There they are! Right there! On the ruddy cover! I don't what it is but it's freaking me the fuck out! Kill it! Kill it with fire!!!
Celebrating the mad, bad, and dangerous to look at covers inflicted on the book world
They were dressed from head to foot in cotton clothes, and decently laid out with a mimic representation of all the funereal trappings which usually form the last habiliments of the dead. The coffins are about three or four inches in length, regularly shaped, and cut out from a single piece of wood, with the exception of the lids, which are nailed down with wire sprigs or common brass pins. The lid and sides of each are profusely studded with ornaments, formed with small pieces of tin, and inserted in the wood with great care and regularity.
Casket? This was no casket. Caskets do not stand open and upended. Caskets do not bear upon their lids the raised, moulded features of a woman's face.
Caskets were not spiked inside.
Recognition was simultaneous with horror.
This was the Iron Maiden!
The longest spikes would pierce him first as the lid descended. The spikes were set so to enter his wrists and ankles. He would hang there crucified, as the lid continued its inexorable descent. Shorter spikes would next enter his thighs, shoulders and arms. Then, as he struggled, impaled in agony, the lid would press closer until the smallest spikes came close enough to penetrate his eyes, his throat, and - mercifully - his heart and brain.
They shut him up in a narrow box, in which he was compelled to stand, and in which finely sharpened nails were fixed all round about him, so that he could not lean upon any part of it without intense pain; and so they killed him by depriving him of sleep.
The false bride said, "She deserves no better fate than to be stripped stark naked, and put in a barrel that is studded inside with sharp nails. Two white horses should be hitched to it, and they should drag her along through one street after another, until she is dead."Furthermore in another tale The Three Little Men in the Wood, a wicked stepmother comes to the same bad end -
"You are the one," said the old king, "and you have pronounced your own sentence. Thus shall it be done to you."
“The wretch deserves nothing better,” answered the old woman, “than to be taken and put in a barrel stuck full of nails, and rolled down hill into the water.” “Then,” said the King, “thou hast pronounced thine own sentence;” and he ordered such a barrel to be brought, and the old woman to be put into it with her daughter, and then the top was hammered on, and the barrel rolled down hill until it went into the river.
An old painted drinking glass, called the Luck of Edenhall is preserved with great care. It is alluded to in the annexed ballad of Duke Wharton. In the garden, near to the house, is a well of excellent spring water, called St. Cuthbert's well (the church is dedicated to the saint). This glass is supposed to have been a sacred chalice: but the legendary tale is, that the butler, going to draw water, surprised a company of fairies who were amusing themselves upon the green, near the well: he seized the glass, which was standing upon its margin; they tried to recover it; but, after an ineffectual struggle, flew away, saying,
If that glass either break or fall,
Farewell the luck of Edenhall.