COPYRIGHT INFO The Anna Katherine Green Megapack is copyright © 2013 by Wildside Press LLC. * * * * A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER Over the last year, our “Megapack” series of ebook anthologies has proved to be one of our most popular endeavors. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?” The Megapacks (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt, Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Bonner Menking, Colin Azariah-Kribbs, A.E. Warren, and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!). A NOTE FOR KINDLE READERS The Kindle versions of our Megapacks employ active tables of contents for easy navigation…please look for one before writing reviews on Amazon that complain about the lack! (They are sometimes at the ends of ebooks, depending on your reader.) RECOMMEND A FAVORITE STORY? Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the Megapack series? We’d love your suggestions! You can post them on our message board at http://movies.ning.com/forum (there is an area for Wildside Press comments). Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works. TYPOS Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated. If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone. You can email the publisher at [email protected] or use the message boards above. —John Betancourt Publisher, Wildside Press LLC www.wildsidepress.com THE MEGAPACK SERIES MYSTERY The Achmed Abdullah Megapack The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective Megapack The Detective Megapack The Father Brown Megapack The Jacques Futrelle Megapack The Mystery Megapack The Penny Parker Megapack The Pulp Fiction Megapack The Victorian Mystery Megapack The Wilkie Collins Megapack GENERAL INTEREST The Adventure Megapack The Baseball Megapack The Christmas Megapack The Second Christmas Megapack The Classic Humor Megapack The Military Megapack SCIENCE FICTION, FANTASY, HORROR The Achmed Abdullah Megapack The Edward Bellamy Megapack The E.F. Benson Megapack The Second E.F. Benson Megapack The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack The Cthulhu Mythos Megapack The Philip K. Dick Megapack The Ghost Story Megapack The Second Ghost Story Megapack The Third Ghost Story Megapack The Horror Megapack The M.R. James Megapack The Murray Leinster Megapack The Second Murray Leinster Megapack The Macabre Megapack The Second Macabre Megapack The Martian Megapack The Mummy Megapack The Andre Norton Megapack The Pinocchio Megapack The H. Beam Piper Megapack The Pulp Fiction Megapack The Randall Garrett Megapack The Second Randall Garrett Megapack The First Science Fiction Megapack The Second Science Fiction Megapack The Third Science Fiction Megapack The Fourth Science Fiction Megapack The Fifth Science Fiction Megapack The Sixth Science Fiction Megapack The Steampunk Megapack The Vampire Megapack The Werewolf Megapack The Wizard of Oz Megapack WESTERNS The B.M. Bower Megapack The Max Brand Megapack The Buffalo Bill Megapack The Cowboy Megapack The Zane Grey Megapack The Western Megapack The Second Western Megapack The Wizard of Oz Megapack YOUNG ADULT The Boys’ Adventure Megapack The Dan Carter, Cub Scout Megapack The G.A. Henty Megapack The Rover Boys Megapack The Tom Corbett, Space Cadet Megapack The Tom Swift Megapack AUTHOR MEGAPACKS The Achmed Abdullah Megapack The Edward Bellamy Megapack The B.M. Bower Megapack The E.F. Benson Megapack The Second E.F. Benson Megapack The Max Brand Megapack The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack The Wilkie Collins Megapack The Philip K. Dick Megapack The Jacques Futrelle Megapack The Randall Garrett Megapack The Zane Grey Megapack The Second Randall Garrett Megapack The M.R. James Megapack The Murray Leinster Megapack The Second Murray Leinster Megapack The Andre Norton Megapack The H. Beam Piper Megapack The Rafael Sabatini Megapack THE OLD STONE HOUSE I was riding along one autumn day through a certain wooded portion of New York State, when I came suddenly upon an old stone house in which the marks of age were in such startling contrast to its unfinished condition that I involuntarily stopped my horse and took a long survey of the lonesome structure. Embowered in a forest which had so grown in thickness and height since the erection of this building that the boughs of some of the tallest trees almost met across its decayed roof, it presented even at first view an appearance of picturesque solitude almost approaching to desolation. But when my eye had time to note that the moss was clinging to eaves from under which the scaffolding had never been taken, and that of the ten large windows in the blackened front of the house only two had ever been furnished with frames, the awe of some tragic mystery began to creep over me, and I sat and wondered at the sight till my increasing interest compelled me to alight and take a nearer view of the place. The great front door which had been finished so many years ago, but which had never been hung, leaned against the side of the house, of which it had almost become a part, so long had they clung together amid the drippings of innumerable rains. Close beside it yawned the entrance, a large black gap through which nearly a century of storms had rushed with their winds and wet till the lintels were green with moisture and slippery with rot. Standing on this untrod threshold, I instinctively glanced up at the scaffolding above me, and started as I noticed that it had partially fallen away, as if time were weakening its supports and making the precipitation of the whole a threatening possibility. Alarmed lest it might fall while I stood there, I did not linger long beneath it, but, with a shudder which I afterwards remembered, stepped into the house and proceeded to inspect its rotting, naked, and unfinished walls. I found them all in the one condition. A fine house had once been planned and nearly completed, but it had been