When a mysterious houseboat appears on the river Styx, it brings an influx of famous souls who begin to flock towards the new favored location. A House-Boat on the Styx is a series of different stories that tie into one exciting narrative. Charon is a mythological character who navigates the Styx river under the guidance of Hades. The water acts as a border between the living world and the afterlife. As a ferryman, Charon transports deceased souls across the river into the underworld. When a new houseboat suddenly arrives, he fears his services are no longer needed. The lost souls are drawn to the boat and begin to mingle in its many rooms. Its inhabitants include a variety of notable people from history and popular folklore. A House-Boat on the Styx is a fantasy novel that's set in the supernatural realm. It features familiar figures from the past and present (up to 1895) who meet in a shared space. It's filled with interactions that are humorous, intriguing and more importantly, entertaining. With an eye-catching new cover, and professionally typeset manuscript, this edition of A House-Boat on the Styx is both modern and readable.

If we could only get used to the idea that ghosts are perfectly harmless creatures, who are powerless to affect our well-being unless we assist them by giving way to our fears, we should enjoy the supernatural exceedingly, it seems to me. Coleridge, I think it was, was once asked by a lady if he believed in ghosts, and he replied, "No, madame; I have seen too many of them." Which is my case exactly. I have seen so many horrid visitants from other worlds that they hardly affect me at all, so far as the mere inspiration of terror is concerned. On the other hand, they interest me hugely; and while I must admit that I do experience all the purely physical sensations that come from horrific encounters of this nature, I can truly add in my own behalf that mentally I can rise above the physical impulse to run away, and, invariably standing my ground, I have gained much useful information concerning them.

The trouble with Harrowby Hall was that it was haunted, and, what was worse, the ghost did not content itself with merely appearing at the bedside of the afflicted person who saw it, but persisted in remaining there for one mortal hour before it would disappear. It never appeared except on Christmas Eve, and then as the clock was striking twelve, in which respect alone was it lacking in that originality which in these days is a sine qua non of success in spectral life. The owners of Harrowby Hall had done their utmost to rid themselves of the damp and dewy lady who rose up out of the best bedroom floor at midnight, but without avail. They had tried stopping the clock, so that the ghost would not know when it was midnight; but she made her appearance just the same, with that fearful miasmatic personality of hers, and there she would stand until everything about her was thoroughly saturated.