
Classic·Gothic Fiction
Carmilla
Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
Before Dracula stalked London, a seductive stranger haunted an isolated Austrian castle with an intoxicating, predatory intimacy.

“Under the suffocating snows of New England, an unspoken passion threatens to shatter a desolate marriage.”
In the frozen, unforgiving landscape of Starkfield, Massachusetts, Ethan Frome ekes out a bitter existence on a failing farm. Trapped in a joyless, resentful marriage to his sickly wife, Zeena, Ethan finds his dreary world upended by the arrival of Mattie Silver, Zeena's vivacious young cousin. As winter tightens its grip, a quiet, desperate affinity blooms between Ethan and Mattie, offering a fleeting glimpse of warmth and hope. But duty, isolation, and unyielding circumstance soon conspire to force a devastating reckoning. Wharton crafts a chilling, masterfully restrained tale of longing and quiet tragedy.
“I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story.”
““There are things in that book that I didn’t know the first word about,” he said.”
“He stood there a moment, breathing quickly, and looking up and down the street, in which not another figure moved.”
“To him, who was never gay but in her presence, her gaiety seemed plain proof of indifference.”
““Ain’t you riding, Mattie?” a woman’s voice called back from the throng about the shed, and Ethan’s heart gave a jump.”
“Here and there a farmhouse stood far back among the fields, mute and cold as a grave-stone.”
“Even a few minutes earlier, when they had stood alone outside the house, he would not have dared to think of kissing her.”
“He said “So long, Matt,” and she answered gaily “So long, Ethan”; and that was all.”
“Then, with a sudden dart of irony, he wondered if, when their turn came, the same epitaph would be written over him and Zeena.”
“They spoke of every-day things, of the prospect of snow, of the next church sociable, of the loves and quarrels of Starkfield.”
“But a wet snow, melting to sleet, had fallen in the night and turned the roads to glass.”
“It was the consecrated formula, and he expected it to be followed, as usual, by her rising and going down to supper.”
“She lingered a moment, caught in the same strong current; then she slipped from him and drew back a step or two, pale and troubled.”
“He was too young, too strong, too full of the sap of living, to submit so easily to the destruction of his hopes.”
““That trunk of yours is too heavy for the sleigh, and Dan’l Byrne’ll be round to take it over to the Flats,” she said.”
““Jotham Powell’s down in the wood-lot, and Dan’l Byrne says he darsn’t leave that horse,” she returned.”
““Oh, Matt, I thought we’d fetched it,” he moaned; and far off, up the hill, he heard the sorrel whinny, and thought: “I ought to be getting him his feed....””

Classic·Gothic Fiction
Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
Before Dracula stalked London, a seductive stranger haunted an isolated Austrian castle with an intoxicating, predatory intimacy.

Classic·Literary Fiction
F. Scott Fitzgerald
In the dazzling glare of Roaring Twenties Long Island, a mysterious tycoon pursues an impossible dream across a glittering bay.

Classic·Gothic fiction
Edgar Allan Poe
An urgent summons draws a traveler into a crumbling ancestral mansion where madness, terror, and dark family secrets fester.
Public-domain work (1911). Text: Project Gutenberg #4517. The Spanish version is an AI-assisted translation and may contain errors. Digital edition by Inkora Stories. Learn more