 introduction to famous modern ghost stories this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org famous modern ghost stories selected with an introduction by Dorothy Scarborough PhD introduction the imperishable ghost ghosts are the true immortals and the dead grow more alive all the time wraiths have a greater vitality today than ever before they are far more numerous than at any time in the past and people are more interested in them there are persons that claim to be acquainted with specific spirits to speak with them to carry on correspondence with them and even some who insist that they are private secretaries to the dead others of us mortals more reserved are content to keep such distance as we may from even the shadow of a shade but there's no getting away from ghosts nowadays for even if you shut your eyes to them in actual life you stumble over them in the books you read you see them on the stage and on the screen and you hear them on the lecture platform even a lodge in any vast wilderness would have the company of spirits man's love for the supernatural which is one of the most natural things about him was never more marked than at present you may go a ghosting in any company today and all aspects of literature novels short stories poetry and drama alike reflect the shadeless spirit the last census of the haunting world shows a vast increase in population which might be explained on various grounds life is inconveniently complex nowadays but with income taxes and other visitations of government that it is hard for us to have the added risks of race but there's no escaping many persons of today are in the same mental state as one Mr. Boggs told of in a magazine story a rural gentleman who was agitated over spectral visitants he had once talked at a seance with a speaker who claimed to be the spirit of his brother Wesley Boggs but who conversed only on blue suspenders a subject not of vital interest to Wesley in the flesh still Mr. Boggs reflected I'm not so darn sure an answer to a suggestion regarding subliminal consciousness and dual personality as explanation of the strange things that come bolting into life he said it's crawly any way you look at it ghosts inside you are as bad as ghosts outside you there are others today who are not so darn sure one may conjecture diverse reasons for this multitude of ghosts in late literature perhaps spooks are like small boys that rush to fires unwilling to miss anything and craving new sensations and we mortals read about them to get vicarious thrills through the safe medium of fiction the war made sensationalists of us all and the drab every dainess of mortal life bores us man's imagination always bigger than his environment over leaps the barriers of time and space and claims all worlds as eminent domain so that literature which he has the power to create as he cannot create his material surroundings possesses a dramatic intensity and epic sweep unknown in actuality in the last analysis man is as great as his daydreams or his nightmares ghosts have always haunted literature and doubtless always will specter seem never to wear out or to die but renew their tissue both of person and of Raymond in marvelous fashion so that their number increases with a malls Lucy and relentlessness we have today have the ghosts that haunted our ancestors as well as our own modern revenants and there's no earthly use in trying to banish or exercise them by such a simple thing as disbelief in them Schopenhauer asserts that a belief in ghosts is born with man that it is found in all ages and in all lands and that no one is free from it since accounts vary in our earliest antecedents were poor diarists it is difficult to establish the apostolic succession of spooks in actual life but in literature the line reaches back as far as the primeval picture writing a study of animism and primitive culture shows many interesting links between the past and the present in this matter and anyhow since man knows that whether or not he has seen a ghost presently he'll be one he's fascinated with the subject and he creates ghosts not merely in his own image but according to his dreams of power the more man knows of natural laws the keener he is about the supernatural he may claim to have laid aside superstition but he isn't to be believed in that though he has discarded witchcraft and alchemy it is only that he may have more time for psychical research true he no longer dabbles with ancient magic but that is because the modern types as the Ouija board entertain him more he dearly loves to traffic with that other world of which he knows so little and concerning which he is so curious perhaps the war or possibly an increase in class consciousness or unionization of spirits or whatever has greatly energized the ghost in our day and given him both ambition and strength to do more things than ever maybe pep tablets have been discovered on the other side as well no longer is the ghost content to be seen and not heard to slink around in shadowy corners as apologetically as poor relations wraiths now have a rambunctious vitality and self assurance that are astonishing even the ghosts of folks dead so long they have forgotten about themselves are yawning stretching their skeletons and starting out to do a little haunting spooky creatures in such a wide diversity are abroad today that one is sometimes at a loss to know what to do gain a body meet a body ghosts are entering all sorts of activities now so that mortals had better look alive else they'll be crowded out of their place in the shade the dead are too much with us modern ghosts are less simple and primitive than their ancestors and are developing complexes of various kinds they are more democratic than of old and have more of a diversity of interests so that mortals have scarcely the ghost of a chance with them they employ all the agencies and mechanisms known to mortals and have in addition their own methods of transit and communication whereas in the past a ghost had to stalk or glide to his haunts now he limousines or airplanes so that naturally he can get in more work than before he uses the wireless to send his messages and is expert in all manner of scientific lines in fact his infernal efficiency and knowledge of science constitute the worst terror of the current specter who can combat a ghost that knows all about a chemical laboratory that can add electricity to his other shocks and can employ all mortal and immortal agencies as his own science itself is supernatural as we see when we look at it properly modern literature especially the most recent shows a revival of old types of ghosts together with the innovations of the new there are specters that take a real part in the plot complication and those that merely cast threatening looks at the living or at least are content to speak a piece and depart some spirits are dumb while others are highly elocutionary ghosts vary in many respects some are like the pallid shades of the past altogether unlike the living and with an unmistakable spectral form or lack of it they sweep like mist through the air or flutter like dead leaves in the gale a gale always accompanying them as part of the stock furnishings on the other hand some revenants are so successfully made up that one doesn't believe them when they pridefully announce that they are wraiths some of them are in fact so alive that they don't themselves know they're dead it's going to be a great shock to some of them one of these days to wake up and find out they're demised ghosts are more gregarious than in the past formerly a shade slunk off by himself as of ashamed of his profession as if aware of the lack of cordiality with which he would be received knowing that mortals shunned and feared him and cherry even of associating with his fellow shades he wraithed all by himself the specters of the past save in scenes of the lower world were usually solitary creatures driven to haunt mortals from very lonesomeness now we have a chance to study the mob psychology of ghosts for they come in madding crowds whenever they like ghosts at present are showing an active interest not only in public affairs but in the arts as well at least we now have pictures and writing attributed to them perhaps annoyed by some of the inaccuracies published concerning them for authors have in the past taken advantage of the belief that ghosts couldn't write back they have recently