 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. THE BEAST WITH FIVE FINGERS by William F. Harvey When I was a little boy, I once went with my father to call on Adrian Borlesover. I played on the floor with a black spaniel while my father appealed for a subscription. Just before we left my father said, Mr. Borlesover, may my son here shake hands with you? It will be a thing to look back upon with pride when he grows to be a man. I came up to the bed on which the old man was lying and put my hand in his, awed by the still beauty of his face. He spoke to me kindly and hoped that I should always try to please my father. Then he placed his right hand on my head and asked for a blessing to rest upon me. Amen, said my father, and I followed him out of the room, feeling as if I wanted to cry. But my father was in excellent spirits. That old gentleman Jim, said he, is the most wonderful man in the whole town. For ten years he has been quite blind. But I saw his eyes, I said. They were ever so black and shiny, they weren't shut up like Norris Puppies. Can't he see it all? And so I learnt for the first time that a man might have eyes that looked dark and beautiful and shining without being able to see. Just like Mrs. Tomlinson has big ears, I said, and can't hear it all except when Mr. Tomlinson shouts. Jim, said my father, it's not right to talk about a lady's ears. Remember what Mr. Borelsover said about pleasing me and being a good boy. That was the only time I saw Adrian Borelsover. I soon forgot about him and the hand which he laid in blessing on my head. But for a week I prayed that those dark, tender eyes might see. His spaniel may have puppies, I said in my prayers, and he will never be able to see how funny they look with their eyes all closed up. Please, let old Mr. Borelsover see. Adrian Borelsover, as my father had said, was a wonderful man. He came of an eccentric family. Borelsover's sons, for some reason, always seemed to marry very ordinary women, which perhaps accounted for the fact that no Borelsover had been a genius and only one Borelsover had been mad. But they were great champions of little causes, generous patrons of odd sciences, founders of careless sex, trustworthy guides to the by-path meadows of erudition. Adrian was an authority on the fertilization of orchids. He had held at one time the family living at Borelsover Conyers, until the congenital weakness of the lungs obliged him to seek a less rigorous climate in the sunny South Coast watering-place where I had seen him. Occasionally he would relieve one or other of the local clergy. My father described him as a fine preacher, who gave long and inspiring sermons from what many men would have considered unprofitable texts. An excellent proof, he would add, of the truth of the doctrine of direct verbal inspiration. Adrian Borelsover was exceedingly clever with his hands. His penmanship was exquisite. He illustrated all his scientific papers, made his own woodcuts, and carved the rear-dose that is at present the chief feature of interest in the church at Borelsover Conyers. He had an exceedingly clever knack in cutting silhouettes for young ladies, and paper pigs and cows for little children, and made more than one complicated wind instrument of his own devising. When he was fifty years old, Adrian Borelsover lost his sight. In a wonderfully short time he had adapted himself to the new conditions of life. He quickly learned to read braille, so marvellous indeed was his sense of touch that he was still able to maintain his interest in botany. The mere passing of his long, supple fingers over a flower was sufficient means for its identification, though occasionally he would use his lips. I have found several letters of his among my father's correspondence. In no case was there anything to show that he was afflicted with blindness and this in spite of the fact that he exercised undue economy in the spacing of lines. Towards the close of his life the old man was credited with powers of touch that seemed almost uncanny. It has been said that he could tell at once the color of a ribbon placed between his fingers. My father would neither confirm nor deny the story. Adrian Borelsover was a bachelor. His elder brother George had married late in life, leaving one son, Eustis, who lived in the gloomy Georgian mansion at Borelsover Conyers, where he could work undisturbed in collecting material for his great book on heredity. Like his uncle he was a remarkable man. The Borelsovers had always been born naturalists, but Eustis possessed in a special degree the power of systematizing his knowledge. He had received his university education in Germany, and then, after postgraduate work in Vienna and Naples, had traveled for four years in South America and the East, getting together a huge store of material for a new study into the processes of variation. He lived alone at Borelsover Conyers, with Saunders, his secretary, a man who bore a somewhat dubious reputation in the district, but whose powers as a mathematician, combined with his business abilities, were invaluable to Eustis. Uncle and nephew saw little of each other. The visits of Eustis were confined to a week in the summer or autumn, long weeks that dragged almost as slowly as the bath chair in which the old man was drawn along the sunny sea front. In their way the two men were fond of each other, though their intimacy would doubtless have been greater had they shared the same religious views. Adrian held to the old-fashioned evangelical dogmas of his early manhood. His nephew, for many years, had been thinking of embracing Buddhism. Both men possessed, too, the reticence the Borelsovers had always shown, and which their enemies sometimes called hypocrisy. With Adrian it was a reticence as to the things he had left undone, but with Eustis it seemed that the curtain which he was so careful to leave undrawn hid something more than a half-empty chamber. Two years before his death, Adrian Borelsover developed, unknown to himself, the not uncommon power of automatic writing. Eustis made the discovery by accident. Adrian was sitting reading in bed, the forefinger of his left hand tracing the braille characters, when his nephew noticed that a pencil the old man held in his right hand was moving slowly along the opposite page. He left his seat in the window and sat down beside the bed. The right hand continued to move, and now he could see plainly that they were letters and words which it was forming. Adrian Borelsover wrote the hand. Eustis Borelsover. George Borelsover. Francis Borelsover. Sigismund Borelsover. Adrian Borelsover. Eustis Borelsover. B for Borelsover. Honesty is the best policy. Beautiful Belinda Borelsover. What a curious nonsense, said Eustis to himself. King George III ascended the throne in 1760, wrote the hand. Crowd, a noun of multitude, a collection of individuals. Adrian Borelsover. Eustis Borelsover. It seems to me, said his uncle, closing the book, that you had better make the most of the afternoon sunshine and take your walk now. I think perhaps I will, Eustis answered as he picked up the volume. I won't go far, and when I come back I can read to you those articles in nature about which we were speaking. He went along the promenade, but stopped at the first shelter, and seating himself in the corner best protected from the wind, he examined the book at leisure. Nearly every page was scored with a meaningless jungle of pencil marks, rows of capital letters, short words, long words, complete sentences, copy book tags. The whole thing, in fact, had the appearance of a copy book, and on a more careful scrutiny, Eustis thought that there was ample evidence to show that the handwriting at the beginning of the book, good though it was, was not nearly so good as the handwriting at the end. He left his uncle at the end of October, with a promise to return in early December. It seemed to him quite clear that the old man's power of automatic writing was developing rapidly, and for the first time he looked forward to a visit that combined duty with interest. But on his return he was at first disappointed. His uncle, he thought, looked older. He was listless, too, preferring others to read to him, and dictating nearly all his letters. Not until the day before he left had Eustis an opportunity of observing Adrian Borsilver's newfound faculty. The old man, propped up in bed on pillows, had sunk into a light sleep. His two hands lay on the coverlet, his left hand tightly clasping his right. Eustis took an empty manuscript book and placed a pencil within reach of the fingers of the right hand. They snatched at it eagerly, then dropped the pencil to unloose the left hand from its restraining grasp. Perhaps to prevent interference I had better hold that hand, said Eustis to himself as he watched the pencil. Almost immediately it began to write. Blundering Borsilver's, unnecessarily unnatural, extraordinarily eccentric, culpably curious. Who are you, haste Eustis in a low voice? Never you mind, wrote the hand of Adrian. Is it my uncle who is writing? Oh, my prophetic soul, my uncle. Is it anyone I know? Silly Eustis, you'll see me very soon. When shall I see you? When poor old Adrian's dead. Where shall I see you? Where shall you not? Instead of speaking his next question, Borsilver wrote it. What is the time? The fingers dropped the pencil and moved three or four times across the paper. Then, picking up the pencil, they wrote, Ten minutes before four. Put your book away, Eustis. Adrian mustn't find us working at this sort of thing. He doesn't know what to make of it, and I won't have poor old Adrian disturbed. Au revoir. Adrian Borsilver awoke with a start. I've been dreaming again, he said. Such queer dreams of leagued cities and forgotten towns. You were mixed up in this one, Eustis, though I can't remember how. Eustis, I want to warn you. Don't walk in doubtful paths. Choose your friends well. You are poor grandfather. A fit of coughing put an end to what he was saying, but Eustis saw that the hand was still writing. He managed unnoticed to draw the book away. I'll light the gas, he said, and ring for tea. On the other side of the bed curtain he saw the last sentences that had been written. It's too late, Adrian, he read. We are friends already. Aren't we Eustis Borsilver? On the following day Eustis Borsilver left. He thought his uncle looked ill when he said goodbye, and the old man spoke despondently of the failure his life had been. Nonsense, uncle, said his nephew. You have got over your difficulties in a way not one in a hundred thousand would have done. Everyone marvels at your splendid perseverance in teaching your hand to take the place of your lost sight. To me it's been a revelation of the possibilities of education. Education, said his uncle dreamily, as if the word had started a new train of thought. Education is good, so long as you know to whom and for what purpose you give it. But with the lower orders of men, the base and more sordid spirits, I have grave doubts as to its results. Well, goodbye, Eustis, I may not see you again. You are a true Borsilver, with all the Borsilver faults. Marry, Eustis, marry some good sensible girl, and if by any chance I don't see you again, my will is at my solicitors. I have not left you any legacy because I know you're well provided for, but I thought you might like to have my books. Oh, and there's just one other thing. You know, before the end, people often lose control over themselves and make absurd requests. Don't pay any attention to them, Eustis. Goodbye. And he held out his hand. Eustis took it. It remained in his a fraction of a second longer than he had expected and gripped him with a virility that was surprising. There was, too, in its touch, a subtle sense of intimacy. Why, Uncle, he said, I shall see you alive and well for many long years to come. Two months later, Adrian Borsilver died. Eustis Borsilver was in Naples at the time. He read the obituary notice in the morning post on the day announced for the funeral. Poor old fellow, he said, I wonder where I shall find room for all his books. The question occurred to him again with greater force when three days later he found himself standing in the library at Borsilver Conyers, a huge room built