Stories by Ray Bradbury. The full list

 


ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRST

UVWYZЛ

Dark Carnival, 1947

The Illustrated Man, 1951

The Golden Apples of the Sun, 1953

The October Country, 1955

A Medicine For Melancholy, 1959

R Is For Rocket, 1962

The Machineries of Joy, 1964

The Vintage Bradbury, 1965

S Is For Space, 1966

I Sing the Body Electric, 1969

Long After Midnight, 1976

The Stories of Ray Bradbury, 1980

A Memory of Murder, 1984

The Toynbee Convector, 1988

Quicker Than The Eye, 1996

Driving Blind, 1997

One More for the Road, 2002

Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales, 2003

The Cat's Pajamas, 2004

Summer Morning, Summer Night, 2007

Masks, 2008

Сборник редких рассказов, 2009

We'll always have Paris, 2009

We Are the Carpenters of an Invisible Cathedral, 2016

Uncollected

Tête-à-Tête, 2002


We were walking along the boardwalk in Ocean Park one summer evening, arm in arm, my friend Sid and me, when we saw a familiar sight on one of the benches just ahead, not far from the surf.

"Look," I said, "and listen."

We looked and listened.

There was this old Jewish couple, he I would say about seventy and she maybe sixty-five, moving their mouths and hands at the same time, everyone talking, nobody listening.

"I told you more than once," he said.

"What did you tell? Nothing!" she said.

Leave a comment

Tangerine, 2002


Leave a comment

The Terrible Conflagration up at the Place, 1969


Leave a comment

That Bird that Comes out of the Clock, 1997


Leave a comment

That Old Dog Lying in the Dust, 1997


Leave a comment

That Woman on the Lawn, 1996


Very late at night he heard the weeping on the lawn in front of his house. It was the sound of a woman crying. By its sound he knew it was not a girl or a mature woman, but the crying of someone eighteen or nineteen years old. It went on, then faded and stopped, and again started up, now moving this way or that on the late-summer wind.

He lay in bed listening to it until it made his eyes fill with tears. He turned over, shut his eyes, let the tears fall, but could not stop the sound. Why should a young woman be weeping long after midnight out there?

Leave a comment

There Was an Old Woman, 1944


"No, there's no lief arguin'. I got my mind fixed. Run along with your silly wicker basket. Land, where you ever get notions like that? You just skit out of here; don't bother me, I got my tattin' and knittin' to do, and no never minds about tall, dark gentlemen with fangled ideas."

The tall, dark young man stood quietly, not moving. Aunt Tildy hurried on with her talk.

"You _heard_ what I said! If you got a mind to talk to me, well, you can talk, but meantime I hope you don't mind if I pour myself coffee. There. If you'd been more polite, I'd offer you some, but you jump in here high and mighty and you never rapped on the door or nothin'. You think you own the place."

Leave a comment

There Will Come Soft Rains (из "Марсианских хроник"), ?


Leave a comment

They Knew What They Wanted, 1954


Leave a comment

They Never Got Mad, 2008


Leave a comment

The Thing at the Top of the Stairs, 1988


Leave a comment

The Third Expedition (из "Марсианских хроник"), ?


Leave a comment

Thunder in the Morning, 1997


Leave a comment

Time in Thy Flight, 1953


Leave a comment

The Time Machine (из "Вина из одуванчиков"), ?


Leave a comment

The Time of Going Away, 1956


Leave a comment

To the Chicago Abyss, 1963


Leave a comment

The Tombling Day, 1952


Read comments (1)

Leave a comment

The Tombstone, 1945


Leave a comment

Tomorrow and Tomorrow, 1943


Leave a comment

Tomorrow's Child, 1948


He did not want to be the father of a small blue pyramid. Peter Horn hadn't planned it that way at all. Neither he nor his wife imagined that such a thing could happen to them. They had talked quietly for days about the birth of their coming child, they had eaten normal foods, slept a great deal, taken in a few shows, and, when it was time for her to fly in the helicopter to the hospital, her husband held her and kissed her.

"Honey, you'll be home in six hours," he said. "These new birth-mechanisms do everything but father the child for you."

Leave a comment

A Touch of Petulance, 1980


Leave a comment

Touched with Fire, 1954


They stood in the blazing sunlight for a long while, looking at the bright faces of their old-fashioned railroad watches, while the shadows tilted beneath them, swaying, and the perspiration ran out under their porous summer hats. When they uncovered their heads to mop their lined and pinkened brows, their hair was white and soaked through, like something that had been out of the light for years. One of the men commented that his shoes felt like two loaves of baked bread and then, sighing warmly, added:

Leave a comment

The Town Where No One Got Off, 1958


Crossing the continental United States by night, by day, on the train, you flash past town after wilderness town where nobody ever gets off. Or rather, no person who doesn't belong, no person who hasn't roots in these country graveyards ever bothers to visit their lonely stations or attend their lonely views.

I spoke of this to a fellow-passenger, another salesman like myself, on the Chicago-Los Angeles train as we crossed Iowa.

"True," he said. "People get off in Chicago, everyone gets off there. People get off in New York, get off in Boston, get off in L.A. People who don't live there go there to see and come back to tell. But what tourist ever just got off at Fox Hill, Nebraska, to look at it? You? Me? No! I don't know anyone, got no business there, it's no health resort, so why bother?"

Leave a comment

The Toynbee Convector, 1984


Leave a comment

The Transformation, 1948


Leave a comment

Trapdoor, 1985


Leave a comment

The Traveller, 1946


Leave a comment

Triangle, 1951


Leave a comment

The Troll, 1950


Leave a comment

The Trolley (из "Вина из одуванчиков"), ?


Leave a comment

The Trunk Lady, 1944


Leave a comment

The Twilight Greens, 2009


Leave a comment

Tyrannosaurus Rex, 1962


He opened a door on darkness. A voice cried, "Shut it!" It was like a blow in the face. He jumped through. The door banged. He cursed himself quietly. The voice, with dreadful patience, intoned, "Jesus. You Terwilliger?"

"Yes," said Terwilliger. A faint ghost of screen haunt-ed the dark theatre wall to his right. To his left, a cigarette wove fiery arcs in the air as someone's lips talked swiftly around it.

"You're five minutes late!"

Don't make it sound like five years, thought Terwilliger. "Shove your film in the projection room door. Let's move."

Leave a comment