just a few words to set up a situation, deliver a punch, and leave a lingering thrill in our imagination. The first “haunted room” tale runs in full:

  He woke up frightened and reached for the matches, and the matches were put in his hand.

  The “runner-up shorty” is called “The Men in the Turnip Field.” It’s very old, and it goes:

  There was two fellows out working in a field, hoeing turnips they was, and the one he stop and he lean on his hoe, and he mop his face and he say, “Yur—I don’t believe in these yur ghosteses!”

  And t’other man he say, “Don’t ’ee?”

  And he vanished!

  In the stories that follow you’ll meet flying cannibal heads; vengeful elves and banshees; deadly forest spirits and goblins; and a curious creature that assembles itself out of bones and bits of other animals.

  I hope you enjoy meeting them and their ghastly friends. Judging by the way they’re grinning and rubbing their bony hands or paws or claws together, I’d say they’re eager—just dying—to meet you!

  * “Flobbered” is a word that writer James Thurber made up to describe how a thing like a big jellyfish climbed out of the sea. It’s a mixture of “flop” and “slobber” that’s perfect for describing how something like The Boneless from Short & Shivery would move.

  Appointment in Samarra

  (Persia)

  Among those who lived in Persia, many once believed Death took the form of a tall woman, hooded in black. In this guise she could sometimes be seen wandering the bazaars of great cities. At first glance, she seemed to be only another shopper. But when she was recognized, she was shunned by mortals, who fled in fear of her gaze or touch.

  One afternoon, Rakush, the servant of the wealthiest merchant in Baghdad, went early to market to purchase foods for a banquet his master planned for the evening. But as he haggled with a seller over the price of pomegranates, he glanced up and was horrified to see the tall, reedy figure of Death, swathed in black, staring at him from a neighboring stall. When their eyes met, Death pointed her finger at him and started to speak.

  Dropping his basket of pomegranates and clapping his hands to his ears to avoid hearing the voice of Death, Rakush fled the market. Behind him, the stallkeeper scrambled to pick up the spilled fruit, and called down ruin upon Rakush’s head and household. The vendor did not notice the tall, hooded figure who ga
zed thoughtfully after the fleeing man.

  Rakush did not stop running until he reached his master’s house. There, to the astonishment of the merchant, Rakush flung himself at his master’s feet.

  “Forgive me, Master,” pleaded Rakush. “This very morning I saw Death in the marketplace. She stared right at me and made a threatening gesture with her hand.”

  Overcome with horror at the memory, the man shuddered and buried his pale face in his shaking hands.

  When he could speak again, he kissed the merchant’s slippers. “Oh, Master, I beg you: loan me your fastest horse so that I may flee to far Samarra, where my cousin lives. There I may escape the clutches of Death.”

  “Of course,” said the merchant, who was a kindhearted man. “Take the horse and go at once. Allah bring you safely to Samarra.”

  Rakush departed hastily, lashing his borrowed horse to breakneck speed. Meanwhile the merchant went to the bazaar, to see whether Death would appear and to pray her not to be angry that his servant had escaped his fate.

  Shortly after entering the marketplace, the merchant spotted Death. Hooded in black, she idled among the stands, examining the wares on display. From time to time she would tap a man or woman on the shoulder, as if to ask the quality of the goods. But each person touched would stifle a cry of fear and hurry away.

  Nevertheless, the merchant was a righteous man who had confidence in the mercy of Allah—so much so that Death herself did not daunt him. So he beckoned the tall, black-cowled figure to him; and she came willingly enough.

  “I am curious as to why you threatened my servant,” he said.

  “I never threatened him,” answered Death with just the hint of a smile. “I simply made a gesture of surprise at seeing him here in Baghdad. You see, I have an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.”

  And with a chuckle, she disappeared.

  Deer Woman

  (United States—Ponca tribe)

  Long ago, the Ponca people lived in what is now Nebraska. They dwelt in mat houses, cooked their meat in clay pots, and carved their weapons from stone and wood. But during a time of peace and plenty, the tribe was troubled by a fearful spirit called the Deer Woman.

  One night, there was a big dance to celebrate a successful buffalo hunt. The old men built a big fire; and the young women danced around it, stepping sidewise in a ring. The young men danced apart, leaping and prancing in the space between the bonfire and the circling women.

  One young man, Gray Hawk, paused and looked up. There, between two young women he knew, holding their hands, was a stranger—the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair flowed like a black waterfall over her white buckskin dress. Though it was impolite, he stared into her enchanting, deep, black eyes. While everyone around him danced and laughed and sang, he could only gaze into the lovely face of the young woman.

  At last the woman stretched out her hand and drew him aside. Her eyes never left his; he was captured, and the thought pleased him. As the moon sank to its lowest point, she led him away into the shadows beyond the firelit circle of dancers.

  Now, Gray Hawk had a younger brother, Many Arrows, who watched what was happening. He felt uneasy, wondering who this woman was who had charmed his elder brother. When Gray Hawk left with the young woman, Many Arrows hesitated, then decided to follow.

  To his horror he found Gray Hawk trampled to death, his body slashed and scarred by knife-edged hooves. The tracks of a huge deer were clearly imprinted in the earth. Many Arrows saw no moccasin prints except his brother’s. What had become of the young woman?

  Many Arrows carried his brother’s broken body back to the Ponca camp, raising a great cry.