for use, and not for beauty, in the year of Waterloo by a Borsilver who was an ardent admirer of the great Napoleon. It was arranged in the plan of many college libraries, with tall, projecting bookcases forming deep recesses of dusty silence, fit graves for the old hates of forgotten controversy, the dead passions of forgotten lives. At the end of the room, behind the bust of some unknown 18th-century divine, an ugly iron corkscrew stair led to a shelf-lined gallery. Nearly every shelf was full. I must talk to Saunders about it, said Eustace. I suppose that it will be necessary to have the billiard room fitted up with bookcases. The two men met for the first time after many weeks in the dining-room that evening. Hello, said Eustace, standing before the fire with his hands in his pockets. How goes the world, Saunders? Why these dress-togs? He himself was wearing an old shooting-jacket. He did not believe in mourning, as he had told his uncle on his last visit, and though he usually went in for quiet-colored ties, he wore this evening one of an ugly red, in order to shock Morton the butler, and to make them thrash out the whole question of mourning for themselves in the servants-hall. Eustace was a true boral-sovere. The world, said Saunders, goes the same as usual, confoundedly slow. These dress-togs were accounted for by an invitation from Captain Lockwood to Bridge. How are you getting there? I've told your coachman to drive me in your carriage. Any objection? Oh, dear me, no! We've had all things in common for far too many years for me to raise objections at this hour of the day. You'll find your correspondence in the library, went on, Saunders. Most of it I've seen to. There are a few private letters I haven't opened. There's also a box with a rat or something inside it that came by the evening post. Very likely it's the six-toed albino. I didn't look because I didn't want to mess up my things, but I should gather from the way it's jumping about that it's pretty hungry. Oh, I'll see to it, said Eustace, while you and the Captain earn an honest penny. Dinner over, and Saunders gone, Eustace went into the library. Though the fire had been lit, the room was by no means cheerful. We'll have all the lights on at any rate, he said, as he turned the switches. And Morton, he added, when the butler brought the coffee, give me a screwdriver or something to undo this box. Whatever the animal is, he's kicking up a deuce of a row. What is it? Why are you dawdling? If you please, sir, when the postman brought it, he told me that they'd bored the holes in the lid at the post office. There were no breathing holes in the lid, sir, and they didn't want the animal to die. That is all, sir. It's culpably careless of the man, whoever he was, said Eustace, as he removed the screws, packing an animal like this in a wooden box with no means of getting air. Conn found it all. I meant to ask Morton to bring me a cage to put it in. Now I suppose I shall have to get one myself. He placed a heavy book on the lid from which the screws had been removed and went into the billiard room. As he came back into the library with an empty cage in his hand, he heard the sound of something falling, and then of something scuttling along the floor. Father it, the beast's got out. How in the world am I going to find it again in this library? To search for it did indeed seem hopeless. He tried to follow the sound of the scuttling in one of the recesses where the animal seemed to be running behind the books and the shelves, but it was impossible to locate it. Eustace resolved to go on quietly reading. Very likely the animal might gain confidence and show itself. Saunders seemed to have dealt in his usual methodical manner with most of the correspondence. There were still the private letters. What was that? Two sharp clicks and the lights in the hideous candelabra that hung from the ceiling suddenly went out. I wonder if something has gone wrong with the fuse, said Eustace, as he went to the switches by the door. Then he stopped. There was a noise at the other end of the room, as if something was crawling up the iron corkscrew stair. If it's gone into the gallery, he said, well and good. He hastily turned on the lights, crossed the room and climbed up the stair. But he could see nothing. His grandfather had placed a little gate at the top of the stair so that children could run and romp in the gallery without fear of accident. This used as closed, and having considerably narrowed the circle of his search, returned to his desk by the fire. How gloomy the library was! There was no sense of intimacy about the room. The few busts that an eighteenth-century borlesover had brought back from the grand tour might have been in keeping in the old library. Here they seemed out of place. They made the room feel cold in spite of the heavy red damask curtains and the great gilt cornices. With a crash two heavy books fell from the gallery to the floor. Then, as borlesover'd looked, another, and yet another. Very well, you'll star for this, my beauty, you said. We'll do some little experiments on the metabolism of rats deprived of water. Go on, chuck them down. I think I've got the upper hand. He returned once again to his correspondence. The letter was from the family solicitor. It spoke of his uncle's death and of the valuable collection of books that had been left to him in the will. There was one request, he read, which certainly came as a surprise to me. As you know, Mr. Adrian Borosover had left instructions that his body was to be buried in as simple a manner as possible at Eastburn. He expressed a desire that there should be neither wreaths nor flowers of any kind and hope that his friends and relatives would not consider it necessary to wear mourning. The day before his death we received a letter cancelling these instructions. He wished his body to be embalmed. He gave us the address of the man we were to employ, Penifer, Ludgate Hill, with orders that his right hand was to be sent to you, stating that it was at your special request. The other arrangements as to the funeral remained unaltered. Good Lord, said Eustis, what in the world was the old boy driving at? And what in the name of all that's holy is that? Someone was in the gallery. Someone had pulled the cord attached to one of the blinds, and it had rolled up with a snap. Someone must be in the gallery for a second blind did the same. Someone must be walking round the gallery for one after the other the blind sprang up, letting in the moonlight. I haven't got to the bottom of this yet, said Eustis, but I will do before the night is very much older. And he hurried up the corkscrew stair. He had just got to the top when the lights went out a second time, and he heard again the scuttling along the floor. Quickly he stole on tiptoe in the dim moonshine in the direction of the noise. Feeling as he went for one of the switches. His fingers touched the metal knob at last. He turned on the electric light. About ten yards in front of him, crawling along the floor, was a man's hand. Eustis stared at it in utter astonishment. It was moving quickly, in the manner of a geometre caterpillar. The fingers humped up one moment, flattened out the next. The thumb appeared to give a crab-like motion to the whole. While he was looking, too surprised to stir, the hand disappeared round the corner. Eustis ran forward. He no longer saw it, but he could hear it as it squeezed its way behind the books on one of the shelves. A heavy volume had been displaced. There was a gap in the row of books where it had got in. In his fear lest it should escape him again, he seized the first book that came to his hand and plugged it into the hole. Then, emptying two shelves of their contents, he took the wooden boards and propped them up in front to make his barrier doubly sure. I wish Saunders was back, he said. One can't tackle this sort of thing alone. It was after eleven, and there seemed little likelihood of Saunders returning before twelve. He did not dare to leave the shelf unwatched, even to run downstairs to ring the bell. Morton, the butler, often used to come round about eleven to see that the windows were all fastened, but he might not come. Eustis was thoroughly unstrong. At last he heard steps down below. Morton, he shouted, Morton! Sir, has Saunders got back yet? Not yet, sir. Well, bring me some brandy and hurry up about it. I'm up here in the gallery, you duffer. Thanks, said Eustis, as he emptied the glass. Don't go to bed yet, Morton. There are a lot of books that have fallen down by accident. Bring them up and put them back in their shelves. Morton had never seen borossover in so talkative a mood as on that night. Here, said Eustis, when the books have been put back and dusted, you might hold up these boards for me, Morton. The beasts in the box got out, and I had been chasing it all over the place. I think I can hear it shawing at the book, sir. They're not valuable, I hope. I think that's the carriage, sir. I'll go down and call Mr. Saunders. It seemed to Eustis that he was away for five minutes, but it could hardly have been more than one when he returned with Saunders. All right, Morton, you can go now. I'm up here, Saunders. What's all the row, as Saunders, as he lounged forward with his hands in his pockets? The luck had been with him all evening. He was completely satisfied, both with himself and with Captain Lockwood's taste in wines. What's the matter? You look to me to be in an absolute blue funk. That old devil of an uncle of mine began Eustis. Oh, I can't explain it all. It's his hand that's been playing old Harry all evening. But I've got it cornered behind these books. You've got to help me catch it. What's up with you, Eustis? What's the game? It's no game, you silly idiot. If you don't believe me, take out one of those books and put your hand in there and feel. All right, said Saunders, but wait till I've rolled up my sleeve. The accumulated dust of centuries, eh? He took off his coat, knelt down, and thrust his arm along the shelf. There's something there right enough, he said. It's got a funny, stumpy end to it, whatever it is, and nips like a crab. Ah, no you don't. He pulled his hand out in a flash, shoving a book quickly, now it can't get out. What was it? asked Eustis. It was something that wanted very much to get a hold of me. I thought what seemed like a thumb and forefinger. Give me some brandy. How are we to get it out of there? What about a landing net? No good. It would be too smart for us. I tell you, Saunders, it can cover the ground far faster than I can walk. But I think I see how we can manage it. The two books at the end of the shelf are big ones that go right back against the wall. The others are very thin. I'll take out one at a time and you slide the rest along until we have it squashed between the end two. It certainly seemed to be the best plan. One by one, as they took out the books, the space behind grew smaller and smaller. There was something in it that was certainly very much alive. Once they caught sight of fingers pressing outward for a way of escape. At last they had it pressed between the two big books. There's muscle there if there isn't flesh and blood, said Saunders, as he held them together. It seems to be a hand right enough too. I suppose this is a sort of infectious hallucination. I've read about such cases before. Infectious fiddlesticks, said Eustace, his face white with anger. Bring the thing downstairs. We'll get it back into the box. It was not altogether easy, but they were successful at last. Drive in the screws, said Eustace. We won't run any risks. Put the box in this old desk of mine. There's nothing in it that I want. Here's the key. Thank goodness there's nothing wrong with the lock. Quite a lively evening, said Saunders. Now let's hear more about your uncle. They sat up together until early morning. Saunders had no desire for sleep. Eustace was trying to explain, and to forget, to conceal from himself a fear that he had never felt before, the fear of walking alone down the long corridor to his bedroom. Whatever it was, said Eustace to Saunders on the following morning, I propose that we drop the subject. There's nothing to keep us here for the next ten days. We'll motor