- · The Horror from the Hills · na Weird Tales Jan ’31 (+1)
- · The Flame of Life · ss Future Jun ’59
- · Giant in the Forest · ss Science Fiction Quarterly Feb ’55
- · The Spiral Intelligence · ss Science Fiction Plus Jun ’53
- · The World of Wulkins · nv Thrilling Wonder Stories Apr ’48
- · The Man with a Thousand Legs · nv Weird Tales Aug ’27
- · Guest in the House · ss Astounding Mar ’46
- · The Trap · ss Astounding May ’45
- · Fuzzy Head · ss Thrilling Wonder Stories Dec ’48
- · The House of Rising Winds · ss Startling Stories May ’48
- · Mr. Caxton Draws a Martian Bird · ss Fantastic Universe Jul ’54
- · · The Cottage · ss Fantastic Universe Sep ’54
- · The Man from Time · ss Fantastic Universe Mar ’54
- · Preview · vi Fantastic Universe Jan ’56
- · Lesson in Survival · ss Thrilling Wonder Stories Dec ’52
- · Good to Be a Martian · ss Fantastic Universe Feb ’55
- · Filch · ss Astounding Mar ’45
- · The Spectacles · vi Fantastic Universe Apr ’56
- · Man of Distinction · ss Fantastic Universe Nov ’54
- · The Great Cold · ss Astounding Feb ’35
- · Green Glory · ss Astounding Jan ’35
- · The Last Men · ss Astounding Aug ’34
Long died on January 3, 1994 at the age of 92, survived by his wife, Lyda. Due to his poverty, he was interred in a potter's field for indigents. Friends and colleagues, on learning of this indignity, had his remains moved and reinterred at New York City's Woodlawn Cemetery, in a family plot near that of Lovecraft's grandparents. Despite a seven-decade career as a writer, he had died impoverished after many years living in the Chelsea District of Manhattan; Long's fans contributed over $3000 to have his name engraved upon the tombstone of his family plot.
"Forgive me." he cried. "I did not mean to offend you. You have a superlative intellect, but I—I have a superhuman one. It is only natural that I should be aware of your limitations."
"They are lean and athirst!" he shrieked. "The Hounds of Tindalos!"
"When I awake I may be able to supply the key to whatever is mysterious or incredible. I am not sure that I shall succeed, but if I do succeed"- his eyes were strangely luminous- "time will exist for me no longer!"
"It is growing dark in the room. I must phone Frank. But can he get here in time? I will try. I will recite the Einstein formula. I will—God. they are breaking through! They are breaking through! Smoke is pouring from the coiners of the wall 'Their tongues—ahhhhh—"
Through great banks of fog we moved, and every moment the screams grew louder. Soon we were catching fragments of sentences, hysterical shoutings that merged into prolonged wails. "Colder and colder and colder . . . they are eating up my brain. Colder! Ah-h-h!"
Howard gripped my arm. "We'll find him," he said. "We can't turn back now."
When we found him he was lying on his side. His hands were clasped about his head, and his body was bent double, the knees drawn up so tightly that they almost touched his chest. He was silent. We bent and shook him, but he made no sound.
"Is he dead?" I choked out. I wanted desperately to turn and run. The trees were very close to us.
"I don't know," said Howard. "I don't know. I hope that he is dead."
"Can you walk, Wells? Can you walk?"
Howard had dropped Wells's legs, and I could hear the harsh intake of his breath as he struggled to rid himself of his slicker.
"I think so," Wells sobbed. "But it doesn't matter. It's got me now. Put me down and save yourselves."
"We've got to run!" I yelled.
"It's our one chance," cried Howard. "Wells, you follow us. Follow us, do you understand? They'll burn up your brain if they catch you. We're going to run, lad. Follow us!"