developed itching pens they use all manner of utensils for expression now there's the magic typewriter that spooks for John Kendrick bangs the boardwalk that patience worth executes for mrs. Curran and innumerable other specters that commandeer fountain pens and pencils and brushes to give their versions of infinity there's a passion on the part of ghosts for being interviewed just now at present book reviewers for instance had better be careful lest the race take their own method of answering criticism it isn't safe to speak or write with anything but respect of ghosts now demortious nil nisa bonham indeed one should never make light of a shade modern ghosts have a more pronounced personality than the specters of the past they have more strength of mind as well as of body than the color's revenants of earlier literature and they produced a more vivid effect on the beholder and the reader they know more surely what they wish to do and they advance relentlessly and with economy of effort to the affecting of their purpose whether it be of pure horror of beauty or pathos of humor we have now many spirits in fiction that are pathetic without frightfulness many that move us with a sense of poetic beauty rather than of curdling horror who touched the heart as well as the spine of the reader and the humorous ghost is a distinctive shade of today with his quips and pranks and haunting grin whatever a modern ghost wishes to do or to be he is or does with confidence and success the spirit of today is terrifyingly visible or invisible at will the dreadful presence of a ghost that one cannot see is more unbearable than the specter that one can locate an attempt to escape from the invisible haunting is represented in this volume by Fitz James O'Brien's what was it one of the very best of the type and one that has strongly influenced others O'Brien's story preceded Guy de Maud-Poncent's L'Hollah by several years and must surely have suggested to Maud-Poncent as to Beers in his the damn thing the power of evil that can be felt but not seen the wraith of the present carries with him more vital energy than his predecessors is more athletic in his struggles with the unlikely whites he visits and can coerce mortals to do his will by the laying on of hands as well as by the look or word he speaks with more emphasis and authority as well as with more human naturalness than the earlier ghosts he has not only all the force he possessed in life but in many instances has an access of power which makes man a poor protagonist for him. Algernon Blackwood's Spirits of Evil, for example, have a more awful potentiality than any living person could have and their will to harm has been increased immeasurably by the accident of death. If the facts bear out the fear that such is the case in life as in fiction some of our social customs will be reversed. A man will strive by all means to keep his deadly enemy alive lest death may endow him with tenfold power to hurt. Dark, discarnate passions disembodied hates work evil where a simple ghost might be helpless and abashed. Algernon Blackwood has command over the spirits of air and fire and wave so that his pages thrill with beauty and terror. He has handled almost all known aspects of the supernatural and from his many stories he has selected for this volume the Willows as the best example of his ghostly art. Apparitions are more readily recognizable at present than in the past for they carry into eternity all the disfigurements or physical peculiarities that the living bodies possessed. A fact discouraging to all persons not conspicuous for good looks. Freckles and warts, long noses and missing limbs distinguish the ghosts and aid in crucial identification. The thrill of horror in Ambrose Beers' story, the middle toe of the right foot, is intensified by the fact that the dead woman who comes back in revenge to haunt her murderer has one toe lacking as in life. And in a recent story a surgeon who's desired to experiment has caused him needlessly to sacrifice a man's life on the operating table is haunted to death by the dismembered arm. Fiction shows us various ghosts with half faces and at least one notable spook that comes in half. Such ability it will be granted must necessarily increase the haunting power for if a ghost may send a foot or an arm or a leg to harry one person he can dispatch his backbone or his liver or his heart to upset other human beings simultaneously in a sectional haunting at once economically efficient and terrifying. The beast with five fingers for instance has a loathsome horror that a complete skeleton or conventionally equipped wraith could not achieve. Who can doubt that a bodyless hand leaping around on its errands of evil has a menace that a complete six foot frame could not duplicate. Yet in quiller couches a pair of hands what pathos and beauty in the thought of the child hands coming back to serve others and homely tasks. Surely no housewife in these helpless days would object to being haunted in such a delicate fashion. Ghosts of today have an originality that anti-expectors lacked. For instance what story of the past has the awful thrill in Andreiyev's Lazarith that story of the man who came back from the grave living yet dead with the horror of the unknown so manifest in his face that those who looked into his deep eyes met their doom. Present day writers skillfully combine various elements of awe with the supernatural as madness with the ghostly adding to the chill of fear which each concept gives. Wilbur Daniel Steele's The Woman at Seven Brothers is an instance of that method. Poe's Legaea one of the best stories in any language reveals the unrelenting will of the dead to affect its desire. The dead wife trampling coming back to life through the second wife's body. Olivia Howard Dunbar's The Shell of Sense is another instance of jealousy reaching beyond the grave. The messenger one of Robert W Chambers early stories and an admiral example of the supernatural has various thrills with its river of blood its death's head moth and the ancient but very active skull of the black priest who was shot as a traitor to his country but lived on as an energetic and curseful ghost. The Shadows on the Wall by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman which one prominent librarian considers the best ghost story ever written is original in the method of its horrific manifestation. Isn't it more devastating to one's sanity to see the shadow of a revenge ghost cast on the wall to know that a vindictive spirit is beside one but invisible than to see the specter himself? Under such circumstances the sight of a skeleton or a sheeted phantom would be downright comforting. The Mass of Shadows by Anatoli Franz is an example of the modern tendency to show phantoms in groups as contrasted with the solitary habits of ancient specters. Here the spirits of those who had sinned for love could meet and celebrate mass together in one evening of the year. The delicate beauty of many of the modern ghostly stories is apparent in The Haunted Orchard by Richard Legalien for this prose poem has an appeal of tenderness rather than of terror and everybody who has had affection for a dog will appreciate the pathos of the little sketch by Myla J. Closer at the gate. The dog appears more frequently as a ghost than does any other animal perhaps because man feels that he is nearer the human though the horse is as intelligent and as much beloved. There is an innate pathos about a dog somehow that makes his appearance in ghostly form more credible and sympathetic while the ghost of any other animal would tend to have a comic connotation. Other animals in fiction have power of magic notably the cat but they don't appear as spirits but the dog is seen as a pathetic symbol of faithfulness as a tragic sufferer or as a terrible revenge ghost. Dogs may come singly or in groups. Edith Wharton has five of different sorts in Kerfoul or in Pax as in Eden Philpots Another Little Heathhound. An illuminating instance of the power of fiction over human faith is furnished by the case of Arthur Mockins the Bowman included here. This story it is which started the whole tissue of legendary concerning supernatural aid given the allied armies during the war. This purely fictitious account of an angel army that saved the day at Mons was so vivid that its readers accepted it as truth and obstinately clung to that idea in the face of Mr