up to the lakes and get some climbing. And see nobody all day and sit bored to death with each other every night? Not for me, thanks. Why not run up to town? Runs the exact word in this case, isn't it? We're both in such a blessed funk. Pull yourself together, Eustace, and let's have another look at the hand. As you like, said Eustace, there's the key. They went into the library and opened the desk. The box was as they had left it the previous night. What are you waiting for, asked Eustace. I am waiting for you to volunteer to open the lid. However, since you seem to funk it, allow me. There doesn't seem to be any likelihood of any rumpus this morning, at all events. He opened the lid and picked out the hand. Cold, asked Eustace. Teppid, a bit below blood heat by the feel. Soft and supple, too. If it's the embalming, it's the sort of embalming I've never seen before. Is it your uncle's hand? Oh yes, it's his all right, said Eustace. I should know those long, thin fingers anywhere. Put it back in the box, Saunders. Never mind about the screws. I'll lock the desk so that there'll be no chance of it getting out. We'll compromise by motoring up to town for a week. If we get off soon after lunch, we ought to be at Grantham or Stamford by night. Right, said Saunders. And tomorrow, oh well, by tomorrow we shall have forgotten all about this beastly thing. If when the morrow came they had not forgotten, it was certainly true that at the end of the week they were able to tell a very vivid ghost story that the little supper Eustace gave on Halloween. You don't want us to believe that it's true, Mr. Borrelsover, how perfectly awful! I'll take my oath on it, and so would Saunders here, wouldn't you, old chap? Any number of oaths, said Saunders. It was a long, thin hand, you know, and it gripped me just like that. Don't, Mr. Saunders, don't! How perfectly horrid! Now, tell us another one, do only a really creepy one, please. Here's a pretty mess, said Eustace on the following day as he threw a letter across the table to Saunders. It's your affair, though. Mrs. Merritt, if I understand it, gives a month's notice. Oh, that's quite absurd on Mrs. Merritt's part, Saunders replied. She doesn't know what she's talking about. Let's see what it says. Dear sir, he read, this is to let you know that I must give you a month's notice as from Tuesday the 13th. For a long time I felt the place too big for me, but when Jane, Parfit, and Emma Laidlaw go off with scarcely as much as an if-you-please, after frightening the wits out of the other girls, so they can't turn out a room by themselves, or walk alone down the stairs for fear of treading on half-frozen toads, or hearing it run along the passages at night, all I can say is that it's no place for me. So I must ask you, Mr. Borrelsove, sir, to find a new housekeeper that has no objection to large and lonely houses, which some people do say, not that I believe them for a minute, my poor mother always having been a Wesleyan, are haunted. Yours faithfully, Elizabeth Merritt. P.S., I should be obliged if you would give my respects to Mr. Saunders. I hope that he won't run no risks with his cold. Saunders, said Eustace, you've always had a wonderful way with you in dealing with servants. You must have let poor old Merritt go. Of course she shot go, said Saunders. She's probably only angling for a rise in salary. I'll write to her this morning. No, there's nothing like a personal interview. We've had enough of town. We'll go back tomorrow, and you must work your cold for all it's worth. Don't forget that it's got onto the chest, and will require weeks of feeding up and nursing. All right, I think I can manage Mrs. Merritt. But Mrs. Merritt was more obstinate than he had thought. She was very sorry to hear of Mr. Saunders' cold and how he lay awake all night in London coughing. Very sorry indeed. She'd change his room for him gladly, and get the south room aired. And wouldn't he have a basin of hot bread and milk last thing at night? But she was afraid that she would have to leave at the end of the month. Tryer with an increase of salary, was the advice of Eustis. It was no use. Mrs. Merritt was obdurate, though she knew of a Mrs. Handyside who had been housekeeper to Lord Gargrave, who might be glad to comment the salary mentioned. What's the matter with servants, Morton? Asked Eustis that evening when he brought the coffee into the library. What's all this about Mrs. Merritt wanting to leave? If you please, sir, I was going to mention it myself. I have a confession to make, sir. When I found your note asking me to open that desk and take out the box with the rat, I broke the lock as you told me, and was glad to do it, because I could hear the animal in the box making a great noise, and I thought it wanted food. So I took out the box, sir, and got a cage, and was going to transfer it when the animal got away. What in the world are you talking about? I never wrote any such note. Excuse me, sir, it was the note I picked up here on the floor on the day you and Mr. Saunders left. I have it in my pocket now. It certainly seemed to be in Eustis's handwriting. It was written in pencil, and began somewhat abruptly. Get a hammer, Morton, you read, or some other tool, and break open the lock in the old desk in the library. Take out the box that is inside. You need not do anything else. The lid is already open. Eustis borles over. And you opened the desk? Yes, sir, and I was getting the cage ready when the animal hopped out. What animal? The animal inside the box, sir. What did it look like? Well, sir, I couldn't tell you, said Morton nervously. My back was turned, and it was halfway down the room when I looked up. What was its color, as Saunders? Black? Oh, no, sir, a grayish white. It crept along in a very funny way, sir. I don't think it had a tail. What did you do then? I tried to catch it, but it was no use. So I set the rat traps and kept the library shut. Then that girl Emma Laidlaw left the door open when she was cleaning, and I think it must have escaped. And you think it was the animal that's been frightening the maids? Well, no, sir, not quite. They said it was— You'll excuse me, sir—a hand that they saw. Emma trod on it once at the bottom of the stairs. She thought then it was a half-frozen toad, only white. And then Parfit was washing up the dishes in the scullery. She wasn't thinking about anything in particular. It was close on dusk. She was taking her hands out of the water and was drying them absent-minded like on the roller-tower when she found that she was drying someone else's hand as well, only colder than hers. What nonsense! exclaimed Saunders. Exactly, sir. That's what I told her, but we couldn't get her to stop. You don't believe all this, said Eustace, turning suddenly towards the butler. Me, sir? Oh, no, sir. I've not seen anything. Nor heard anything? Well, sir, if you must know, the bells do ring at odd times, and there's nobody there when we go. And when we go round to draw the blinds of a night, there's often as not somebody's been there before us. But, as I says to Mrs. Merritt, a young monkey might do wonderful things, and we all know that Mr. Borrelsover has had some strange animals about the place. Very well, Morton, that will do. What do you make of it, as Saunders, when they were alone? I mean of the letter he said you wrote. Oh, that's simple enough, said Eustace. See the paper it's written on? I stopped using that years ago, but there were a few odd sheets and envelopes left in the old desk. We never fastened up the lid of the box before locking it in. The hand got out, found a pencil, wrote this note, and shoved it through the crack onto the floor where Morton found it. That's plain as daylight. But the hand couldn't write. Couldn't it? You've not seen it do the things I've seen! And he told Saunders more of what had happened at Eastburn. Well, said Saunders, in that case we have had at least an explanation of the legacy. It was the hand which wrote unknown to your uncle that letter to your solicitor, bequeathing itself to you. Your uncle had no more to do with that request than I. In fact, it would seem that he had had some idea of this automatic writing and feared it. Then, if it's not my uncle, what is it? I suppose some people might say that a disembodied spirit had got your uncle to educate and prepare a little body for it, and now it's got into that little body and is off on its own. Well, what are we to do? We'll keep our eyes open, said Saunders, and try to catch it. If we can't do that we shall have to wait till the ballet clockwork runs down. After all, if it's flesh and blood it can't live forever. For two days nothing happened. Then Saunders saw it sliding down the banister in the hall. He was taken unawares and lost a full second before he started in pursuit, only to find that the thing had escaped him. Three days later, Eustace, writing alone in the library at night, saw it sitting on an open book at the other end of the room. The fingers crept over the page, feeling the print as if it were reading. But before he had time to get up from the seat, it had taken the alarm and was pulling itself up the curtains. Eustace watched it grimly as it hung on to the cornice with three fingers, flicking thumb and forefinger at him in an expression of scornful derision. I know what I'll do, he said. If I only get it into the open I'll set the dogs on to it. He spoke to Saunders of the suggestion. That's a jolly good idea, he said. Only we won't wait till we find it out of doors. We'll get the dogs. There are the two terriers and the under-keepers Irish mongrel that's on to rats like a flash. Your spaniel has not got spirit enough for this sort of game. They brought the dogs into the house, and the keepers Irish mongrel chewed up the slippers, and the terriers tripped up Morton as he waited at table. But all three were welcome. Even false security is better than no security at all. For a fortnight nothing happened. Then the hand was caught, not by the dogs, but by Mrs. Merritt's gray parrot. The bird was in the habit of periodically removing the pins that kept its seed and water tins in place, and of escaping through the holes in the side of the cage. When once at liberty Peter would show no inclination to return, and would often be about the house for days. Now, after six consecutive weeks of captivity, Peter had again discovered a new means of unloosing his bolts and was at large, exploring the tapestry forests of the curtains and singing songs in praise of liberty from cornice and picture-rail. It's no use you are trying to catch him, said Eustace to Mrs. Merritt, as she came into the study one afternoon towards dusk with a stepladder. You'd much better leave Peter alone. Starve him into surrender, Mrs. Merritt, and don't leave bananas and seed about for him to peck at when he fancies he's hungry. You're far too soft-hearted. Well, sir, I see he's right out of reach now on that picture-rail, so if you wouldn't mind closing the door, sir, when you leave the room, I'll bring his cage in to-night and put some meat inside. He's that fond of meat, though it does make him pull out his feathers to suck the quills. They do say that if you cook, never mind Mrs. Merritt, said Eustace, who was busy writing, that will do. I'll keep an eye on the bird. There was silence in the room, unbroken but for the continuous whisper of his pen. Scratch poor Peter, said the bird. Scratch poor old Peter. Be quiet, you beastly bird. Poor old Peter, scratch poor Peter, do— I'm more likely to ring your neck if I get hold of you. He looked up at the picture-rail, and there was the hand holding on to a hook with three fingers, and slowly scratching the head of the parrot with the fourth. Eustace ran to the bell and pressed it hard, then across to the window, which he closed with a bang. Frightened by the noise, the parrot shook its wings preparatory to flight, and as it did so, the fingers of the hand got hold of it by the throat. There was a shrill scream from Peter as he fluttered across the room, weaning round in circles that ever descended, born down under the weight that clung to him. The bird dropped at last quite suddenly, and Eustace saw fingers and feathers rolled into an inextricable mass on the