By Charlie Blank

The Story Page: Embracing Ten Interesting Tales is a short story anthology by Charlie Blank, published in 1933 by The O’Sullivan Publishing House in Chicago. The book is a collection of ten distinct narratives that explore themes of missed opportunities, second chances, and the dramatic twists of fate that define human lives during the early 20th century.

The collection is dedicated "Lovingly to Mother". It features the following ten stories:

1. "The Unanswered Call.. 2. His Second Chance-3. Ann-4. The Destroyer 5. The Teetotal Tar. 6. The Sequel, Unique. 7. The Phantom at the Wheel. 8. A Brush with Civilization. 9. The Crampton Kidnapping. 10. A Peep into the Hereafter.

The stories often focus on characters at emotional or moral crossroads, dealing with the consequences of their choices or the intervention of tragedy.

Thematic Overview.

“Tragedy and Irony:” In "The Unanswered Call," a nurse named Jane Merrick decides to end her eight-year relationship with a man named Jerry. She intentionally ignores his persistent phone calls to prove her resolve, only to receive a call from a hospital informing her that he was fatally struck by a car thirty minutes prior—the very period during which she refused to answer.

The Struggle for Redemption:. "His Second Chance"* follows John V. Caruthers, a man living in poverty and shame after losing his job during the Depression and embezzling money to play the stock market. The story explores his internal battle as a fugitive from justice, trying to earn enough money through a risky oil venture to make amends for his past.

Historical Context: The narratives are deeply rooted in their era, referencing the **Great Depression**, the volatility of the **Stock Exchange**, and the personal toll of financial ruin.

The prose is character-driven and often somber, highlighting the thin line between a "fresh youthfulness" and a life turned "sordid and bitter" by time and circumstance.

The O’Sullivan Publishing house. Chicago. Illinois. 1938. 229p.

By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS. Introduction by Colin Heston

When The King in Yellow appeared in 1895, it slipped quietly into a literary world already saturated with decadence, occult enthusiasms, and the fin-de-siècle’s peculiar blend of anxiety and intoxication. Yet Robert W. Chambers’s strange mosaic of tales—united by a fictional forbidden play that unhinges those who read it—swiftly distinguished itself from its contemporaries. In the decades since, this slim volume has grown into one of the foundational works of the American weird tradition, prefiguring H. P. Lovecraft, influencing generations of modern horror writers, and unexpectedly resurfacing in the twenty-first century as a cultural touchstone.

What makes Chambers’s book so unusual is its deliberate blurring of boundaries: between reality and hallucination, sanity and delusion, art and contagion. The collection opens with “The Repairer of Reputations,” a tale set in an imagined New York of 1920—an unsettling mixture of futurism, authoritarian regulation, and manic delusion. It is here that the mysterious “King in Yellow” first exerts his influence. The narrator, a deeply unreliable figure, is convinced of his noble birthright and guided by an enigmatic “repairer” who traffics in scandal and blackmail. The narrative unfolds as a case study in self-deception, political paranoia, and the fragility of identity—yet nothing in the story is easily dismissed as mere fantasy. Reality itself buckles under the weight of the narrator’s convictions.

The Mask, perhaps the most haunting of the early tales, shifts the setting to the Latin Quarter of Paris, where art, science, and obsession converge. The grotesque beauty of Boris Yvain’s alchemical solution—capable of transforming living beings into flawless marble—creates a collision of aesthetics and mortality that typifies Chambers’s most powerful work. The story’s dreamlike quality reflects the decadent movement’s fascination with artificiality, transformation, and the erotic pull of the inanimate. Throughout, the shadow of the forbidden play hovers, never fully seen but always felt.

Other sections—“In the Court of the Dragon,” “The Yellow Sign,” and additional sketches—extend the book’s architecture of dread. Chambers never provides the text of the play itself, only its aftershocks, its “second act” whispered about as a psychic abyss from which there is no return. This structural absence is one of the book’s great innovations: The horror lies not in spectacle but in suggestion, in the void where meaning should be. The King in Yellow, the Pallid Mask, and the Lost City of Carcosa are not fully explained but instead exist as fragments of a mythology the reader assembles intuitively, as though the stories themselves are encoded with an infectious idea.