Mockins' persistent and bewildered explanations that he had invented the whole thing. Editors wrote leading articles about it ministers preached sermons on it and the general public preferred to believe in the Mons angels rather than in Arthur Mockin. Mr Mockin has shown himself an artist in the supernatural one whom his generation has not been discerning enough to appreciate. Some of his material is painfully morbid but his pen is magic and his inkwell holds many dark secrets. In this collection I have attempted to include specimens of a few of the distinctive types of modern ghosts as well as to show the art of individual stories. Examples of the humorous ghosts are omitted here as a number of them will be brought together in humorous ghost stories the companion volume to this. The ghost lover who reads these pages will think of others that he would like to see included for I believe that readers are more passionately attached to their own favorite ghost tales than to any other form of literature but critics will admit the manifest impossibility of bringing together in one volume all the famous examples of the art. Some of the well-known tales particularly the older ones on which copyright has expired have been reprinted so often as to be almost hackneyed while others have been of necessity omitted because of the limitations of space. DS New York March 1921. End of the introduction. Section one of famous modern ghost stories. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Ken Crooker on the web at kencrooker.com. Famous modern ghost stories compiled by Dorothy Scarborough. Section one The Willows by Algernon Blackwood. One after leaving Vienna and long before you come to Budapest the Danube enters a region of singular loneliness and desolation where its waters spread away on all sides regardless of a main channel and the country becomes a swamp for miles upon miles covered by a vast sea of low willow bushes. On the big maps this deserted area is painted in a fluffy blue growing fainter in color as it leaves the banks and across it may be seen in large straggling letters the word sumfy meaning marshes. In high flood this great acreage of sand shingle beds and willow grown islands is almost topped by the water but in normal seasons the bushes bend and rustle in the free winds showing their silver leaves to the sunshine in an ever-moving plane of bewildering beauty. These willows never attain to the dignity of trees they have no rigid trunks they remain humble bushes with rounded tops and soft outline swaying on slender stems that answer to the least pressure of the wind supple as grasses and so continually shifting that they somehow give the impression that the entire plane is moving and alive for the wind sends waves rising and falling over the whole surface waves of leaves instead of waves of water green swells like the sea too until the branches turn and lift and then silvery white as their underside turns to the sun. Happy to slip beyond the control of stern banks the danube here wanders about at will among the intricate network of channels intersecting the islands everywhere with broad avenues down which the waters pour with a shouting sound making whirlpools eddies and foaming rapids tearing at the sandy banks carrying away masses of shore and willow clumps and forming new islands innumerable which shift daily in size and shape and possess at best an impermanent life since the flood time obliterates their very existence. Properly speaking this fascinating part of the river's life begins soon after leaving pressburg and we in our canadian canoe with gypsy tent and frying pan on board reached it on the crest of a rising flood about mid july that very same morning when the sky was reddening before sunrise we had slipped swiftly through still sleeping vienna leaving at a couple of hours later a mere patch of smoke against the blue hills of the vinerwald on the horizon we had breakfasted below fissure amend under a grove of birch trees roaring in the wind and had then swept on the tearing current past orth hainberg petronel the old roman carnuntum of marcus aurelius and so under the frowning heights of theban on a spur of the carpathians where the march steals in quietly from the left and the frontier is crossed between austria and hungary racing along at 12 kilometers an hour soon took us well into hungary and the muddy waters sure sign of flood sent us a ground on many a shingle bed and twisted us like a cork in many a sudden belching whirlpool before the towers of presbyrc hungarian posoni showed against the sky and then the canoe leaping like a spirited horse flew at top speed under the gray walls negotiated safely the sunken chain of the fly jen brook fairy turn the corner sharply to the left and plunged on yellow foam into the wilderness of islands sandbanks and swamp land beyond the land of the willows the change came suddenly as when a series of bioscope pictures snaps down on the streets of a town and shifts without warning into the scenery of lake and forest we entered the land of desolation on wings and in less than half an hour there was neither boat nor fishing hut nor red roof nor any single sign of human habitation and civilization within sight the sense of remoteness from the world of humankind the utter isolation the fascination of the singular world of willows winds and waters instantly laid its spell upon us both so that we allowed laughingly to one another that we ought by right to have held some special kind of passport to admit us and that we had somewhat audaciously come without asking leave into a separate little kingdom of wonder and magic a kingdom that was reserved for the use of others who had a right to it with everywhere unwritten warnings to trespassers for those who had the imagination to discover them though still early in the afternoon the ceaseless buffettings of a most impestuous wind made us feel weary and we at once began casting about for a suitable camping ground for the night but the bewildering character of the islands made landing difficult the swirling flood carried us inshore and then swept us out again the willow branches tore our hands as we seized them to stop the canoe and we pulled many a yard of sandy bank into the water before at length we shot with a great sideways blow from the wind into a backwater and managed to beach the boughs in a cloud of spray then we lay panting and laughing after our exertions on hot yellow sand sheltered from the wind and in the full blaze of a scorching sun a cloudless blue sky above and an immense army of dancing shouting willow bushes closing in from all sides shining with spray and clapping their thousand little hands as though to applaud the success of our efforts water river i said to my companion thinking of all the way we had traveled from the source in the black forest and how we had often been obliged to wade and push in the upper shallows at the beginning of june won't stand much nonsense now will it he said pulling the canoe a little farther into safety up the sand and then composing himself for a nap i lay by his side happy and peaceful in the bath of the elements water wind sand and the great fire of the sun thinking of the long journey that lay behind us and of the great stretch before us to the black sea and how lucky i was to have such a delightful and charming traveling companion as my friend the swede we had made many similar journeys together but the dan you more than any other river i knew impressed us from the very beginning with its aliveness from its tiny bubbling entry into the world among the pinewood gardens of downish engen until this moment when it began to play the great river game of losing itself among the deserted swamps unobserved unrestrained it had seemed to us like following the growth of some living creature sleepy at first but later developing violent desires as it became conscious of its deep soul it rolled like some huge fluid being through all the countries we had passed holding our little craft on its mighty shoulders playing roughly with us sometimes yet always friendly and well-meaning till at length we had come inevitably to regard it as a great personage how indeed could it be otherwise since it told us so much of its secret life at night we heard it singing to the moon as we lay in our tent uttering that odd sibilant note peculiar to itself and said to be caused by the rapid tearing of the pebbles along its