Kipling is another expert in the art of eeriness, and has a wide
range. His Indian backgrounds are peculiarly adapted for tales of
terror. The loathsome horror of _The Mark of the Beast_, with its
intangible suggestion of mystery, the quiet restraint of _The
Return of Imray_, in which so much is left unsaid, are two
admirable illustrations of his gift.
The tale of terror wins its effect by ever-varying means.
Scientific discoveries open up new vistas, and the twentieth
century will evolve many fresh devices for torturing the nerves.
The telephone set ringing by a ghostly hand, the aeroplane with a
phantom pilot, will replace the Gothic machinery of ruined abbeys
and wandering lights. The possibilities of terror are manifold,
and it is impracticable here to do more than pick up a few
threads in the tangled skein. Terror becomes inextricably
interwoven with other motives according to the bent of the
author. It is allied with psychology in James' sinister _Turn of
the Screw_, with scientific phantasy in Wells' _Invisible Man_.
It may enhance the excitement of a spy story, add zest to the
study of crime, or act as a foil to a romantic love interest.
CHAPTER XI - AMERICAN TALES OF TERROR.
In 1797 we are told that in America "the dairymaid and hired man
no longer weep over the ballad of the cruel stepmother, but amuse
themselves into an agreeable terror with the haunted houses and
hobgoblins of Mrs.
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