Episode 200. I can hardly believe that I’ve enjoyed
so many horror stories and I’ve only got through
about less than half of them.
Whether it is the thoughtful commentary
offered by Alasdair Stuart or the stellar
original horror stories, written by talented and often hitherto unknown authors,
then read by professional voice actors
that keeps me coming back, I’ll never know…
Or, at least, I’ll never tell.
Oil of Dog
Read by Ben Phillips
One evening while passing my father’s oil factory with the body of a foundling from my mother’s studio I saw a constable who seemed to be closely watching my movements. Young as I was, I had learned that a constable’s acts, of whatever apparent character, are prompted by the most reprehensible motives, and I avoided him by dodging into the oilery by a side door which happened to stand ajar. I locked it at once and was alone with my dead.
The Horror of the Heights
The thirty-thousand-foot level has been reached time after time with no discomfort beyond cold and asthma. What does this prove? A visitor might descend upon this planet a thousand times and never see a tiger. Yet tigers exist, and if he chanced to come down into a jungle he might be devoured. There are jungles of the upper air, and there are worse things than tigers which inhabit them.
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