bed so great is its hurrying speed we knew too the voice of its gurgling whirlpools suddenly bubbling up on a surface previously quite calm the roar of its shallows and swift rapids its constant steady thundering below all mere surface sounds and that ceaseless tearing of its icy waters at the banks how it stood up and shouted when the rains fell flat upon its face and how its laughter roared out when the wind blew upstream and tried to stop its growing speed we knew all its sounds and voices its tumblings and foemings its unnecessary splashing against the bridges that self-conscious chatter when there were hills to look on the affected dignity of its speech when it passed through the little towns far too important to laugh and all these faint sweet whisperings when the sun caught it fairly in some slow curve and poured down upon it till the steam rose it was full of tricks too in its early life before the great world knew it there were places in the upper reaches among the Swabian forests when yet the first whispers of its destiny had not reached it where it elected to disappear through holes in the ground to appear again on the other side of the porous limestone hills and start a new river with another name leaving too so little water in its own bed that we had to climb out and wade and push the canoe through miles of shallows and achieve pleasure in those early days of its irresponsible youth was to lie low like Brer Fox just before the little turbulent tributaries came to join it from the Alps and to refuse to acknowledge them when in but to run for miles side by side the dividing line well marked the very levels different the Danube utterly declining to recognize the newcomer the low pass out however it gave up this particular trick for there the inn comes in with a thundering power impossible to ignore and so pushes and incommodes the parent river that there is hardly room for them in the long twisting gorge that follows and the Danube is shoved this way and that against the cliffs and forced to hurry itself with great waves and much dashing to and fro in order to get through in time and during the fight our canoe slipped down from its shoulder to its breast and had the time of its life among the struggling waves but the inn taught the old river a lesson and after pass out it no longer pretended to ignore new arrivals this was many days back of course and since then we had come to know other aspects of the great creature and across the Bavarian wheat plain of Straubing she wandered so slowly under the blazing june sun that we could well imagine only the surface inches were water while below there moved concealed as by a silken mantle whole army of undimes passing silently and unseen down to the sea and very leisurely too lest they be discovered much too we forgave her because of her friendliness to the birds and animals that haunted the shores cormorants lined the banks in lonely places in rows like short black palings gray crows crowded the shingle beds storks stood fishing in the vistas of shallower water that opened up between the islands and hawks swans and marsh birds of all sorts filled the air with glinting wings and singing petulant cries it was impossible to feel annoyed with the river's vagaries after seeing a deer leap with a splash into the water at sunrise and swim past the boughs of the canoe and often we saw fawns peering at us from the underbrush or looked straight into the brown eyes of a stag as we charged full tilt round a corner and entered another reach of the river foxes too everywhere haunted the banks tripping daintily among the driftwood and disappearing so suddenly that it was impossible to see how they managed it but now after leaving presberg everything changed a little and the danube became more serious it ceased trifling it was halfway to the black sea within senting distance almost of other stranger countries where no tricks would be permitted or understood it became suddenly grown up and claimed our respect and even our awe it broke out into three arms for one thing that only met again a hundred kilometers farther down and for a canoe there were no indications which one was intended to be followed if you take a side channel said the Hungarian officer we met in the presberg shop while buying provisions you may find yourself when the flood subsides 40 miles from anywhere high and dry and you may easily starve there are no people no farms no fishermen I warn you not to continue the river too is still rising and this wind will increase the rising river did not alarm us in the least but the matter of being left high and dry by a sudden subsidence of the waters might be serious and we had consequently laid in an extra stock of provisions for the rest the officer's prophecy held true and the wind blowing down a perfectly clear sky increased steadily till it reached the dignity of a westerly gale it was earlier than usual when we camped for the sun was a good hour or two from the horizon and leaving my friends still asleep on the hot sand I wandered about in desultory examination of our hotel the island I found was less than an acre in extent a mere sandy bank standing some two or three feet above the level of the river the far end pointing into the sunset was covered with flying spray which the tremendous wind drove off the crests of the broken waves it was triangular in shape with the apex upstream I stood there for several minutes watching the impetuous crimson flood bearing down with a shouting roar dashing in waves against the bank as though to sweep it bodily away and then swirling by in two foaming streams on either side the ground seemed to shake with the shock and rush while the furious movement of the willow bushes as the wind poured over them increased the curious illusion that the island itself actually moved above for a mile or two I could see the great river descending upon me it was like looking up the slope of a sliding hill white with foam and leaping up everywhere to show itself to the sun the rest of the island was too thickly grown with willows to make walking pleasant but I made the tour nevertheless from the lower end the light of course changed and the river looked dark and angry only the backs of the flying waves were visible streaked with foam and pushed forcibly by the great puffs of wind that fell upon them from behind for a short mile it was visible pouring in and out among the islands and then disappearing with a huge sweep into the willows which closed about it like a herd of monstrous anti-diluvian creatures crowding down to drink they made me think of gigantic sponge-like growths that sucked the river up into themselves they caused it to vanish from sight they herded there together in such overpowering numbers altogether it was an impressive scene with its utter loneliness its bizarre suggestion and as I gazed long and curiously a singular emotion began to stir somewhere in the depths of me midway in my delight of the wild beauty there crept unbidden and unexplained a curious feeling of disquietude almost of alarm a rising river perhaps always suggests something of the ominous many of the little islands I saw before me would probably have been swept away by the morning this resistless, thundering flood of water touched the sense of awe yet I was aware that my uneasiness laid deeper far than the emotions of awe and wonder it was not that I felt nor had it directly to do with the power of the driving wind this shouting hurricane that might almost carry up a few acres of willows into the air and scatter them like so much chaff over the landscape the wind was simply enjoying itself for nothing rose out of the flat landscape to stop it and I was conscious of sharing its great gain with kind of pleasurable excitement yet this novel emotion had nothing to do with the wind indeed so vague was the sense of distress I experienced that it was impossible to trace it to its source and deal with it accordingly though I was aware somehow that it had to do with my realization of our utter insignificance before this unrestrained power of the elements about me the huge grown river had something to do with it too a vague unpleasant idea that we had somehow trifled with these great elemental forces in whose power we lay helpless every hour of the day and night for here indeed they were gigantically at play together and the sight appealed to the imagination but my emotion so far as I could