The power of The King in Yellow endures because it is not simply a collection of supernatural tales—it is a meditation on contagion: of ideas, of aesthetics, of inner instability. Chambers’s fictional play does not merely frighten; it corrodes. It reveals hidden fractures in those who encounter it and amplifies their darkest impulses. In this sense, the book mirrors its age. The 1890s were marked by the collapse of old certainties, the rise of new sciences of the mind, and an artistic fascination with decadence, degeneration, and the beautiful ruin of the self. Chambers captured that atmosphere with uncanny acuity.

Today, amidst digital conspiracies, fractured identities, and a renewed cultural fascination with alternate realities, The King in Yellow feels more relevant than ever. It invites the reader to step into a world where truth is unstable, where art is dangerous, and where the boundaries of perception are mercilessly thin. The book’s whispered mythology has become larger than the text itself, seeding later works, reappearing in unexpected media, and reminding us that the most enduring horrors are those we cannot fully see.

To open these stories is to risk a glimpse of the Yellow Sign—a symbol of beauty, madness, and forbidden knowledge. Chambers offers no assurances. He only extends an invitation to enter Carcosa, where twin suns sink over black waters and where, once the play begins, the mask cannot be removed.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026 p.209

By E. Phillips Oppenheim. Introduction by Colin Heston.

When E. Phillips Oppenheim published The Golden Beast in 1926, he was already firmly established as the "Prince of Storytellers," a title earned by his uncanny ability to blend high-society glamour with the cold mechanics of crime. This novel, however, stands as a particularly striking waypoint in the history of the genre, moving beyond the simple "whodunnit" to explore the darker, more systemic shadows of the human psyche. For the modern reader, and especially for the student of criminology, the book serves as a fascinating precursor to contemporary theories on the intersection of power, wealth, and deviance.

The narrative significance of the work lies primarily in its early exploration of the "Power Elite" as a distinct criminal class. Long before modern criminology formalized the study of white-collar crime and corporate sociopathy, Oppenheim was illustrating how extreme financial leverage could create a vacuum of accountability. The "Beast" of the title is not merely a man, but a symbol of the socio-economic predator who views the law as an inconvenience to be bypassed rather than a boundary to be respected. This mirrors modern discussions on "moral insanity" in elite spaces, where the perpetrator’s perceived status grants them a psychological immunity to the social contract.

Furthermore, The Golden Beast captures a pivotal moment in forensic evolution. Written during a decade of rapid scientific advancement, the plot reflects the transition from Victorian-era intuition to the more clinical, methodical approach of forensic science. Oppenheim flirts with themes of biological erasure and chemical disposal, tapping into the 1920s anxiety that science, in the wrong hands, could facilitate the "perfect crime." It also ventures into early criminal profiling, as the narrative shifts focus from the physical evidence of the crime to the warped mental architecture of the criminal.

By examining the concept of the "disappearing victim," Oppenheim also prefigures modern victimology. He explores how a sophisticated offender can manipulate social structures to make an individual vanish not just physically, but legally and socially. This focus on the systemic nature of crime—how it is hidden, how it is financed, and how it is rationalized by the perpetrator—makes the novel an enduring piece of literature that remains relevant to our current understanding of the psychology of the super-criminal. It is a cautionary tale of a world where the law is always one step behind the man with the means to reinvent it.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. p.255.

