horror

puede que este cuento le dé miedo a niños bajo la edad de siete años. Recomendamos que un adulto escuche con los pequeños. Este cuento se llama La llorona, escrito y leído por Lorena Romero. Esta es una grabación de LibraryCall. "¡No!", gritó Luna. “¡No me gusta! No me lo voy a comer. ¡De ninguna manera!" Luna odiaba el plato frente a ella. ¿Carne? No, gracias. ¿Arroz y frijoles? Guácala. ¿Y AGUA también? ¿La estaban castigando? Luna sabía que su mamá le había echado muchas ganas a la cena, pero ella quería comer conchas y champurrado.

“No!” screamed Luna. “I don’t like it! I am not going to eat it. No way!” Luna hated the plate in front of her. Carne? No thanks. Arroz y frijoles? Yuck. And AGUA too?! Was she being grounded? Luna knew mamá had worked very hard on dinner, but she wanted conchas y champurrado now. Why did she have to eat all this icky stuff before getting to the good part?

This story is called The True Tale of the Phantom Coach by W.t. Linskill. This is a LibraryCall adaptation and recording. The great curtain had fallen after the play, and I was standing chatting on the stage of the theatre in Cambridge when one of the stage men came to tell me I was wanted at the stage door and I must hurry up at once. I proceeded, and someone shouted out “Come with us, we want you to meet a fellow named Willie Carson, and there will be supper.

This story is called the Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe, apated and recorded by LibraryCall. The “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men.

This story is called The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe, adapted and recorded by LibraryCall. I am dreadfully nervous, but would you call me mad? Observe how healthily—how calmly I can tell you the whole story. It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but I conceived of it, it haunted me day and night. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never insulted me. I did not desire his wealth. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture—a pale blue eye, with a film over it.