understand it seemed to attach itself more particularly to the willow bushes to these acres and acres of willows crowding so thickly growing there swarming everywhere the eye could reach pressing upon the river as though to suffocate it standing in dense array mile after mile beneath the sky watching waiting listening and apart quite from the elements the willows connected themselves subtly with my malaise attacking the mind insidiously somehow by reason of their vast numbers and contriving in some way or other to represent to the imagination a new and mighty power a power moreover not altogether friendly to us great revelations of nature of course never fail to impress in one way or another and I was no stranger to moods of the kind mountains overall and oceans terrify while the mystery of great forests exercises a spell peculiarly its own but all these at one point or another somewhere link on intimately with human life and human experience they stir comprehensible even if alarming emotions they tend on the whole to exalt with this multitude of willows however it was something far different I felt some essence emanated from them that besieged the heart a sense of awe awakened true but of awe touched somewhere by a vague terror their serried ranks growing everywhere darker about me as the shadows deepened moving furiously yet softly in the wind woken me the curious and unwelcome suggestion that we had trespassed here upon the borders of an alien world a world where we were intruders a world where we were not wanted or invited to remain where we ran grave risks perhaps the feeling however though it refused to yield its meaning entirely to analysis did not at the time trouble me by passing into menace yet it never left me quite even during the very practical business of putting up the tent in a hurricane of wind and building a fire for the stew pot it remained just enough to bother and perplex and to rob a most delightful camping round of a good portion of its charm to my companion however I said nothing for he was a man I considered devoid of imagination in the first place I could never have explained to him what I meant and in the second he would have laughed stupidly at me if I had there was a slight depression in the center of the island and here we pitched the tent the surrounding willows broke the wind a bit a poor camp observed the imperturbable swede when at last the tent stood upright no stones and precious little firewood I'm for moving on early tomorrow, eh? this sand won't hold anything but the experience of a collapsing tent at midnight had taught us many devices and we made the cozy gypsy house as safe as possible and then set about collecting a store of wood to last till bedtime willow bushes dropped no branches and driftwood was our only source of supply we hunted the shores pretty thoroughly everywhere the banks were crumbling as the rising flood tore at them and carried away great portions with a splash and a gurgle the island's much smaller than when we landed, said the accurate swede it won't last long at this rate we'd better drag the canoe close to the tent and be ready to start at a moment's notice I shall sleep in my clothes he was a little distance off climbing along the bank and I heard his rather jolly laugh as he spoke by jove I heard him call a moment later and turned to see what had caused his exclamation but for the moment he was hidden by the willows and I could not find him what in the world's this I heard him cry again and this time his voice had become serious I ran up quickly and joined him on the bank he was looking over the river pointing at something in the water good heavens it's a man's body he cried excitedly look a black thing turning over and over in the foaming waves swept rapidly past it kept disappearing and coming up to the surface again it was about 20 feet from the shore and just as it was opposite to where we stood it lurched around and looked straight at us we saw its eyes reflecting the sunset and cleaning an odd yellow as the body turned over then it gave a swift gulping plunge and dived out of sight in a flash an otter by gad we exclaimed in the same breath laughing it was an otter alive and out on the hunt yet it had looked exactly like the body of a drowned man turning helplessly in the current far below it came to the surface once again and we saw its black skin wet and shining in the sunlight then too just as we turn back our arms full of driftwood another thing happened to recall us to the riverbank this time it really was a man and what was more a man in a boat now a small boat on the Danube was an unusual sight at any time but here in this deserted region and at flood time it was so unexpected as to constitute a real event we stood and stared whether it was due to the slanting sunlight or the refraction from the wonderfully illumined water I cannot say but whatever the cause I found it difficult to focus my sight properly upon the flying apparition it seemed however to be a man standing upright in a sort of flat bottom boat steering with a long oar and being carried down the opposite shore at a tremendous pace he apparently was looking across in our direction but the distance was too great and the light too uncertain for us to make out very plainly what he was about it seemed to me that he was gesticulating and making signs at us his voice came across the water to us shouting something furiously but the wind drowned it so that no single word was audible there was something curious about the whole appearance man boat signs voice that made an impression on me out of all proportion to his cause he's crossing himself I cried look he's making the sign of the cross I believe you're right the sweet said shading his eyes with his hand and watching the man out of sight he seemed to be gone in a moment melting away down there into the sea of willows where the sun caught them in the bend of the river and turned them into a great crimson wall of beauty mist too had begun to rise so that the air was hazy but what in the world is he doing at nightfall on this flooded river I said half to myself where is he going at such a time and what did he mean by his signs and shouting do you think he wished to warn us about something he saw our smoke and thought we were spirits probably laughed my companion these Hungarians believe in all sorts of rubbish you remember the shopwoman at pressberg warning us that no one ever landed here because it belonged to some sort of beings outside man's world I suppose they believe in fairies and elementals possibly demons too that peasant in the boat saw people on the islands for the first time in his life he added after a slight pause and it scared him that's all the swede's tone of voice was not convincing and his manner lacked something that was usually there I noted the change instantly while he talked though without being able to label it precisely if they had enough imagination I laughed loudly I remember trying to make as much noise as I could they might well people a place like this with the old gods of antiquity the Romans must have hunted all this region more or less with their shrines and sacred groves and elemental deities the subject dropped and we returned to our stew pot for my friend was not given to imaginative conversation as a rule moreover just then I remember feeling distinctly glad that he was not imaginative his stolid practical nature suddenly seemed to me welcome and comforting it was an admirable temperament I felt he could steer down rapids like a red Indian shoot dangerous bridges and whirlpools better than any white man I ever saw in a canoe he was a grand fellow for an adventurous trip a tower of strength when untoward things happened I look at a strong face and light curly hair as he staggered along under his pile of driftwood twice the size of mine and I experienced a feeling of relief yes I was distinctly glad just then that the swede was what he was and that he never made remarks that suggested more than they said the river still rising though he added as if following out some thoughts of his own and dropping his load with a gasp this island will be under water in two days if it goes on I wish the wind would go down I said I don't care a fig for the river the flood indeed had no terrors for us we could get off at 10 minutes notice and the more water the better we liked it it meant an increase in current and the obliteration of the