By Edgar Wallace. Introduction by Colin Heston

In Silinski – Master Criminal, Wallace constructs the titular character not as a creature of impulse, but as a precursor to the modern white-collar sociopath, defined by what can be termed "organized intellect." Unlike the flamboyant villains of Gothic tradition, Silinski’s power is derived from his mastery of systems—legal, financial, and social. He treats crime as a rigorous administrative discipline, employing a level of detachment that mirrors the very corporate structures he seeks to exploit. This intellectualization of villainy creates a chilling paradox: Silinski is most dangerous when he is at his most rational. Wallace highlights this by contrasting the frantic, reactive energy of the police with Silinski’s own glacial composure. His "mastery" is not merely a matter of successful theft, but of an informational asymmetry where he remains several steps ahead of the law by treating the world as a chessboard of predictable variables. Consequently, the tension of the novel arises not from the "whodunnit" element, but from the terrifying efficiency of a mind that has completely divorced morality from logic.
The conclusion of the narrative solidifies the "super-criminal" archetype not as a mere antagonist, but as a necessary mirror to the evolution of the modern state. By weaving together the threads of bureaucratic mastery and economic manipulation, Wallace posits that the transition of the criminal from the physical to the cerebral reflects a broader societal shift toward abstraction. Silinski represents the dark potential of the burgeoning 20th century: the realization that true power is no longer found in the strength of one's arm, but in the reach of one's influence over the systems that sustain public life. As the novel draws to its close, the resolution of the plot serves as a pyrrhic victory for the law, acknowledging that while one man may be stopped, the systemic vulnerabilities he exposed remain inherent to the fabric of global society. Ultimately, Silinski – Master Criminalstands as a definitive exploration of the modern villain, suggesting that in an age of complexity, the most profound threat to order is the very intelligence required to maintain it.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. 188p.

BY G. Frank Lydston. Preface by Colin Heston

The wind howls across the desolate plains of the Old West, not with the romantic whistle of a ballad, but with the coarse, biting grit of reality. In the flickering shadows of a kerosene lamp, silhouettes gather around a scarred felt table, their faces etched with the histories of desperate gambles and hard-won wisdom. This is the world of G. Frank Lydston—a world where the line between the hero and the rogue is as thin as a worn playing card and twice as fragile.

In his seminal collection, Poker Jim, Gentleman, and Other Tales and Sketches, Lydston does more than recount anecdotes; he performs a literary autopsy on the American frontier. As a physician and a keen observer of human nature, he brought a surgical precision to his storytelling, looking past the polished myths of the "Wild West" to reveal the raw, pulsing nerves of the men and women who inhabited it. He understood that the wilderness was not merely a location, but a crucible that burned away the pretenses of civilization to reveal the true metal of the soul.

The titular character, Poker Jim, serves as the ultimate paradox of this untamed wilderness. He is a man who thrives in the so-called dens of iniquity, yet he carries himself with a code of ethics more rigid and unwavering than many of the city judges who would seek to condemn him. Through Jim and a cast of vibrant, often tragic figures, Lydston explores the profound duality of man, demonstrating how a gambler can possess the heart of a saint while a self-proclaimed gentleman might harbor the soul of a thief. To Lydston, the environment was never just a backdrop; it was a character in its own right—one that tested, broke, and occasionally redeemed the human spirit.

Lydston’s prose is a unique blend of Victorian elegance and frontier ruggedness, capturing the rough dialect of the mining camp and the sophisticated musings of the scholar with equal fervor. This collection stands as a testament to an era that was rapidly vanishing even as he wrote—a transition from lawless expansion to the paved certainty of the modern age. As you turn these pages, you step into smoke-filled saloons and silent, starlit canyons to witness the birth of a national identity forged in the fires of chance. You are invited to learn the philosophy of the hand: that life, much like the game itself, is rarely about the cards you are dealt, but the courage with which you play them.

Monarch Book Co., Chicago, 1906. Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. p.233.

Three Plays By Henry Becque. Translated From The French With An Introduction By Freeman Tilden. Preface by Colin Heston.

To enter the world of Henry Becque is to step into a theater stripped of its finery. As we present these three plays—”The Vultures”, “The Woman of Paris”, and “The Merry-Go-Round”—it is essential to recognize the revolutionary "brutal strength" Becque required to "knock over the idols of romance" that dominated the 19th-century stage.

Freeman Tilden’s introduction serves as a vigorous defense of Becque as the pioneer of realism. Tilden correctly identifies Becque as a "revolutionist" who flouted the "happy ending" and the rigid traditions of dramatists like Sardou. He eloquently describes Becque’s vision of a stage representing the "dramatic commonplaces of every-day life" rather than the "sentimental nonsense" of the era.