abandoned before the hearths had been tiled, or the wainscoting nailed to its place. The staircase which ran up through the centre of the house was without banisters but otherwise finished and in a state of fair preservation. Seeing this and not being able to resist the temptation which it offered me of inspecting the rest of the house, I ascended to the second story. Here the doors were hung and the fireplaces bricked, and as I wandered from room to room I wondered more than ever what had caused the desertion of so promising a dwelling. If, as appeared, the first owner had died suddenly, why could not an heir have been found, and what could be the story of a place so abandoned and left to destruction that its walls gave no token of ever having offered shelter to a human being? As I could not answer this question I allowed my imagination full play, and was just forming some weird explanation of the facts before me when I felt my arm suddenly seized from behind, and paused aghast. Was I then not alone in the deserted building? Was there some solitary being who laid claim to its desolation and betrayed jealousy at any intrusion within its mysterious precincts? Or was the dismal place haunted by some uneasy spirit, who with long, uncanny fingers stood ready to clutch the man who presumed to bring living hopes and fears into a spot dedicated entirely to memories? I had scarcely the courage to ask, but when I turned and saw what it was that had alarmed me, I did not know whether to laugh at my fears or feel increased awe of my surroundings. For it was the twigs of a tree which had seized me, and for a long limb such as this to have grown into a place intended for the abode of man, necessitated a lapse of time and a depth of solitude oppressive to think of. Anxious to be rid of suggestions wellnigh bordering upon the superstitious, I took one peep from the front windows, and then descended to the first floor. The sight of my horse quietly dozing in the summer sunlight had reassured me, and by the time I had recrossed the dismal threshold, and regained the cheerful highway, I was conscious of no emotions deeper than the intense interest of a curious mind to solve the mystery and understand the secret of this remarkable house. Rousing my horse from his comfortable nap, I rode on through the forest; but scarcely had I gone a dozen rods before the road took a turn, the trees suddenly parted, and I found myself face to face with wide rolling meadows and a busy village. So, then, this ancient and deserted house was not in the heart of the woods, as I had imagined, but in the outskirts of a town, and face to face with life and activity. This discovery was a shock to my romance, but as it gave my curiosity an immediate hope of satisfaction, I soon became reconciled to the situation, and taking the road which led to the village, drew up before the inn and went in, ostensibly for refreshment. This being speedily provided, I sat down in the cosy dining-room, and as soon as opportunity offered, asked the attentive landlady why the old house in the woods had remained so long deserted. She gave me an odd look, and then glanced aside at an old man who sat doubled up in the opposite corner. “It is a long story,” said she, “and I am busy now; but later, if you wish to hear it, I will tell you all we know on the subject. After father is gone out,” she whispered. “It always excites him to hear any talk about that old place.” I saw that it did. I had no sooner mentioned the house than his white head lifted itself with something like spirit, and his form, which had seemed a moment before so bent and aged, straightened with an interest that made him look almost hale again. “I will tell you,” he broke in; “I am not busy. I was ninety last birthday, and I forget sometimes my grandchildren’s names, but I never forget what took place in that old house one night fifty years ago—never, never.” “I know, I know,” hastily interposed his daughter, “you remember beautifully; but this gentleman wishes to eat his dinner now, and must not have his appetite interfered with. You will wait, will you not, sir, till I have a little more leisure?” What could I answer but Yes, and what could the poor old man do but shrink back into his corner, disappointed and abashed. Yet I was not satisfied, nor was he, as I could see by the appealing glances he gave me now and then from under the fallen masses of his long white hair. But the landlady was complaisant and moved about the table and in and out of the room with a bustling air that left us but little opportunity for conversation. At length she was absent somewhat longer than usual, whereupon the old man, suddenly lifting his head, cried out: “She cannot tell the story. She has no feeling for it; she wasn’t there.” “And you were,” I ventured. “Yes, yes, I was there, always there; and I see it all now,” he murmured. “Fifty years ago, and I see it all as if it were happening at this moment before my eyes. But she will not let me talk about it,” he complained, as the sound of her footsteps was heard again on the kitchen boards. “Though it makes me young again, she always stops me just as if I were a child. But she cannot help my showing you—” Here her steps became audible in the hall, and his words died away on his lips. By the time she had entered, he was seated with his head half turned aside, and his form bent over as if he were in spirit a thousand miles from the spot. Amused at his cunning, and interested in spite of myself at the childish eagerness he displayed to tell his tale, I waited with a secret impatience almost as great as his own perhaps, for her to leave the room again, and thus give him the opportunity of finishing his sentence. At last there came an imperative call for her presence without, and she hurried away. She was no sooner gone than the old man exclaimed: “I have it all written down. I wrote it years and years ago, at the very time it