floor. The struggle abruptly ceased as finger and thumb squeezed the neck. The bird's eyes rolled up to show the whites, and there was a faint, half-choked gurgle. But before the fingers had time to loose their hold, Eustace had them in his own. Said Mr. Saunders here at once, he said to the maid who came in to answer the bell, tell him I want him immediately. Then he went with the hand to the fire. There was a ragged gash across the back where the bird's beak had torn it, but no blood oozed from the wound. He noticed with disgust that the nails had grown long and discolored. I'll burn the beastly thing, he said, but he could not burn it. He tried to throw it into the flames, but his own hands, as if restrained by some old primitive feeling, would not let him. And so Saunders found him, pale and irresolute, with the hand still clasped tightly in his fingers. I've got it at last, he said in a tone of triumph. Good! Let's have a look at it. Not when it's loose. Get me some nails and a hammer and a board of some sort. Can you hold it all right? Yes, the thing's quite limp, tired out with throttling poor old Peter, I should say. And now, said Saunders, when he returned with the things, what are we going to do? Drive a nail through it at first so that it can't get away, then we can take our time over examining it. Do it yourself, said Saunders. I don't mind helping you with guinea pigs occasionally when there's something to be learned, partly because I don't fear a guinea pig's revenge. This thing's different. All right, you miserable skunk! I won't forget the way you've stood by me. He took up a nail, and before Saunders had realized what he was doing, had driven it through the hand deep into the board. Oh, my ant! he giggled hysterically. Look at it now! For the hand was writhing in agonized contortions, squirming and rigging upon the nail like a worm upon the hook. Well, said Saunders, you've done it now. I'll leave you to examine it. Don't go, in Heaven's name. Cover it up, man. Cover it up. Shall a cloth over it. Here! And he pulled off the anti-macassar from the back of the chair and wrapped the board in it. Now, get the keys from my pocket and open the safe. Chuck the other things out. Oh, Lord, it's getting itself into frightful knots. And open it quick. He threw the thing in and banged the door. We'll keep it there till it dies, he said. May I burn in hell if I ever open the door of that safe again? Mrs. Merritt departed at the end of the month. Her successor certainly was more successful in the management of the servants. Early in her rule she declared that she would stand no nonsense and gossip soon withered and died. Used as borossover went back to his old way of life. Old habits crept over and covered his new experience. He was, if anything, less morose and showed a greater inclination to take his natural part in country society. I shouldn't be surprised if he marries one of these days, said Saunders. Well, I'm in no hurry for such an event. I know used as far too well for the future Mrs. Borossover to like me. It will be the same old story again. A long friendship slowly made. Marriage and a long friendship quickly forgotten. But used as Borossover did not follow the advice of his uncle and Mary. He was too fond of old slippers and tobacco. The cooking, too, under Mrs. Handyside's management was excellent. And she seemed, too, to have a heaven-sent faculty in knowing when to stop dusting. Little by little the old life resumed its old power. Then came the burglary. The man it was said broke into the house by way of the conservatory. It was really little more than an attempt, for they had only succeeded in carrying away a few pieces of plate from the pantry. The safe in the study was certainly found open and empty, but, as Mr. Borossover informed the police inspector, he had kept nothing of value in it during the last six months. Then you're lucky in getting off so easily, sir," the man replied. By the way, they have gone about their business. I should say they were experienced cracksmen. They must have caught the alarm when they were just beginning their evening's work. Yes, said Eustace. I suppose I am lucky. I have no doubt, said the inspector, that we shall be able to trace the men. I've said that they must have been old hands at the game. The way they got in and opened the safe shows that. But there's one thing that puzzles me. One of them was careless enough not to wear gloves, and I'm bothered if I know what he was trying to do. I have traced his finger marks on the new varnish on the window sashes in every one of the downstairs rooms. They are very distinct ones, too. Right hand, or left, or both, asked Eustace. Oh, right every time. That's the funny thing. He must have been a foolhardy fellow, and I'd rather think it was him that wrote that. He took a slip of paper from his pocket. That's what he wrote, sir. I've got out, used his burlesover, but I'll be back before long. Some jailbird just escaped, I suppose. It will make it all the easier for us to trace him. Do you know the writing, sir? No, said Eustace. It's not the writing of any one I know. I'm not going to stay here any longer, said Eustace to Saunders at luncheon. I've got on far better during the last six months than ever I expected, but I'm not going to run the risk of seeing that thing again. I shall go up to town this afternoon. Get Morton to put my things together and join me in the car at Brighton on the day after tomorrow. And bring the proofs of those two papers with you. We'll run over them together. How long are you going to be away? I can't say for certain, but be prepared to stay for some time. We've stuck to work pretty closely through the summer, and I for one need a holiday. I'll engage rooms at Brighton. You'll find it best to break the journey at Hitchin. I'll wire to you there at the crown to tell you the Brighton address. The house he chose at Brighton was in a terrace. He had been there before. It was kept by his old college gyp, a man of discreet silence, who was admirably partnered by an excellent cook. The rooms were on the first floor. The two bedrooms were at the back and opened out of each other. Saunders can have a smaller one, though it is the only one with a fireplace, he said. I'll stick to the larger of the two, since it's got a bathroom adjoining. I wonder what time he'll arrive with the car. Saunders came about seven, cold and cross and dirty. We'll light the fire in the dining room, said Eustis, and get Prince to unpack some of the things while we are at dinner. Oh, what were the roads like? Rotten. Swimming with mud and a beastly cold wind against us all day. And this is July. Dear old England. Yes, said Eustis, I think we might do worse than leave dear old England for a few months. They turned in soon after twelve. You oughtn't to feel cold, Saunders, said Eustis, when you can afford to sport a great cat-skin-lined coat like this. You do yourself very well, all things considered. Look at those gloves, for instance. Who could possibly feel cold when wearing them? They were far too clumsy, though, for driving. Try them on and see, and he tossed them through the door onto Eustis's bed, and went on unpacking. A minute later he heard a shrill cry of terror. Oh, Lord! he heard. It's in the glove. Quick, Saunders, quick! Then came a smacking thud. Eustis had thrown it from him. I've chucked it into the bathroom, he gasped. It's hit the wall and fallen into the bath. Come now if you want to help. Saunders, with a lighted candle in his hand, looked over the edge of the bath. There it was. Old and maimed, dumb and blind, with a ragged hole in the middle, crawling, staggering, trying to creep up the slippery sides, only to fall back, helpless. Stay there, said Saunders. I'll empty a color-box or something and we'll jam it in. It can't get out while I'm away. Yes it can, shouted Eustis. It's getting out now. It's climbing up the plug chain. No, you brute, you filthy brute, you don't. Come back, Saunders. It's getting away from me. I can't hold it. It's all slippery. Curse its claw. Shut the window, you idiot. The top, too, as well as the bottom. You utter idiot, it got out! There was the sound of something dropping onto the hard flagstones below, and Eustis fell back, painting. For a fortnight he was ill. I don't know what to make of it, the doctor said to Saunders. I can only suppose that Mr. Borelsover has suffered some great emotional shock. You had better let me send someone to help you nurse him, and by all means indulge that whim of his never to be left alone in the dark. I would keep a light burning all night if I were you. But he must have more fresh air. It's perfectly absurd this hatred of open windows. Eustis, however, would have no one with him but Saunders. I don't want the other men, he said. They'd smuggle it in somehow. I know they would. Don't worry about it, old chap. This sort of thing can't go on indefinitely. You know I saw it this time as well as you. It wasn't half so active. It won't go on living much longer, especially after that fall. I heard it hit the flags myself. As soon as you're a bit stronger we'll leave this place. Not bag and baggage, but with only the clothes on our backs, so that it won't be able to hide anywhere. We'll escape it that way. We won't give any address, and we won't have any parcel sent after us. Cheer up, Eustis. You will be well enough to leave in a day or two. The doctor says I can take you out in a chair tomorrow. What have I done, asked Eustis. Why does it come after me? I'm no worse than other men. I'm no worse than you, Saunders. You know I'm not. It was you who were at the bottom of that dirty business in San Diego, and that was fifteen years ago. It's not that, of course, said Saunders. We are in the twentieth century, and even the Parsons have dropped the idea of your old sins finding you out. Before you caught the hand in the library it was filled with pure malevolence, to you and all mankind. After you spiked it through with that nail it naturally forgot about other people and concentrated its attention on you. It was shut up in the safe, you know, for nearly six months. That gives plenty of time for thinking of revenge. Eustis Borelsover would not leave his room, but he thought there might be something in Saunders' suggestion to leave Brighton without notice. He began rapidly to regain his strength. We'll go on the first of September, he said. The evening of August 31st was oppressively warm. Though at midday the windows had been wide open, they had been shut an hour or so before dusk. Mrs. Prince had long since ceased to wonder at the strange habits of the gentlemen on the first floor. Soon after their arrival she had been told to take down the heavy window curtains in the two bedrooms, and day by day the rooms had seemed to grow more bare. Nothing was left lying about. Mr. Borelsover doesn't like to have any place where dirt can collect, Saunders had said as an excuse. He likes to see into all the corners of the room. Couldn't I open the window just a little, he said to Eustis that evening? We're simply roasting in here, you know. No, leave well alone. We're not a couple of boarding school misses fresh from a course of hygiene lectures. Get the chessboard out. They sat down and played. At ten o'clock Mrs. Prince came to the door with a note. I am sorry I didn't bring it before, she said, but it was left in the letter box. Open it, Saunders, and see if it wants answering. It was very brief. There was neither a dress nor signature. Will eleven o'clock tonight be suitable for our last appointment? Who is it from, asked Borelsover. It was meant for me, said Saunders. There's no answer, Mrs. Prince, and he put the paper into his pocket. A dunning letter from a tailor. I suppose he must have got wind of our leaving. It was a clever lie, and Eustis asked no more questions. They went on with their game. On the landing outside Saunders could hear the grandfather's clock whispering the seconds, blurting out the quarter hours. Check, said Eustis. The clock struck eleven. At the same time there was a gentle knocking on the door. It seemed to come from the bottom panel. Who's there? asked Eustis. There was no answer. Mrs. Prince, is that you? She's up above, said Saunders. I can