[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales August-September 1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] 1. The Dread Paralysis 2. The Living Dead 3. The Stopped Watch 4. The Shell 5. Death's Lovely Mask...

On one of the most beautiful bays of the Maine coast rested the town that fourteen months before had existed only on an architect's drawing-board. Around the almost landlocked harbor were beautiful homes, bathing-beaches, parks. On the single Main Street were model stores. Small hotels and inns were scattered on the outskirts. Streets were laid, radiating from the big hotel in the center of town like spokes from a hub. There was a waterworks and a landing-field; a power house and a library. It l

At two in the morning, two hours and a half after the odd seizure of Mathew Weems, and while Gest and Kroner and Chichester were in Doctor Grays' suite anxiously looking at the stricken man, eight people were in the sleek, small roulette room of the Blue Bay Hotel on the fourteenth floor. The eight, four men and four women, were absorbed by the wheel. Their bets were scattered over the numbered board, and some of the bets were high. The croupier, with all bets placed, spun the little ivory ball

Down at the lobby door, a long closed car slid to a stop. From it stepped two people. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a high-bridged nose, long, strong jaw, and pale gray eyes under heavy black eyebrows. The other was a girl, equally tall for her sex, beautifully formed, with reddish brown hair and dark blue eyes. The two walked to the registration desk in the lobby. "Ascott Keane," the man signed. "And secretary, Beatrice Dale." "Your suite is ready for you, Mr. Keane," the clerk said

The house was serene and beautiful on the bay shore. The sun beat back from its white walls, and glanced in at the windows of the rear terrace. It shone on a grotesque figure there; a man with the torso of a giant, but with no legs—a figure that hitched itself along on the backs of calloused hands, using muscular arms as a means of locomotion. But this figure was not as bizarre as the one to be found within the house, behind shades drawn to keep out any prying eyes. Here, in a dim room identifia

The wall behind the spot where he had been disappeared as the gold-link bag continued to point that way. The woman, snarling like a tigress, swung her bag toward Keane in his new position. But Keane was not waiting. He sprang for her. His hand got her wrist and wrenched to get the gold-link purse away from her. It turned toward her, back again toward him, with the little bar moving as her hand was constricted over the thing in the purse. It was a woman's body he struggled with. But there was str