Wilder Publications Inc : 1020 books

Certainly I see things that aren’t there and don’t say what my voice says—but how can I prove that I don’t have my health?

After space, there was always one more river to cross . . . the far side of hatred and murder!

Unfortunate castaway! Marooned far from home—with nothing to share his loneliness but humans!

'Wonder Stories' was founded by legendary publisher Hugo Gernsback after he left 'Amazing Stories.' 'Wonder Stories' thrived in one form or another for more than thirty years, briefly rivaling even 'Astounding.' This four-hundred-plus page anthology collects ten important stories from the magazine's...

“Finally, something you all know about—this epidemic of what we’ve called convulsive accidents. Cases of mild poisoning and electric shock, with the victim suffering muscular spasms and going into a hazy and unrealistic mental state that sometimes lasts for days. There have been altogether too...

There's nothing like exciting fantasy to escape boredom. The problem is to know whether it's actually a fantasy. Dipping low and weaving in and out among the glittering towers, one might see the moving walks, the studied revolution of the giant street ventilators, hot in the winter and cool in summer,...

Fritz Leiber was a giant in the genre field. He won five Hugo Awards, three Nebula Awards, three world Fantasy Awards, and one Stoker Award, and was a Science Fiction Writers of America Grand Master. His influence on science fiction, fantasy, and horror cannot be overstated. Included in this massive...

Once upon a time in Lankhmar, City of the Black Toga, in the world of Nehwon, two years after the Year of the Feathered Death, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser parted their ways.

Three things warned the wizard’s apprentice that something was wrong: first the deep-trodden prints of iron-shod hooves along the forest path—he sensed them through his boots before stooping to feel them out in the dark; next, the eerie drone of a bee unnaturally abroad by night; and finally, a faint aromatic odor of burning.

The fog-finger touched the taut arm. Gnarlag’s sneering look turned to one of pure hate, and the muscles of his forearm seemed to double in thickness as he rotated it more than a half turn. There was a muffled snap and a gasp of anguish.

In the Plaza of Dark Delights, which lies seven blocks south of the Marsh Gate and extends from the Fountain of Dark Abundance to the Shrine of the Black Virgin, the shop-lights glinted upward no more brightly than the stars glinted down. For there the vendors of drugs and the peddlers of curiosa...

“I, the Mind Spider as you name me—the deathless one, the eternally exiled, the eternally imprisoned—or so his overconfident enemies suppose—coming in.”

This is the story of a beautiful woman. And of a monster. It is also the story off our silly, selfish, culture-bound inhabitants of the planet Earth. Es, who was something of an artist. Gene, who studied atoms—and fought the world and himself. Louis, who philosophized. And Larry—that’s my name—who tried to write books.

“Now and then Mrs. Groener used to scream,” the big man explained, “when she’d been drinking heavily I’d leave the bedroom. It may have been a rebuke or summons to me, or a fighting challenge to the whiskey bottle, or simply an expression of her rather dark evaluation of life. But it had never meant anything more real than that—until tonight.”