However, a modern critique of Tilden’s introduction reveals two areas where his analysis might be expanded:

First, “The Nature of the "Cruel Theatre": Tilden focuses heavily on the “structural” revolution—the five-act drama and the rejection of mystery-driven plots. While he mentions Becque’s "militant" social ideas, he arguably underplays the psychological darkness of the "cruel theatre". Becque did not just want realism; he wanted truth to go "defiantly bare," revealing a world where "vultures" (lawyers, partners, and creditors) wait for a man to die before descending on his family.

Second, “The Gender Perspective:” Tilden notes that Becque voiced "the protest of women against the prejudice that kept them from earning a decent livelihood". Yet, in his discussion of “The Woman of Paris” (“La Parisienne”), Tilden remains somewhat focused on the "naughty triangle" and the prosaic nature of adultery. A modern critique would emphasize that Becque’s women are often forced into moral compromises not by choice, but by a "bureaucratic system" that offers them only parasitism or ruin.

Despite these nuances, Tilden’s assertion remains true: Becque was the "wedge that opened the way for realism". He cleared the ground for Ibsen and the modernists by proving that a play could be "clear without being obvious" and that everyday existence held enough surprises for a master of stagecraft.

In this collection, readers will witness the "unexpectedly striking" scenes that puzzled 19th-century critics—from the savage dinner of the concierges in “The Prodigal Son” to the cold-blooded notary Bourdon in “The Vultures”. We invite you to experience the "cruel theatre" in its purest form: a mirror held up to the "marvellous dramatic commonplaces" of our own human struggle.

New York. Mitchell Kennerley. 1913. Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. 267p.

By Walter Besant. Introduction by Colin Heston.

First published in 1893, The Ivory Gate stands among the late novels of Walter Besant, a writer whose career was defined by a sustained engagement with the moral, social, and psychological pressures of modern urban life. Appearing at the close of the Victorian era, the novel reflects both Besant’s long-standing commitment to social realism and his increasing interest in the interior life of the individual—especially the fragile boundary between aspiration and illusion.
The title itself announces the book’s governing metaphor. In classical and medieval literature, the “ivory gate” is the passage through which false dreams pass into waking life, as opposed to the gate of horn, from which true dreams emerge. Besant adapts this image to late-nineteenth-century conditions, using it to explore the seductive power of unrealized hopes, romantic delusions, and social fantasies that shape—and often distort—human conduct. The novel is less concerned with overt villainy than with self-deception: the quiet, persistent capacity of individuals to misread their circumstances and to substitute imagined futures for lived realities.
For modern readers, the novel remains strikingly relevant. Its exploration of illusion, self-fashioning, and the tension between inner fantasy and external reality resonates with contemporary concerns about identity, expectation, and social pressure. While its Victorian idiom and moral framework are firmly rooted in the nineteenth century, its psychological insights anticipate later treatments of self-deception and emotional displacement.
This new edition invites readers to reconsider The Ivory Gate not simply as a period piece, but as a thoughtful and understated meditation on the human tendency to live in dreams of our own making. In tracing the quiet tragedies that arise when those dreams eclipse judgment, Besant offers a work of enduring moral seriousness—one that illuminates both the anxieties of his age and the persistent vulnerabilities of our own.

A READ-ME.ORG CLASSIC REPRINT. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2025. 321p.

by J. S. Fletcher. Preface by Colin Heston.

The Ransom for London is one of the last full-length mysteries penned by J. S. Fletcher, the prolific master of British crime fiction whose work helped shape the modern detective novel. First published in 1937—just months before the golden age of classic mystery reached its twilight—this novel stands as a testament to Fletcher’s enduring gifts: intricate plots, bristling suspense, and a keen sense of how crime reveals the hidden tensions of society.

This edition invites readers to rediscover a late gem from a writer whose contributions to the detective genre paved the way for many who followed. With The Ransom for London, Fletcher delivers a fast-moving, atmospheric tale that demonstrates his continuing relevance, his wit, and his unmatched instinct for suspense.

Step into London on the brink—into a story built on riddles, danger, and the high cost of holding a city’s fate in the balance. The ransom has been demanded. Whether the truth is paid in gold or courage is for you to discover.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2025. p.229.