A Short Story : A Boarding House?

He wrote in paragraph 3, “And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly-very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed.” At this point in the story, the tension is starting to accumulate in the reader’s mind because of how much time has passed and how cautiously and slowly the character opens the door and stares at the man, seeing if his eye is open. It may make you wonder if something similar to this could be currently occurring without your knowledge of it. This doesn’t necessarily refer to this situation, but to common ordinary things. There may be people, although not trying to murder you, working behind your back when you are unaware. The author also wrote in paragraph 3, “And this I did for seven long nights-every night just at midnight-but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye.” This paragraph probably makes readers feel very insecure and unsafe, because commonly, your bedroom is considered a safe place where you can peacefully sleep, but because an

“Oh dear, this town is just rather small. Most people that come to town do not need a place to stay,” she adds to Billy’s comment. It started to get late, and Billy could not decide what to do. Should he leave this insane place, or should he just hold off until morning. He decided to make conversation with the landlady. He wanted to figure her out because, deep down, he knew something was up.

Dwelling about my own feelings led the direction of frustration and anger as I grew older, feeling for anybody’s feelings or situations, almost non-existent; don’t miss-understand, I had marvelous times and a caring person to an extent. Growing slowly into a person whose true character lived in a cage, confined to prison and when released, it was madness, not intending to only injure, I wanted to see blood, tasting this flavor in my mouth before a confrontation. Choosing who I wanted to associate with and if others left me alone there was no problem, although, at the end of the sixth grade the nestling soul fell asleep. There was a boy in school that began tormenting me every day walking home; undesirable name calling. Eventually deciding to

The room was musty and dimly lit. A heavy curtain was drawn across the only window, allowing only a slight and pathetic slant of balmy sunlight to slip in. Faintly, the air tasted of dog urine and stray fur—a fusty undertone hovering beneath ghostly.

He put his bag on the table, and opened it flat. From that time on, he seemed not to know that anyone else was near. Quickly he laid the shining strange tools on the table. The others watched as if they had lost the power to move. In a minute Jimmy was at work on the door.

Inside the small house it was pitch black and completely silent. So dark, in fact, that one could not see their own hand in front of their face. The deeper into the house, the darker it became. Now into the family room and up the stairs.A distinct sound of scratching emanated from the door at the end of the hall. Inside, the room seemed to belong to a young girl, but only because the little girl nestled in bed deemed it so.

The next morning, the alarm buzzed noisily, the sound polluting the silence. Confused for a moment, he looked around blankly. It used to be home, but now it felt unfamiliar. There was a room at the end of the corridor, the door slightly ajar. He waited, expecting the door to open, but it never did. The area was the same as the night before, empty.

I hurried out to take the pup back to the nest, trying not to cause anymore trouble. I took the pup back to the nest and played with his soft fur with he rested in my lap. Time rushed by, and I spent most of my time in the barn with my brown and white pup. I don't think I could ever thank George or Slim enough for the pup. Slim walked in and he said the pup could get hurt if I pet it more, so I went to the bunkhouse. On my way to the bunkhouse, Carlson and I met up, and we entered the bunkhouse together. I went directly to my bed, I was very tired from all the barley bucking I did today. When I went to the bunkhouse, Curley and every man except George, Candy and me left to see a fight. They believed that Curley’s wife was with Slim, but he was in the barn, and she wasn’t in there. I got up from the bunk, and went to sit with George at the table. George brought up Andy Cushman, haven’t heard that name in a long time, but I remember, “his old lady used to make hotcakes”(56). I got distracted and started drumming out a song I heard not so long ago on the table. I really want to move to our own place an’ live offa the fatta the

I just led us in a straight line,” Ben adamantly tried to explain. Then, a cacophony of twigs breaking and bushes rustling started in the distance ahead of them. The relaxed ambiance dropped suddenly. They stood there frozen from fear as the sounds began to move nearer and louder. Then all at once, they began running in the opposite direction they had been walking in, and went straight back to the bonfire to seek the comfort and protection of their family. When they got there, they saw no trace of their brothers or sisters. Each of their minds raced, just pleading for an answer to what had happened to the people they had depended on. Each of them came up with an idea of their

Wrapping his towel around his waist, he stood next to the sink and removed a razor from his shaving kit, looking at the sharp blade as he removed the plastic cover and shook the thought away. The banging on the door and the yelling of his name were getting more persistent the longer he stood and he could pick out the voices of his godfather and Jason in the background and knew everyone was worried when he wouldn’t come out of the bathroom. Lastly, he needed to get dressed and over the objections of his friends, go take care of his horse to keep his mind functioning in reality. As he heard the lock being picked, he knew Bill would have the door open in a few seconds, so he opened the door to the concerned faces staring at

"What is it Charlie?" I asked, my heart beginning to pound a million beats per second. His face had turned white as snow and his cheeks that were previously pink from the stinging cold air where now gone, no sign of once being cold. Charlie rose his hand into the air pointed at our magnificent snowman. I slowly turned around, scared to see what had caused Charlie's face to loose all its color.

He waited until he could no longer hear the old man 's heartbeat before righting the bed. He then concealed the body beneath the floorboards and thought that no sign of the murder remained. It seems that a neighbor heard the scream of the old man and alerted the police. Several officers arrived at the house. The narrator, feeling secure that his crime was perfect and undetectable, invited them in to question him. As they spoke, the narrator heard the old man 's heart beating beneath the floorboards, faint at first but then growing louder. He thought that the police must also hear this and that they were merely ignoring it to mock him. Eventually, the sound and the policemen 's reactions drove the narrator to jump to his feet and confess that he had, indeed, killed the old man and the body was hidden beneath the floor. reader that he is nervous, but in no way mad. The narrator begins to calmly tell a whole story of how he kills an old man that he loves and takes care of for no reason other than the old man’s one dreadful blue eye. Every night at midnight, he opens the old man’s bedroom door and shines just a thin ray of light onto the Evil Eye. He explains that he cannot kill the man with his eye closed, so nighttime continues to pass and in the morning he acts completely normal with the poor old man.

The fox spirit knocks. Evening settles in the white fog canyon, under the arms of spruce and pine. She lifts her nose to air, nine tails brushing between her legs, skirt falling to the floor like a secret. The door swings: ferried light.

Roald Dahl uses various writing techniques in the horror short story, “The Landlady,” to build suspense, or the uncertainty or anxiety that a reader will feel about what may happen next in a story, novel, or drama. In this short story, the protagonist, Billy Weaver, a young, handsome seventeen-year-old, traveled from London to Bath, due to work, and looks for accommodation. Eventually, he came across a quaint bed and breakfast owned by a landlady who appeared to be generous. The landlady portrayed herself as a kind, innocent soul, but her intentions spoke otherwise. As the tale continued, Billy realizes that things are not what they initially appeared to be at the bed and breakfast. Through the use of foreshadowing and characterization, the author, Roald Dahl, of the horror short story, “The Landlady,” effectively builds suspense for the reader in the thread of the plot.

What is one story of a young migrant or refugee that you heard? Are there any ways the story opened your eyes?