hear her walking about the room. Then locked the door, bolted to. Your move, Saunders. While Saunders sat with his eyes on the chessboard, Eustis walked over to the window and examined the fastenings. He did the same in Saunders's room, and the bathroom. There were no doors between the three rooms, or he would have shut and locked them too. Now Saunders, he said, don't stay all night over your move. I've had time to smoke one cigarette already. It's bad to keep an invalid waiting. There's only one possible thing for you to do. What was that? The ivy blowing against the window. There, it's your move now, Eustis. It wasn't the ivy, you idiot. It was someone tapping at the window, and he pulled up the blind. On the outer side of the window, clinging to the sash, was the hand. What is that that it's holding? It's a pocket knife. It's going to try to open the window by pushing back the fastener with the blade. Well, let it try, said Eustis. Those fasteners screw down. They can't be opened that way. Anyhow, we'll close the shutters. It's your move, Saunders. I've played. But Saunders found it impossible to fix his attention on the game. He could not understand Eustis, who seemed all at once to have lost his fear. What do you say to some wine, he asked. You seem to be taking things coolly. But I don't mind confessing that I am in a blessed funk. You've no need to be. There's nothing supernatural about that hand, Saunders. I mean it seems to be governed by the laws of time and space. It's not the sort of thing that vanishes into thin air or slides through open doors. And since that's so, I defy it to get in here. We'll leave the place in the morning. I, for one, have bottomed the depths of fear. Fill your glass, man. The windows are all shuttered, the door is locked and bolted. Pledge me, my Uncle Adrian. Drink, man. What are you waiting for? Saunders was standing with his glass half-raised. It can get in, he said hoarsely. It can get in. We've forgotten. There's the fireplace in my bedroom. It will come down the chimney. Quick, said Eustis as he rushed into the other room. We haven't a minute to lose. What can we do? Light the fire, Saunders. Give me a match. Quick. They must be all in the other room. I'll get them. Hurry, man, for goodness' sake. Look in the bookcase. Look in the bathroom. Here come and stand here. I'll look. Be quick, shouted Saunders. I can hear something. Then plug a sheet from your bed up the chimney. No. Here's a match. He found one at last that had slipped into a crack in the floor. Is the fire laid? Good. But it may not burn. I know. The oil from that old reading lamp and this cotton wool. Now the match. Quick. Pull the sheet away, you fool. We don't want it now. There was a great roar from the grate as the flames shot up. Saunders had been a fraction of a second too late with the sheet. The oil had fallen onto it. It, too, was burning. The whole place will be on fire, cried Eustis as he tried to beat out the flames with a blanket. It's no good. I can't manage it. You must open the door, Saunders, and get help. Saunders ran to the door and fumbled with the bolts. The key was stiff in the lock. Hurry! shouted Eustis. The whole place is ablaze! The key turned in the lock at last. For half a second Saunders stopped to look back. Afterwards he could never be quite sure as to what he had seen. But at the time he thought that something black and charred was creeping slowly. Very slowly from the mass of flames towards Eustis borels over. For a moment he thought of returning to his friend. But the noise and the smell of the burning sent him running down the passage crying, Fire! Fire! He rushed to the telephone to summon help and then back to the bathroom. He should have thought of that before for water. As he burst open the bedroom door there came a scream of terror which ended suddenly. And then the sound of a heavy fall. This is the story which I heard on successive Saturday evenings from the senior mathematical master at a second-rate suburban school. For Saunders has had to earn a living in a way which other men might reckon less congenial than his old manner of life. I had mentioned by chance the name of Adrian Borelsover and wondered at the time why he changed the conversation with such unusual abruptness. A week later Saunders began to tell me something of his own story. Sore did enough, though shielded with reserve I could well understand, for it had to cover not only his failings but those of a dead friend. Of the final tragedy he was at first especially loath to speak, and it was only gradually that I was able to piece together the narrative of the preceding pages. Saunders was reluctant to draw any conclusions. At one time he thought that the fingered beast had been animated by the spirit of Sigismund Borelsover, a sinister 18th-century ancestor who, according to legend, built and worshipped in the ugly pagan temple that overlooked the lake. At another time Saunders believed the spirit belonged to a man whom Eustace had once employed as a laboratory assistant. A black-haired, spiteful little brute, he said, who died cursing his doctor because the fellow couldn't help him to live to settle some paltry score with Borelsover. From the point of view of direct contemporary evidence, Saunders's story is practically uncorroborated. All the letters mentioned in the narrative were destroyed, with the exception of the last note which Eustace received, or rather which he would have received had not Saunders intercepted it. That I have seen myself. The handwriting was thin and shaky, the handwriting of an old man. I remember the Greek E was used in appointment. A little thing that amused me at the time was that Saunders seemed to keep the note pressed between the pages of his Bible. I had seen Adrian Borelsover once. Saunders I'd learnt to know well. It was by chance, however, and not by design, that I met a third person of the story, Morton the Butler. Saunders and I were walking in the zoological gardens one Sunday afternoon when he called my attention to an old man who was standing before the door of the reptile house. Why, Morton, he said, clapping him on the back. How is the world treating you? Poorly, Mr. Saunders said the old fellow, though his face lighted up at the greeting. The winters drag terribly nowadays. They don't seem no summers or springs. You haven't found what you're looking for, I suppose. No, sir, not yet. But I shall do some day. I always told them that Mr. Borelsover kept some queer animals. And what is he looking for, I asked, when we parted from him. A beast with five fingers, said Saunders. This afternoon, since he has been in the reptile house, I suppose it will be a reptile with a hand. Next week it will be a monkey with practically no body. The poor old chap is a born materialist. It's a queer coincidence, by the way, that you should have known, Adrian Borelsover, that you should have received a blessing at his hand. Has it brought you any luck? No, I answered slowly, as I looked back over a life of inconspicuous failure. I don't think it has. It was his right hand, you know. End of The Beast with Five Fingers by William F. Harvey This recording is in the public domain. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Captain Murderer, an excerpt from the Uncommercial Traveler, Chapter 15, Nurses Tales, by Charles Dickens. Read for LibriVox by Beth Peacht, at Reading, UK. The first diabolical character who intruded himself as a peaceful youth, as I called to mind that day at Dullborough, was a certain Captain Murderer. This wretch must have been an offshoot of the Bluebeard family, but I had no suspicion of the Kong Tsangwa Newdy in those times. His warning name would seem to have awakened no general prejudice against him, for he was admitted into the best society and possessed immense wealth. Captain Murderer's mission was maptrimony on the gratification of a cannibal appetite with tender brides. In the morning he always caused both sides of the way to the church to be planted with curious flowers, and when his bride said, Dear Captain Murderer, I never saw flowers like these before. What are they called? He answered, they are called Garnish for House Lamb, and laughed at his ferocious practical joke in a horrid manner, disquieting the minds of the noble bridal company with a very sharp row of teeth, then displayed for the first time. He made love in a coach in six and kept in a coach in twelve, and all his horses were milk-white horses with one red spot on the back which he caused to be hidden by the harness. For the spot would come there, though every horse was milk-white when Captain Murderer bought him, and the spot was young bride's blood. To this terrific point I am indebted for my personal experience of a shutter and cold beads in the forehead. When Captain Murderer had made an end of feasting and revelry and had dismissed the noble guests alone with his wife on the day of the month after their marriage, it was his whimsical custom to produce a golden rolling pin and a silver pie board. Now there was a special feature in the Captain's courtships that he always asked if the young lady could make pie crust, and if she couldn't by nature or education she was taught well. When the bride saw Captain Murderer produce the golden rolling pin and silver pie board she remembered this and turned up her laced silk sleeves Captain brought out a silver pie dish of immense capacity and the Captain brought out flour and butter and eggs and all things needful except the inside of the pie of the materials for the staple of the pie itself the Captain brought out none. Then said the lovely bride Dear Captain Murderer, what pie is this to be? He replied, a meat pie. Then said the lovely bride Dear Captain Murderer, I see no meat. She looked in the glass but still she saw no meat and then the Captain roared with laughter and suddenly frowning and drawing his sword bade her roll out the crust so she rolled out the crust dropping large tears upon it all the time because he was so cross and when she had lined the dish with the crust and had cut the crust already to fit the top the Captain called out I see meat in the glass and the bride looked up at the glass just in time to see the Captain cutting her head off and he chopped her in pieces and peppered her and salted her and put her in the pie and sent it to the bakers and ate it all and picked the bones Captain Murderer went on in this way prospering exceedingly until he came to choose a bride from two twin sisters and at first didn't know which to choose for though the one was fair and the other dark they were both equally beautiful but the fair twin loved him and the dark twin hated him so he chose the fair one the dark twin would have prevented the marriage if she could but she couldn't however on the night before it much suspecting Captain Murderer she stole out and climbed his garden wall and looked in at his window through a chink in the shutter and saw him having his teeth filed sharp next day she listened all day and heard him make his joke about the house lamb and that day month he had the paste rolled out cut the fair twins head off cut the pieces and peppered her and salted her and put her in the pie and sent it to the bakers and ate it all and picked the bones now the dark twin had had her suspicions much increased by the filing of the captain's teeth and again by the house lamb joke putting all things together when he gave out that her sister was dead she divined the truth and determined to be revenged so she went up to Captain Murderer's house and knocked at the knocker and pulled at the bell and came to the door and said Dear Captain Murderer, marry me next for I've always loved you and was jealous of my sister the captain took it as a compliment and made a polite answer and the marriage was quickly arranged on the night before it the bride again climbed to his window and again saw him having his teeth filed sharp at this site she laughed such a terrible laugh at the chink in the shutter that the captain's blood curdled and he said I hope nothing has disagreed with me at that she laughed again a still more terrible laugh and the shutter was opened and a search made but she was nimbly gone and there was no one next day they went to church