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The Collected Supernatural and Weird Fiction of Bram Stoker: 4

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The Collected Supernatural and Weird Fiction of Bram Stoker: 4
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Author(s): Bram Stoker
Date Published: 2009/08
Page Count: 452
Softcover ISBN-13: 978-1-84677-833-9
Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-84677-834-6

One of Stokers finest novels——and more!

The penultimate volume—number four in this five volume collection of Bram Stoker's macabre fiction commences with a novel that is widely regarded as one of the author's finest. In 'The Mystery of the Sea,’ Stoker has drawn on every exciting and strange element he could conceive to the create a gripping tale that combines horror, suspense, adventure and romance. Surely, a story of death visions, second sight, shipwreck, lost treasure, ancient codes, weird prophecies, sinister enemies and abduction is irresistible! This superb and substantial novel is accompanied here by three essential shorter works, 'The Shadow Builder,’ 'The Castle of the King' and the evocatively titled 'The Death Doom of the Double Born.’ As always this book is available in softcover and hardcover with dust jacket.

The only living thing in all the wide world was, it seemed to me, the figure of Gormala as, with lowering eyes and suspended breath, she stood watching me with uncompromising, persistent sternness.<br>
Then my own heart seemed to stand still, to be a part of the grim silence of the waiting forces of the world. I was not frightened; I was not even amazed. All seemed so thoroughly in keeping with the prevailing influence of the time that I did not feel even a moment of surprise.<br>
Up the steep path came a silent procession of ghostly figures, so misty of outline that through the grey green of their phantom being the rocks and moonlit sea were apparent, and even the velvet blackness of the shadows of the rocks did not lose their gloom. And yet each figure was defined so accurately that every feature, every particle of dress or accoutrement could be discerned.<br>
Even the sparkle of their eyes in that grim waste of ghostly grey was like the lambent flashes of phosphoric light in the foam of moving water cleft by a swift prow. There was no need for me to judge by the historical sequence of their attire, or by any inference of hearing; I knew in my heart that these were the ghosts of the dead who had been drowned in the waters of the Cruden Skares.<br>
Indeed the moments of their passing—and they were many for the line was of sickening length—became to me a lesson of the long flight of time. At the first were skin-clad savages with long, wild hair matted; then others with rude, primitive clothing. And so on in historic order men, aye, and here and there a woman, too, of many lands, whose garments were of varied cut and substance. Red-haired Vikings and black-haired Celts and Phœnicians, fair-haired Saxons and swarthy Moors in flowing robes.<br>
At first the figures, chiefly of the barbarians, were not many; but as the sad procession passed along I could see how each later year had brought its ever-growing tale of loss and disaster, and added more and faster to the grim harvest of the sea, A vast number of the phantoms had passed when there came along a great group which at once attracted my attention. They were all swarthy, and bore themselves proudly under their cuirasses and coats of mail, or their garb as fighting men of the sea. Spaniards they were, I knew from their dress, and of three centuries back.<br>
For an instant my heart leapt; these were men of the great Armada, come up from the wreck of some lost galleon or patache to visit once again the glimpses of the Moon. They were of lordly mien, with large aquiline features and haughty eyes. As they passed, one of them turned and looked at me. As his eyes lit on me, I saw spring into them, as though he were quick, dread, and hate, and fear.<br>
Hitherto I had been impressed, awed, by the indifference of the passing ghosts. They had looked nowhere, but with steady, silent, even tread had passed on their way. But when this one looked at me it was a glance from the spirit world which chilled me to the very soul.<br>
But he too passed on. I stood at the head of the winding path, having the dead man still on my shoulders and looking with sinking heart at the sad array of the victims of the Cruden Skares. I noticed that most who came now were seamen, with here and there a group of shores-men and a few women amongst them. The fishermen were many, and without exception wore great sea boots. And so with what patience I could I waited for the end.
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