treacherous shingle beds that so often threatened to tear the bottom out of our canoe contrary to our expectations the wind did not go down with the sun it seemed to increase with the darkness howling overhead and shaking the willows round us like straws curious sounds accompany that sometimes like the explosion of heavy guns and it fell upon the water and the island in great flat blows of immense power it made me think of the sounds a planet must make could we only hear it driving along through space but the sky kept wholly clear of clouds and soon after supper the full moon rose up in the east and covered the river and the plane of shouting willows with a light like the day day we lay on the sandy patch beside the fire smoking listening to the noises of the night round us and talking happily of the journey we had already made and of our plans ahead the map lay spread in the door of the tent but the high wind made it hard to study and presently we lowered the curtain and extinguished the lantern the firelight was enough to smoke and see each other's faces by and the sparks flew about overhead like fireworks a few yards beyond the river gurgled and hissed and from time to time a heavy splash announced the falling away of further portions of the bank our talk i noticed had to do with the far away scenes and incidents of our first camps in the black forest or of other subjects all together remote from the present setting for neither of us spoke of the actual moment more than was necessary almost as though we had agreed tacitly to avoid discussion of the camp and its incidents neither the otter nor the boatman for instance received the honor of a single mention though ordinarily these would have furnished discussion for the greater part of the evening they were of course distinct events in such a place the scarcity of wood made it a business to keep the fire going for the wind that drove the smoke in our faces wherever we sat helped at the same time to make a forced drought we took it in turn to make foraging expeditions into the darkness and the quantity the swede brought back always made me feel that he took an absurdly long time finding it for the fact was that i did not care much about being left alone and yet it always seemed to be my turn to grub about among the bushes or scramble along the slippery banks in the moonlight the long days battle with wind and water such wind and such water had tired us both and an early bed was the obvious program yet neither of us made the move for the tent we lay there tending the fire talking in desultory fashion peering about us into the dense willow bushes and listening to the thunder of wind and river the loneliness of the place had entered our very bones and silence seemed natural for after a bit the sound of our voices became a trifle unreal and forced whispering would have been the fitting mode of communication i felt and the human voice always rather absurd amid the roar of the elements now carried with it something almost illegitimate it was like talking out loud in church or in some place where it is not lawful perhaps not quite safe to be overheard the eeriness of this lonely island set among a million willows swept by a hurricane and surrounded by hurrying deep waters touched us both i fancy untrodden by man almost unknown to man it lay there beneath the moon remote from human influence on the frontier of another world an alien world a world tenanted by willows only and the souls of willows and we in our rashness had dared to invade it even to make use of it something more than the power of its mystery stirred in me as i lay on the sand feet to fire and peered up through the leaves at the stars for the last time i rose to get firewood when this has burnt up i said firmly i shall turn in and my companion watched me lazily as i moved off into the surrounding shadows for an unimaginative man i thought he seemed unusually receptive that night unusually open to suggestion of things other than sensory he too was touched by the beauty and loneliness of the place i was not altogether pleased i remember to recognize this slight change in him and instead of immediately collecting sticks i made my way to the far point of the island where the moonlight on plain and river could be seen to better advantage the desire to be alone had come suddenly upon me my former dread returned in force there was a vague feeling in me i wished to face and probe to the bottom when i reached the point of sand jutting out among the waves the spell of the place descended upon me with a positive shock no mere scenery could have produced such an effect there was something more here something to alarm i gazed across the waist of wild waters i watched the whispering willows i heard the ceaseless beating of the tireless wind and one and all each in its own way stirred in me the sensation of a strange distress but the willows especially forever they went on chattering and talking among themselves laughing a little shrilly crying out sometimes sighing but what it was they made so much to do about belong to the secret life of the great plane they inhabited and it was utterly alien to the world i knew or to that of the wild yet kindly elements they made me think of a host of beings from another plane of life another evolution altogether perhaps all discussing mystery known only to themselves i watched them moving busily together oddly shaking their big bushy heads twirling their myriad leaves even when there was no wind they moved of their own will as though alive and they touched by some incalculable method my own keen sense of the horrible there they stood in the moonlight like a vast army surrounding our camp shaking their innumerable silver spears defiantly formed already for an attack the psychology of places for some imaginations at least is very vivid for the wanderer especially camps have their note of either welcome or rejection at first it may not always be apparent because the busy preparations of tent and cooking prevent but with the first pause after supper usually it comes and announces itself and the note of this willow camp now became unmistakably plain to me we were interlopers trespassers we were not welcomed the sense of unfamiliarity grew upon me as i stood there watching we touched the frontier of a region where our presence was resented for a night's lodging we might perhaps be tolerated but for a prolonged and inquisitive stay no by all the gods of the trees and the wilderness no we were the first human influences upon this island and we were not wanted the willows were against us strange thoughts like these bizarre fancies born i know not whence found lodgment in my mind as i stood listening what i thought if after all these crouching willows proved to be alive if suddenly they should rise up like a swarm of living creatures marshaled by the gods whose territory we had invaded sweep towards us off the vast swamps booming overhead in the night and then settle down as i looked it was so easy to imagine they actually moved crept nearer retreated a little huddled together in masses hostile waiting for the great wind that should finally start them are running i could have sworn their aspect changed a little and their ranks deepened and pressed more closely together the melancholy shrill cry of a night bird sounded overhead and suddenly i nearly lost my balance as the piece of bank i stood upon fell with a great splash into the river undermined by the flood i stepped back just in time and went on hunting for firewood again half laughing at the odd fancies that crowded so thickly into my mind and cast their spell upon me i recall the swede's remark about moving on next day and i was just thinking that i fully agreed with him when i turned with a start and saw the subject of my thoughts standing immediately in front of me he was quite close the roar of the elements had covered his approach you've been gone so long he shouted above the wind i thought something must have happened to you but there was that in his tone and a certain look in his face as well that conveyed to me more than his actual words and in a flash i understood the real reason for his coming it was because the spell of the place had entered his soul too and he did not like being alone river still rising he cried pointing to the flood in the moonlight and the wind simply awful he always said the same things but it was a cry for companionship that gave