  There the oldest woman in the village told Many Arrows that his brother had been lured away and destroyed by Deer Woman. She told the grieving young man there was nothing he could do to prevent the creature’s coming and going among them. There was a great power in the demon woman. Anyone who gazed into her eyes saw just her loveliness and would be bewitched. Only if one could keep his eyes cast down would he see that her feet were a deer’s hooves, which no moccasins would fit.

  But Many Arrows vowed revenge. Before the next gathering, a seven-foot wall of brush and logs was built around the dance ring at his request. When the dancing began and all the people of the village were inside the circle, some men sealed the entrance with a gate of branches.

  The fire was lit; the women began dancing around the inside of the ring’s wall. Many Arrows had made the other men of the village promise not to look up at the women’s faces, but to keep their eyes on the dancers’ feet so that they could watch for the telltale hooves and not fall under Deer Woman’s spell.

  But as the dance went on, the young men could not resist looking at the pretty women dancing around them. Soon only Many Arrows refused to look up. So it was that he saw, in the shuffling line of moccasins, the sudden appearance of a pair of huge deer hooves.

  With a cry, Many Arrows threw himself at Deer Woman and grabbed for her. What had seemed to be a lovely woman suddenly became a huge deer wearing the shreds of a woman’s skirt. The young man tried to wrestle the creature to the ground, but she slashed at him with her knife-sharp hooves. Then, with an unearthly cry, the demoness leapt over the seven-foot wall.

  By the time the young man and his fellows wrenched open the gate and followed with drawn bows, the ghostly creature was bounding away across the moonlit grassland, beyond the reach of any arrow. Though they tried tracking the creature in the morning, the trail soon vanished.

  After this, the dancers were always on the watch for Deer Woman, but she never returned. From time to time, though, stories reached the Ponca people about a young man in some other village who had lost his life to the fearsome spirit.

  The Maggot

  (British Isles—England)

  In Yorkshire, years ago, a loathsome creature haunted the churchyard of a little village.

  The first person to see it was the postman, Ian Thwaite. One moonlit night, he passed the graveyard on his way home. Through the gate he saw a large blob of glowing ooze rise from the grave of a recently dead villager. A horrible, wriggling mix of maggot and glowworm, it grew bigger and bigger as it emerged. The thing’s eyes gave off a blaze of pure evil—yet they struck Ian as disturbingly human, too.

  The thing twisted snakelike around the tombstones, finally pushing out through the gate pickets, while Ian watched from behind a nearby bush.

  Horrified yet fascinated, he followed the huge maggot at a safe distance. The road was empty as the ghastly apparition moved along like a caterpillar, leaving a trail of gleaming slime. This lingered briefly, then faded without a trace. Ian was careful not to step on any part of the road touched by the sickening stuff.

  The monstrosity’s destination proved to be the nearby home of the vicar. As Ian watched, shivering from revulsion as much as from the night air, the thing oozed across the threshold of the vicar’s cottage. Then the glowing worm began to push beneath the front door. In a trice, it vanished inside.

  The postman felt dizzy, overwrought by what he had seen. He sat down suddenly. The starry sky spun overhead. He blacked out for a moment.

  When he came to, the vicar’s cottage was quiet. Surely if the postman had seen what he thought he had seen, the house would have been in an uproar. Deciding that he had had an awful waking dream, Ian hurried home to his bed. But his sleep was plagued with nightmares of being pursued by wormy things burning bright as coals.

  At dinner the next day, he and his wife, Edna, were joined by a friend, William West. The others asked Ian why he seemed so nervous and preoccupied. When he told them his experience, he expected them to laugh. But they believed he might have witnessed some supernatural event; both suggested that they all go to the churchyard and watch, and see if the apparition would appear again.

  They waited until dark. Then, leaving Ian and Edna’s five-year-old son in the care of the housekeeper, the three adults took up watch outside the churchyard. Though
he felt better having the others with him, Ian was not eager to face his nightmare again.

  Just as before, the glowing maggot extruded itself from the new grave, retraced its course to the vicar’s cottage, and squeezed through the gap under the door.

  This time, however, Edna did not hesitate to rap loudly on the door. The vicar himself, looking tired and cross, opened the door. When he found it was not a parishioner needing his services, but a group of excited neighbors with a story of giant, glowing worms, he grew quite annoyed. He assured the three that he had walked the length of the house to answer the door, and that nothing was amiss. He obviously thought they had all gone mad.

  When he closed the door, the sound was loud and emphatic.

  Talking softly, husband and wife returned home, while William went his own way.

  Ian and Edna were having tea the next day when William charged up the path and pounded on the door. As soon as they let him in, he breathlessly told them that the vicar and his family had been taken ill the night before, and all had died by noon. The doctor said the deaths were from food poisoning, probably from some tainted fish they had eaten.

  “I suspect a very different cause,” said Ian grimly.

  His wife and friend nodded in agreement.

  More determined than ever to get to the bottom of the haunting, the three again took up watch at the churchyard that night.

  Once more, the disgusting, glowing maggot wriggled up from the earth and slithered out of the cemetery. They followed the trail of fading slime to the house of the blacksmith. But their attempt to warn the man was turned away with laughter and the accusation that they were all “daft.” This time, one visit from the maggot was enough. The blacksmith became ill in the morning and was dead before day’s end. Again the doctor called it food poisoning, and he warned people to be more careful preparing meals.

  Increasingly worried, Ian and his companions stood guard a third night. Sure enough, the horror arose from the grave. This time they realized too late that it was headed for Ian and Edna’s house! They broke into a run as the thing reached their porch and flowed under the door.