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Updated: May 19, 2025
As he stood leaning on a staff half bent, his long, yellow bony fingers clasped over the crutch-head of his stick, he was indeed a picture of misery, famine, squalor, and premature age, too horrible to dwell upon. I made him sit down, sent for some refreshment which he devoured like a ghoul, and set to work to unravel his story.
But that Heathcliff is wholly inhuman "a ghoul, an afreet" I cannot really see. Emily's psychology here is perforce half on the unearthly plane; it is above our criticism, lending itself to no ordinary tests.
The people are all ghouls, and everything is ghostly. Everything is a ghoulish replica of the real world, a replica, a ghoul, all soiled, everything sordid. It's like being mad, Ursula. The sisters were crossing a black path through a dark, soiled field.
Occasionally we meet a passing miner. Grasping his ponderous tools, he flits by like a phantom; even in the momentary glance, we can perceive how livid his sunless labor has left him; he is blanched as a ghoul, and moves as noiselessly, with feather-light step.
I had no sooner pronounced these words than Ameeneh, who perceived that I had discovered her last night's horrid voraciousness with the ghoul, flew into a rage beyond imagination. Her face became as red as scarlet, her eyes ready to start out of her head, and she foamed with passion.
The hermit tilted his beard and laughed a laugh that was either the chatter of a banshee in a storm or the rattle of pebbles in a tin box. His visitors' flesh seemed ready to drop from their bones. They huddled together and cast fearful eyes over their shoulders. They whispered. "A vampire!" said one. "A ghoul!" said another. "A Druid before the sacrifice," murmured another.
I have even refused to dispense the sacrament to him unless he relented, but I might as well have expended my energies on The Ghoul Rock out there at the opening to the Bay." "But he professes to be a good Christian, Mr. Auld," I put in. "Yes! and no man on the coast tries to live a good life more than he does.
It is a ghoul, it haunts his dreams, this image, with its hateful conclusions. And yet he cannot get free. As long as a man lives he may, in his dreams of passion or conflict, be haunted by the mother-image or sister-image, even when he knows that the cause of the disturbing dream is the wife.
He stretched out both hands toward the mountaineer, his fingers hooked and shaking. "Go, you ghoul! Even a Ch-Chinaman protects the g-graves of his ancestors go!" The squirrel hunter slouched out of the door to his carryall. While he was climbing over the wheel Goree was collecting, with feverish celerity, the money that had fallen from his hand to the floor.
Cairn quietly, "the strain came from Mirza, the sorceress. What of her?" Lord Lashmore's eyes shone feverishly. "How do you know that she was a sorceress?" he asked, hoarsely. "These are family secrets." "They will remain so," Dr. Cairn answered. "But my studies have gone far, and I know that Mirza, wife of the third Baron Lashmore, practised the Black Art in life, and became after death a ghoul.
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