the real importance to his words lucky i cried back our tents in the hollow i think it'll hold all right i added something about the difficulty of finding wood in order to explain my absence but the wind caught my words and flung them across the river so that he did not hear but just looked at me through the branches nodding his head lucky if we get away without disaster he shouted or words to that effect and i remember feeling half angry with him for putting the thought into words for it was exactly what i felt myself there was disaster impending somewhere and the sense of presentment lay unpleasantly upon me we went back to the fire and made a final blaze poking it up with our feet we took a last look round but for the wind the heat would have been unpleasant i put this thought into words and i remember my friend's reply struck me oddly that he would rather have the heat the ordinary july weather than this diabolical wind everything was snug for the night the canoe lying turned over beside the tent with both yellow paddles beneath her the provision sack hanging from a willow stem and the washed up dishes removed to a safe distance from the fire already for the morning meal we smothered the embers of the fire with sand and then turned in the flap of the tent door was up and i saw the branches and the stars and the white moonlight the shaking willows and the heavy buffeting of the wind against our taut little house with the last things i remembered as sleep came down and covered all with its soft and delicious forgetfulness and of part one section one of famous modern ghost stories this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libra vox.org recorded by ken krueger on the web at ken krueger.com famous modern ghost stories compiled by dorthy scarborough section one the willows by algernon blackwood two suddenly i found myself lying awake peering from my sandy mattress through the door of the tent i looked at my watch pinned against the canvas and saw by the bright moonlight that it was past 12 o'clock the threshold of a new day and i had therefore slept a couple of hours the swede was asleep still beside me the wind howled as before something plucked at my heart and made me feel afraid there was a sense of disturbance in my immediate neighborhood i sat up quickly and looked out the trees were swaying violently to and fro as the gusts smote them but our little bit of green canvas lay snugly safe in the hollow for the wind passed over it without meeting enough resistance to make it vicious the feeling of disquietude did not pass however and i crawled quietly out of the tent to see if our belongings were safe i moved carefully so as not to wake in my companion a curious excitement was on me i was halfway out kneeling on all fours when my eye first took in that the tops of the bushes opposite with their moving tracery of leaves made shapes against the sky i sat back on my haunches and stared it was incredible surely but there opposite and slightly above me were shapes of some indeterminate sort among the willows and as the branches swayed in the wind they seemed to group themselves about these shapes forming a series of monstrous outlines that shifted rapidly beneath the moon close about 50 feet in front of me i saw these things my first instinct was to awaken my companion that he too might see them but something made me hesitate the sudden realization probably that i should not welcome corroboration and meanwhile i crouched there staring in amazement with smarting eyes i was wide awake i remember saying to myself that i was not dreaming they first became properly visible these huge figures just within the tops of the bushes immense bronze colored moving and wholly independent of the swaying of the branches i saw them plainly and noted now i came to examine them more calmly that they were very much larger than human and indeed that something in their appearance proclaimed them to be not human at all certainly they were not merely the moving tracery of the branches against the moonlight they shifted independently they rose upwards in a continuous stream from earth to sky vanishing utterly as soon as they reached the dark of the sky they were interlaced one with another making a great column and i saw their limbs and huge bodies melting in and out of each other forming this serpentine line that bent and swayed and twisted spirally with the contortions of the wind toss trees they were nude fluid shapes passing up the bushes within the leaves almost rising up in a living column into the heavens their faces i never could see unceasingly they poured upwards swaying and great bending curves with a hue of dull bronze upon their skins i stared trying to force every atom of vision from my eyes for a long time i thought they must every moment disappear and resolve themselves into the movements of the branches improved to be an optical illusion i searched everywhere for a proof of reality when all the while i understood quite well that the standard of reality had changed for the longer i looked the more certain i became that these figures were real and living though perhaps not according to the standards that the camera and the biologist would insist upon far from feeling fear i was possessed with a sense of awe and wonder such as i have never known i seemed to be gazing at the personified elemental forces of this haunted and primeval region our intrusion had stirred the powers of the place into activity it was we who were the cause of the disturbance and my brain filled to bursting with stories and legends of the spirits and deities of places that have been acknowledged and worshiped by men in all ages of the world's history but before i could arrive at any possible explanation something impelled me to go further out and i crept forward onto the sand and stood upright i felt the ground still warm under my bare feet the wind tore at my hair and face and the sound of the river burst upon my ears with a sudden roar these things i knew were real improved at my senses were acting normally yet the figure still rose from earth to heaven silent majestically in a great spiral of grace and strength that overwhelmed me at length with a genuine deep emotion of worship i felt that i must fall down in worship absolutely worship perhaps in another minute i might have done so when a gust of wind swept against me with such force that it blew me sideways and i nearly stumbled and fell it seemed to shake the dream violently out of me at least it gave me another point of view somehow the figure still remained still ascended into heaven from the heart of the night but my reason at last began to assert itself it must be a subjective experience i argued nonetheless real for that but still subjective the moonlight and the branches combined to work out these pictures upon the mirror of my imagination and for some reason i projected them outwards and made them appear objective i knew this must be the case of course i was the subject of a vivid and interesting hallucination i took courage and began to move forward across the open patches of sand by jove though was it all hallucination was it merely subjective did not my reason argue in the old futile way from the little standard of the known i only know that the great column of figures ascended darkly into the sky for what seemed a very long period of time and with a very complete measure of reality as most men are accustomed to gauge reality then suddenly they were gone and once they were gone and the immediate wonder of their great presence had passed fear came down upon me with a cold rush the esoteric meaning of this lonely and haunted region suddenly flamed up within me and i began to tremble dreadfully i took a quick look round the look of horror that came near to panic calculating vainly ways of escape and then realizing how helpless i was to achieve anything really effective i crept back silently into the tent and lay down again upon my sandy mattress first lowering the door curtain to shut out the side of the willows and the moonlight and then burying my head as deeply as possible beneath the blankets to deaden the sound of the terrifying wind three as though further to convince me that i had not been dreaming i remember that it was a long time before i fell again into a troubled and restless sleep and even then only the upper crust of me slept and underneath there was something that never quite lost