My Eyes Hurt: Tales of the Supernatural

Roald Dahl compiled some of the finest ghost stories during the last fifty years or so. Don't be surprised if Edgar Allan Poe didn't make his list. (The American was a Transcendentalist, and there was an overlapping of genres in his case.) There were many works by female authors, but Daphne du Maurier wasn't one of those writers. (She was an exception.) Let's have a look at the short list:

The Corner Shop (1926) by Cynthia Asquith. Peter Wood had problems, one of which was how to pay next month's rent. It slipped off his mind when he discovered a corner shop. An old gentleman guided him inside. Mr. Wood couldn't forget the serene expression behind his wrinkled face and a glimmer of light in those dark eyes. He liked the jade frog, which the old man offered for a pence. If not for his best mate, then Mr. Wood had no idea that the figurine was worth two thousand pounds. Asquith penned a hair-raising version of the "pay it forward" slogan, and she would have a basis behind it. The socialite may be cynical towards philantropy. Some would point out an act of atonement. There may be truth to it, but readers wouldn't want to know the details.

W.S. (1932) by L.P. Hartley. Policemen discovered the dead body of Walter Streeter, with markings on his neck. He was strangled, but no one in the neighborhood could identify the suspect. Several postcards gave authorities a hint, but it led to a dead end. W.S. was the name of the sender, and the images were not far from where Streeter lived. The sender was a self-confessed fan, but police suspected his obsession on Mr. Streeter. They might be dealing with a deranged individual. The postcards could be arranged by Streeter himself. His career was about to hit a bump, and he was taking it hard. He could be looking at imaginary characters. William Streeter was one of those people, a ghost of his past. Hartley wouldn't divulge more information, as his short story was ambiguous at its best.

Christmas Meeting (1969) by Rosemary Timperley. Readers would be touched by a chance encounter between a middle-aged woman and a young man. She was experiencing her first Christmas without her loved ones, while he was looking for company. Timperley wouldn't reveal which one was a specter, and readers couldn't decide right away. Some would be reminded of "A Christmas Carol", but the native of Crouch End, London didn't pen this short tale for older readers who are turning into sentimental fools. It won't be hard to see the author tugging their hearts, when the story reached its startling climax. Nostalgia can be creepy.