in a coach in 12 and were married and that day month she rolled the pie crust out and Captain Murderer cut her head off and chopped her in pieces and peppered her and salted her and put her in a pie and sent it to the bakers ate it all and picked the bones but before she began to roll up the paste she had taken a deadly poison of the most awful character distilled from toad's eyes and spider's knees and Captain Murderer had hardly picked her last bone when he began to swell and to turn blue and to be all over spots and to scream and he went on swelling and turning bluer and being more all over spots and screaming until he reached from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall and then at one o'clock in the morning he blew up with a loud explosion at the sound of it the milk-white horses in the stables broke their halters and went mad and then they galloped over everybody in Captain Murderer's house beginning with a family blacksmith who had filed his teeth until the whole were dead and then they galloped away End of Captain Murderer by Charles Dickens For more information or to volunteer please visit LibreVox.org that's L-I-B-R-I-V-O-X.org Recorded by me, Glenn Halstram also known as Smoke Stack Jones Smoke Stack Jones at gmail.com You'll also find my blog at toomuchjohnson.blogspot.com The Doom that Came to Cerneth by H.P. Lovecraft There is in the land of Manara a vast still lake that is fed by no stream and out of which no stream flows Ten thousand years ago there stood by its shore the mighty city of Cerneth but Cerneth stands there no more It is told that in the immemorial years when the world was young before ever the men of Cerneth came to the land of Manara another city stood beside the lake the gravestone city of Ibb which was old as the lake itself and people with beings not pleasing to behold very odd and ugly were these beings as indeed our most beings of a world yet incoherent and rudely fashioned it is written on the brick cylinders of Catatharon that the beings of Ibb were in hue as green as the lake and the mists rise above it they had bulging eyes pouting flabby lips and curious ears and were without voice it is also written that they descended and the vast still lake and gravestone city Ibb however this may be it is certain that they worshiped a sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bacrog the great water lizard before which they danced horribly when the moon was gibbous it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek that they one day discovered fire and thereafter kindled flames on many ceremonial occasions but not much is written of these beings because they lived in very ancient times and man is young and knows little of the very ancient living things after many eons men came to the land of Menar dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks who built Ilarnek and Catatharon on the winding river I and certain tribes more hearty than the rest pushed to the border of the lake and built Cernath the hills were found in the earth not far from the great city of Ibb did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Cernath and at the beings of Ibb they marveled greatly but with their marveling was mixed hate for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk nor did they like the strange sculptures upon the gray monoliths of Ibb for why these sculptures lingered so late in the world men none can tell unless it was because the land of Menar is very still had remote for most other lands both of waking and of dream as the men of Cernath beheld more of the beings of Ibb their hate grew and it was not less because they found the beings weak and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows so one day the young warriors the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen marched against Ibb and slew all inhabitants thereof pushing the queer bodies into the lake with long spears because they did not wish to touch them and because they did not like the gray sculpture monoliths of Ibb they cast these also into the lake wandering from the greatness of the labor however the stones were brought from afar as they must have been since there is not like them in the land of Menar or in the lands adjacent thus of the very ancient city of Ibb was nothing spared save the sea green stone idle chiseled in the likeness of Bakrug the water lizard this the young warriors took back with them as a symbol of conquest over the old gods and beings of the and as the sign of leadership in Menar but on the night after it was set up in the temple a terrible thing must have happened for weird lights were seen over the lake and in the morning the people found the idle con and the high priest Tarnish lying dead as from some fear unspeakable and before he died Tarnish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysalite with core shaky strokes the sign of doom after Tarnish there were many high priests in Sarnath but never was the sea green stone idle found and many centuries came and went where in Sarnath prospered exceedingly and only priests and old women remembered but Tarnish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysalite betwixt Sarnath in the city of Alarnaghala rose a caravan root and the precious metals from the earth were exchanged for other metals and rare cloths and jewels and books and tools for artificers and all things of luxury that are known to people who dwell along the winding river I and beyond so Sarnath waxed mighty and beautiful and set forth conquering armies to subdue the neighboring cities and in time there sat upon the throne in Sarnath the kings of all the land of Manar and of many lands adjacent the wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind was Sarnath the Magnificent of polished desert quarry and marble were its walls in height 300 cubits and in breath 75 so that chariots might pass each other as men drove them along the top for full 500 stadia they did run being over not only on the side towards the lake where a sea green stone wall kept back the waves that rose oddly once a year at the festival of the destroying of Ibb in Sarnath were 50 streets from the lake to the gates of the caravans and 50 more intersecting them with onyx they were paved save those were on the horses and camels and elephants trod which were paved with granite and the gates of Sarnath were as many as the landward ends of the streets each of bronze and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carving from some stone no longer among men the houses of Sarnath were glazed brick and calcidney each having its walled garden and crystal lake lit with strange art they were built for and had houses like them and travelers from Thra and Elarnac and Cathateron marveled at the shining goams whereon they were surmounted but more marvelous still were the palaces and the temples and the gardens made by Zakhar the Olden King there were many palaces the last of which were mightier than any in Thra or Elarnac or Cathateron so high were they that one within might sometimes fancy with only the sky yet when lighted with torches dipped in the oil of doather their wall showed vast paintings of kings and armies of a splendor at once inspiring and stupefying to the beholder many were the pillars of the palaces all of tinted marble and carved into designs of surpassing beauty and in most of the palaces the floors were mosaics of barrel and lapis lazis sardonyx and carbuncle and other choice materials so disposed that the beholder might fancy himself walking over beds of the rarest flowers and there were likewise fountains which cast scented waters about in pleasing jets arranged with cunning art outshining all others was the palace of the kings of Manar and of the lands adjacent on a pair of golden crouching lions rested the throne many steps above the gleaming floor and it was wrought of one piece of ivory though no man lives who knows when so vast a piece could have come in that palace there were so many galleries and many amphitheaters were lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake in mighty aqueducts and then were enacted stirring in the forests or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine beings lofty and amazing were the 17 tower like temples of Sernath fashioned of a bright multicolored stone not known elsewhere a full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them where in the high priest dwell with the magnificent scarce less than that of the kings on the ground were halls as vast and splendid as those of the palaces and throngs in worship of Zocalar and Tamash and Lobon the chief gods of Sernath whose incense enveloped shrines were as the thrones of monarchs not like the aechaeans of other gods were those of Zocalar and Tamash and Lobon for so close to life were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sat on the ivory thrones and up on any steps a zircon was the tower chamber from the high priest looked out over the city in the plains and the lake by day and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets and the reflections of the lake at night here was done the very secret and ancient rite in detestation of Bacrog the water lizard and here rested the altar of chrysalite which bore the dune scroll a taranish wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zacar the olden king in the center of Sarnath they lay covering a great space and encircled by a high wall and they were surrounded by a mighty dome of glass through which shown the sun and moon and planets when it was clear and from which hung flusioned images of the sun and the moon and stars and planets when it was not clear in summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skillfully wafted by fans they were heated with concealed fires so that in those gardens it was always spring there ran little streams over bright pebbles dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues and spanned by a multitude of bridges many were the waterfalls in their courses and many were the hewed lakelets into which they expanded over the streams and lakelets rode white swans whilst the music of rare birds chimed in the quality of the waters in ordered terraces rose the green banks adorned here and there with boughs of vines and sweet blossoms and seats and benches of marvel and periphery and there were many small shrines and temples where one might rest or pray to small gods each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the destroying of Ibb at which time wine, song dancing and merriment and abounded great honors were then paid to the shades of those who had annihilated the odd ancient beings and the memory of those beings and their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutenists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zakhar and the kings would look out over the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it at first the high priests liked not these festivals for there had descended amongst them the tales of how the seem green Ikion had vanished and how Tar and Ish had died from fear and left a warning and they said that from their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake but as many years passed without calamity even the priests laughed and cursed and joined in the orgies of the feasters indeed had they not themselves in the high tower often performed the very ancient and secret ride in detestation of Bakhrag the water lizard thousand years of riches in delight passed over Sarnath wonder of the world Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the destroying of Ibb for a decade it had been talked about in the land of Manar and as it drew nigh there came to Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants men from Thra, Alarnak and Cathateron and all the cities of Manar and the lands beyond before the marble walls on the Ippodonite were pitched the pavilions of princes and the tents of travelers within his banquet hall reclined Nargis Hay the king drunken with ancient wine from the faults of conquered Panath and surrounded by feasting nobles and hurrying slaves there were eaten many strange delicacies at their feast peacocks from the distant hills of Limpan heels of camels from the basnik desert nuts and spices from the sedarian grows and pearls from wave-washed metal dissolved in the vinegar of Thra of sauces there were an untold number prepared by the subtlest cooks in all Manar and suited to the palate of every feaster but most prized of all the Viennes were the great fishes from the lake each a vast size and served upon golden platters set with rubies and diamonds whilst the king and his nobles feasted within the palace and viewed the crowning dishes that awaited them on golden platters others feasted elsewhere in the tower of the great temple the priest held revels and pavilions without the walls the princes of neighboring lands made merry and it was the high priest Nika who first saw the shadows that descended from the gibbous moon into the lake and the damnable green mist that rose from the lake to meet the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze of the domes of faded sarnath there after those in the towers and without the walls beheld strange lights on the water and saw that the gray rock Akurian which was want to rear high above it near the shore was almost submerged and fear grew vaguely yet swiftly so that the princes of Ilarnac and of Far-Racol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed though they scarce knew the reason for their departing then close to the hour of midnight all the bronze gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain so that all the visiting princes and travelers fled away in fright for on the faces of this throng was writ a madness born of horror unendurable and on the tongues were words so terrible that no hearer paused for proof his eyes were wild with fear shrieked loud at the sight within the king's banquet hall where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis High and his nobles and slaves but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes pouting flabby lips and curious ears things which danced horribly bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds and containing uncouth flames and the princes and travelers as they fled from the doomed city of Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants looked again upon the miss beginning lake and saw the great rock a curian was quite submerged through all the land of Manar and the land adjacent spread the tales of those who had fled from Sarnath and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more it was long air any travelers went tither and even then only the brave and adventurous young men of yellow hair and blue eyes who were no kin to the men of Manar these men indeed went to the lake to view Sarnath but though they found the vast still lake itself and the gray rock a curian which rears high above it near the shore they beheld not the wonder of the world in pride of all mankind where once had risen walls of three hundred cubits in towers yet higher stretched only the marshy shore and where once had dwelt fifty million of men now crawled the detestable water lizard not even the minds of precious metal remained doom had come to Sarnath but half buried in the rushes was spied a curious green idol an exceedingly ancient idol chiseled in the likeness of Bachra the great water lizard that idol enshrined in the high temple at Elarnik was subsequently worshipped beneath the jivis moon throughout the land of Manar the end of the doom that came to Sarnath by H. P. Lovecraft this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to find out how to volunteer please contact LibriVox.org recording by Peter Yersley A Dreadful Night by Edwin Lester Arnold only he who has been haunted by a dream a black horror of the night so real and terrible that many days of repugnance and effort are needed to purge the mind of its ugly details can understand how a dream that was a fact a horrible waking fantasy grotesque and weird a repetition in hard actuality of the ingenious terrors of sleep clings to him who with his faculties about him and all his senses on the alert has experienced it some five years ago I was hunting in the southwest corner of Colorado where the great mountain spurs sloped down in rocky ravines gullies from the inland ranges towards the green plains along the course of the Rio San Juan I had left my camp late one afternoon in charge of my trusty comrade Will Hartland and had wandered off alone into the scrub some five or six miles from the tents I stalked and wounded a buck he was so hard hit that I already smelt venison in the supper pot and followed the broad trail he had left with the utmost eagerness he crossed a couple of stony ridges with their deep intervening hollows and came at last into a wild desolate gorge full of loose rocks and bushes and ribboned with gametracks but otherwise a most desolate and godforsaken place where no man had been or might come for fifty years here I sighted my venison peckering down the glen and dashed after him as fast as I could through the bushy tangles and the dry slippery summer grass in a few hundred yards the valley became a pass and in a score more the steep bare sides had drawn in until they were walls on either hand and the way trailed along the bottom of what was little better than a knife cleft in the hills I was a good runner and the hunter blood was hot within me my moccasins flashed through the yellow herbage my cheeks burnt with excitement I dropped my gun to be the freer the quarry was plunging along only ten yards ahead and seemed a certain victim in front was the outing of that narrow ravine long reaches of the silver San Juan twining in countless threads through interminable leagues of green pasture and forest I saw it at all like a beautiful picture in the narrow black frame of the rocks the evening wind was blowing softly up the canyon and the sky was already gorgeous and livid with the streaks of sunset another ten yards and we were flying down the narrowest part of the defile the beast path under our feet hardly a foot wide and almost hidden by long, wiry, dead grass suddenly the wounded buck now within my grasp staggered up onto its hind legs in a mad fit of terror just as with a shot of triumph I leapt up to it and in half a breathing space I and the stag were reeling on the very brink of a horrible funnel a slippery yellow slope that had opened suddenly before us leading down to a cavernous mouth gaping dark and dreadful in the heart of the earth with a scream louder than my shot of triumph I threw up at my hands and tried to stop it was too late I felt my feet slip from under me and in a second shouting and plunging and clutching at the rotten herbage I was flying downwards I caught a last glimpse of the San Juan and the blaze of sky overhead and then I was spinning into darkness horrible, Stygian darkness through which I fell for a giddy senseless moment or two and then landed with a thud which ought to have killed me bruised and nearly senseless on a soft quaggy mound of something that seemed to sink under me like a feather-bed I passed out my first sensation on recovering consciousness was that of an overpowering smell a sickly deadly taint in the air that there was no growing accustomed to and which after a few gasps seemed to have run its deadly venom into every corner of my frame and turning my blood yellow to have transformed my constitution into keeping with its own accursed nature it was a damp, musty, charnel-house smell sickly and wicked with the breath of the slaughter-pit in it an aroma of blood and corruption I sat up and glared gasped about in the gloom and then I carefully felt my limbs up and down all were safe and sound and I was unhurt though as sore and bruised as if my body had stood a long day's pummeling then I groped about me in the pitch dark and soon touched the still warm body of the dead buck I had shot and on which indeed I was sitting still feeling about I found on the other side something soft and furry too I touched and patted it and in a minute recognized with a start that my fingers were deep in the curly mane of a bull bison I pulled and the curly mane came off in stinking tufts that bull bison six months or more all about me wherever I felt was cold, clammy fur and hair and hoofs and bare ribs and bones mixed in wild confusion and as that wilderness of death unfolded itself in the darkness to me and the fetid close atmosphere mounted to my head my nerves began to tremble like harp strings in a storm and my heart that I had always thought terror-proof to patter like a girl's plunging and slipping I got upon my feet and then became conscious of a dim circle of twilight far above representing the hole through which I had fallen the twilight was fading outside every moment and it was already so faintly luminous that my hand held in front of me looked ghostly and scarcely discernible I began to explore slowly round the walls of my prison with a heart that grew sicker and sicker and sensations that you can imagine better than I can describe I traced the jagged but unbroken circle of a great chamber in the underground a hundred feet long perhaps by fifty across with cruel remorseless walls that rose sloping gently inward from an uneven, horrible floor of hides and bones to that narrow neck far overhead where the stars were already twinkling in a cloudless sky by this time I was fairly frightened and the cold perspiration of dread began to stand in beads upon my forehead a fancy then seized me that someone might be within hearing distance above I shouted again and again and listening acutely each time as the echoes of my shout died away I could have sworn something like the clash of ghostly teeth on teeth something like the rattle of jaws in an ague fit fell on the silence behind with beating heart and an unfamiliar dread creeping over me I crouched down in the gloom and listened there was water dripping out in the dark monotonous and dismal and something like the breath from a husky throat away in the distance of the cavern came fitfully to my ears though so uncertain that at first I thought it might have been only the rustle of the wind in the grass far overhead again mastering all my resolution I shouted until the darkness rang then listened eagerly with every faculty on stretch and again from the dimness came that tremulous gnashing of teeth and that wavering long drawn breath then my hair literally stood on end and my eyes were fixed with breathless wonder in front of me for out of the remotest gloom where the corruption of the floor was already beginning to glow with pale blue wavering phosphorescent light as the night fell rose glimmering itself with that ghastly luster something slim and tall and tremulous it was full of life and yet was not quite of human form and reared itself against the dark war all a gleam until its top set with hollow eyes was nine or ten feet from the ground and oscillated and wavered and seemed to feel about as I had done for an opening and then on a sudden collapsed an arriving heap upon the ground and I distinctly heard the fall of its heavy body as it disappeared into the blue inferno that burnt below again that spectral thing rose laboriously this time many paces nearer to me to twice the height of a man and wavered and felt about and then sank down with a fall like the fall of heavy draperies as though the energy that had lifted it suddenly expired nearer and nearer it came travelling round the circuit of the walls in that strange way and bored and bewildered I crept out into the open to let that dreadful thing go by and presently in infinite relief it travelled away still wavering and writhing and I breathed again as that luminous shadow faded into the remote corners of the cave I shouted once more for the pleasure it must have been of hearing my own voice again there was that gnashing of teeth and the instant afterwards such a hideous chorus of yells from the other side of the cavern co-mingled howl of lost spirits such an infernal moan of sorrow and shame and misery that rose and fell on the stillness of the night that for an instant lost to everything but that dreadful sound I leapt to my feet with the stagnant blood cold as ice within me my body pulse less for the moment and mingled my mad shouting with the voices of those unseen devils in a hideous chorus then my manhood came back with a rush upon me and judgment and sense and I recognized in the trembling echoes a cry that I had often listened to in happier circumstances that uproar came from the throats of wolves that had been trapped like myself but were they alive I thought in fascinated wonder could they be in this horrible pit and if they were not picture one's self cornered in such a trap with a pack of wolfish spirits it would not bear thinking of already my fancy saw constellations of fierce yellow eyes everywhere and herds of wicked gray backs racing to and fro in the shadows with a tremulous hand I felt in my pocket for a match and found I had two and two only by this time the moon was up and a great band of silver light broad and bright was creeping down the walls of our prison but I would not wait for it I struck the match with feverish eagerness and held it overhead it burnt brightly for a moment and I saw I was in a great natural crypt with no outlet anywhere narrow neck above and all chance of reaching that was impossible as the walls sloped inwards everywhere as they rose to it all the floor was piled thigh deep with a ghastly tangle of animal remains in every state of return to their native earth from the bare bones that would have trembled at a touch to the hide still glossy and sleek of the stag that had fallen in only a week or two before such a carnage place I never saw such furs such trophies such heads and horns there were all round as raised the envy of my hunter spirit even in that emergency but what held me spellbound and rooted my eyes into the shadows was twenty paces off lying full stretch along the glossy undulating path which the incessant feet of new victims had worn month after month over the hill and valley of dead bodies under the walls a splendid eighteen foot python it was this creatures ghostly rambles and ineffectual attempts to scale the walls that had first scared me in that place of horrors I turned round for the match was short and scarcely noticing a score or two of dejected rats who squeaked and scrambled amongst lesser snakes and strange reptiles looked hard across the cave there on their haunches in a huddle against the far wall staring at me with dull cold eyes were five of the biggest ugliest wolves ever mortal saw I had often seen wolves but never any like those grey and savage vigour of their kind had gone from them their bodies gorged with carrion were vast swollen and hideous their shaggy fur was hanging in tatters from their red and mangy skins the saliva streamed from their jaws in yellow ribbons their bleary eyes were drowsy and dull their great throats as they opened them to howl in sad chorus at the full of purple night above were dry and yellow and there was about them such an air of disgusting misery and woe begun this that with a shudder and a cry I could not suppress I let the last embers of the burning match fall to the ground how long I crouched in the darkness against the wall with those hideous serenaders grinding their foam flecked teeth and bemoaning our common fate in hideous unison I do not know nor have I space to tell the wild horrible visions which filled my mind for the next hour or two but presently the moonlight had come down off the wall and was spread at my feet in a silver carpet and as I sullenly watched the completion of that arena of light I was aware that the wolves were moving very slowly they came forward out of the darkness led by the biggest and ugliest until they were all in the silver circle gaunt, spectral and vile every mangy tuft of loose hair upon their sore speckled backs clear as daylight then those pot-bellied phosphorescent undertakers began the strangest movements and after watching them for a moment or two in fascinated wonder I saw they had come to me in their despair to solicit my companionship and countenance I could not have believed it possible that dumb brutes could have made their meaning so clear as those poor shaggy scoundrels did they halted ten yards off and with humble heads sagged down their eyes slowly wagged their mud-locked tails then there came a few steps further and whined and thorned and then another pace and lay down upon their stomachs putting their noses between their paws like dogs who watch and doze while they regarded me steadfastly with sad, great eyes forlorn and terrible foot by foot gray and silver in the moonlight they advanced with the offer of their dreadful friendship until, at last, I was fairly bewitched and when the big wolf came forward till he was at my knees a horrible epitome of corruption and licked my hand with his great burning tongue I submitted to the caress as readily as though he were my favourite hound henceforth the pack seemed to think the compact was sealed and thrust their odious company upon me trotting at my heels howling when I shouted and muzzling down to me putting their heavy paws upon my feet and the great steaming jaws upon my chest whenever, in despair and weariness I tried to snatch a moment's sleep but it would be impossible to go step by step through the infinitely painful hours of that night not only was the place full of spectral forms and strange cries but presently legions of unclean things of a hundred kinds that had lived on those dead beasts when they too were living swarmed in thousands and assailed us adding a new terror to the inferno ravaging us who still kept body and soul together till our flesh seemed burning on our bones there was no rest for man or brute the light was a mockery and the silence hideous round and round we patted eye and the gaunted wolves over the dim tracks worn by the feet of disappointment and suffering we waded knee deep through a wavering sea of steamy blue flame that rose from the remains and bespattered us from head to heel stumbling and tripping and groping and cursing our fates each in his separate tongue while the night waned the dew fell clammy and cold into our prison and the stars who looked down upon us from the free purple sky overhead made a dim twilight in our cell I was blundering and staggering round the walls for the hundredth time feeling about with my hands in a hopeless search for some cleft or opening when the grimest thing of the whole evening happened in a lonely corner of the den in a little recess not searched before pattering about in the dark I suddenly touched with my hand think with what a shock it thrilled me the cloth clad his shoulder of a man with a gasp and a cry I leapt back and stood trembling and staring into the shadows scarcely daring to breathe much as I had suffered in that hideous place nothing affected me half so much as dropping my hand upon that dreadful shoulder heaven knows we were all cowards down there but for a minute I was the biggest coward of us and felt full of those strange throes of superstitious terror that I had often wondered before to hear weaker men describe then I mustered my wavering spirit and with the gaunt wolves squatting in a luminous circle around me went into the recess again and put my hand once more upon my grim companion the coat upon him was dry and rough with age and beneath it I could tell by the touch there was nothing but bare rattling bones I stood still grimly waiting for the flutter of my physical cowardice to subside and then I thought of that second match and in a moment of keen intensity with such care as you may imagine struck it against the wall it lit and at my feet in ragged miner's garb sitting against the wall with his knees drawn up and his chin upon them was the skeleton of a man so bleached and dry that it must have been there for fifty years at least at his side lay his miner's pick and panicin an old dusty pocket-bible the fragments of a felt hat and a pair of heavy boots still neatly side by side just as the luckless fellow had placed the well-worn things when for some reason he last took them off and overhead something scratched upon a flat face of the rock hastily I snatched a scrap of paper from my pocket and lighting it at the expiring match red on the stone, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday there was nothing but that and even the Wednesday was unfinished dying away in a shaky, uncertain scratch that spoke infinitely more plainly than many words would have done of the growing feebleness of the hand that traced it and then all was darkness again I crept back to my distant corner and crouched like the dead man against the wall with my chin upon my knees and kept repeating to myself the horrible simplicity of that diary Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday poor nameless Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday was this to be my fate? I laughed bitterly I would begin such another record with the first streak of dawn and in the meantime I would sleep whatever befell and sleep I did with those restless blue wolves cantering round the well-worn paths of the charnel house to their own hideous music the silent unknown away in the distance and the opal eyes of the great serpent staring at me like baleful planets cold, sullen and cruel from between the dead man's feet it was a shout that woke me next morning a clear ringing shout that jerked me from dreadful dreams I scrambled to my feet and saw from the bright light above me that it was day above and while I still staggered and wandered stupidly again came that shout I stared up overhead where the sunlight was making the neck of the trap a disk of intolerable brightness and there, when my eyes grew accustomed to that shining was a round something that presently resolved itself into the blessed face of my steadfast chum Will Heartland there is little need to say more with the help of his strong cow-rope at his saddle-bow and a round point of earth-embedded rock as purchased he had me out of that accursed hole in an incredibly ridiculously short space of time and there I was leaning on his shoulder free again in the first flush of as glorious a morning as you could wish for with the San Juan away in the distance winding in a sapphire streak through miles of emerald forests a sweet blue sky above and underneath the earth wet with morning mist smelling like a wine-cooler and every bent-twig underfoot gemmed with glittering prismatic dew-drops I sat down on a stone and after a long pull at Will's flask told him something like the narrative I have just given and when the tale was done I paused a minute and then said somewhat shyly and now I'm going back, Will, old man back for those poor devils down yonder who haven't a chance for their lives unless I do Will, who had listened to my narrative with horror and wonder flitting across his honest brown face started up at this as though he thought the night's adventure had fairly turned my head but he was a good fellow chivalrous and tender of heart under his Mexican jacket and speedily acknowledging that I was right set to work to help me down I went back into the pit the very sight and shadow of which now made me sick and with the noose end of Will's lasso he holding the other end above set to work to secure those poor beasts who whined and crowded round my legs in hideous glee to have me back again amongst them it was easy work they were stupid and heavy and seemed to have time and when a wolf was fast shouted to Will who hauled some idea of my intentions and thus I noosed them one at a time with scant ceremony and up the grey ghoul went into that sunshine he had not seen for many weeks until he and all his comrades were free once more spinning and struggling and yelping truly a wonderful sight but nothing would move the python I followed him round and round trying all I knew to get his cruel cynical head through the noose and then when he had refused it a dozen times I grew angry and cursed him and gathering up all the tortoises lizards and lesser beasts I could find into my waistband ascended into the sweet outer air once more a very few hours afterwards a heavy blasting charge fetched from a neighbouring mine was dangling by a string just inside the mouth of the detestable trap with its fuse burning brightly a few minutes of suspense a mighty crash a cloud of white smoke hanging over the green hilltop and one of the most treacherous places that ever marred the face of nature's sweet earth was a harmless heap of dust and tumbled stones the end of A Dreadful Night by Edwin Lester Arnold recorded by Peter Yersley