consciousness but lay alert and on the watch but the second time i jumped up with a genuine start of terror it was neither the wind nor the river that woke me but the slow approach of something that caused the sleeping portion of me to grow smaller and smaller till at last it vanished altogether and i found myself sitting bolt upright listening outside there was a sound of multitudinous little patterings they had been coming i was aware for a long time and in my sleep they had first become audible i sat there nervously wide awake as though i had not slept at all it seemed to me that my breathing came with difficulty and that there was a great weight upon the surface of my body in spite of the hot night i felt clammy with cold and shivered something surely was pressing steadily against the sides of the tent and weighing down upon it from above was it the body of the wind was this the pattering rain the dripping of the leaves the spray blown from the river by the wind and gathering in big drops i thought quickly of a dozen things then suddenly the explanation leaped into my mind a bow from the poplar the only large tree on the island had fallen with the wind still half caught by the other branches it would fall with the next gust and crush us and meanwhile its leaves brushed and tapped upon the tight canvas surface of the tent i raised the loose flap and rushed out calling to the swede to follow but when i got out and stood upright i saw that the tent was free there was no hanging bow there was no rain or spray nothing approached a cold gray light filtered down through the bushes and lay on the faintly gleaming sand stars still crowded the sky directly overhead and the wind howled magnificently but the fire no longer gave out any glow and i saw the east reddening in streaks through the trees several hours must have passed since i stood there before watching the ascending figures and the memory of it now came back to me horribly like an evil dream oh how tired it made me feel that ceaseless raging wind yet though the deep lassitude of a sleepless night was on me my nerves were tingling with the activity of an equally tireless apprehension and all idea of repose was out of the question the river i saw had risen further its thunder filled the air and a fine spray made itself felt through my thin sleeping shirt yet nowhere did i discover the slightest evidences of anything to cause alarm this deep prolonged disturbance in my heart remained wholly unaccounted for my companion had not stirred when i called him and there was no need to wake him now i looked about me carefully noting everything the turned over canoe the yellow paddles two of them uncertain the provision sack and the extra lantern hanging together from the tree and crowding everywhere about me developing all the willows those endless shaking willows a bird uttered its morning cry and a string of duck passed with whirring flight overhead in the twilight the sand world dry and stinging about my bare feet in the wind i walked around the tent and then went out a little way into the bush so that i could see across the river to the farther landscape in the same profound yet indefinable emotion of distress seized upon me again as i saw the interminable sea of bushes stretching to the horizon looking ghostly and unreal in the wan light of dawn i walked softly here and there still puzzling over that odd sound of infinite pattering and of that pressure upon the tent that had awakened me it must have been the wind i reflected the wind beating upon the loose hot sand driving the dry particles smartly against the taut canvas the wind dropping heavily upon our fragile roof yet all the time my nervousness and malaise increased appreciably i crossed over to the farther shore and noted how the coastline had altered in the night and what masses of sand the river had torn away i dipped my hands and feet into the cool current and bathed my forehead already there was a glow of sunrise in the sky and the exquisite freshness of coming day on my way back i passed purposely beneath the very bushes where i had seen the column of figures rising into the air and midway among the clumps i suddenly found myself overtaken by a sense of vast terror from the shadows a large figure went swiftly by someone passed me as sure as ever man did it was a great staggering blow from the wind that helped me forward again and once out in the more open space the sense of terror diminished strangely the winds were about and walking i remember saying to myself for the winds often move like great presences under the trees and altogether the fear that hovered about me was such an unknown and immense kind of fear so unlike anything i had ever felt before that it woke a sense of awe and wonder in me that did much to counteract its worst effects and when i reached a high point in the middle of the island from which i could see the wide stretch of river crimson in the sunrise the whole magical beauty of it was also overpowering that a sort of wild yearning woke in me and almost brought a cry up into the throat but this cry found no expression for as my eyes wandered from the plane beyond to the island around me and noted our little tent half hidden among the willows a dreadful discovery leaped out at me compared to which my terror of the walking winds seemed nothing at all for a change i thought had somehow come about in the arrangement of the landscape it was not that my point of vantage gave me a different view but that an alteration had apparently been affected in the relation of the tent to the willows and of the willows to the tent surely the bushes now crowded much closer unnecessarily unpleasantly close they had moved nearer creeping with silent feet over the shifting sands drawing imperceptibly nearer by soft unhurried movements the willows had come closer during the night but had the wind moved them or had they moved to themselves i recalled the sound of infinite small patterings and the pressure upon the tent and upon my own heart that caused me to wake in terror i swayed for a moment in the wind like a tree finding it hard to keep my upright position on the sandy hillock there was a suggestion here of personal agency of deliberate intention of aggressive hostility and it terrified me into a sort of rigidity then the reaction followed quickly the idea was so bizarre so absurd that i felt inclined to laugh but the laughter came no more readily than the cry for the knowledge that my mind was so receptive to such dangerous imaginings brought the additional terror that it was through our minds and not through our physical bodies that the attack would come and was coming the wind buffeted me about and very quickly it seemed the sun came up over the horizon for it was after four o'clock and i must have stood on that little pinnacle of sand longer than i knew afraid to come down at close quarters with the willows i returned quietly creepily to the tent first taking another exhaustive look around and yes i confess it making a few measurements i paced out on the warm sand the distances between the willows and the tent making a note of the shortest distance particularly i crawled stealthily into my blankets my companion to all appearances still slept soundly and i was glad that this was so provided my experiences were not corroborated i could find strength somehow to deny them perhaps with the daylight i could persuade myself that it was all a subjective hallucination a fantasy of the night a projection of the excited imagination nothing further came to disturb me and i fell asleep almost at once utterly exhausted yet still in dread of hearing again that weird sound of altitude and his pattering or a feeling the pressure upon my heart that had made it difficult to breathe four the sun was high in the heavens when my companion woke me from a heavy sleep and announced that the porridge was cooked and there was just time to bathe the grateful smell of frizzling bacon entered the tent door river still rising he said and several islands out in midstream have disappeared altogether our own islands much smaller any wood left i asked sleepily the wood in the island will finish tomorrow in a dead heat he left but there's enough to last us till then i plunged in from the point of the island which had indeed altered a lot in size and shape during the night and was swept out in a moment to the landing place opposite the tent the water was icy and the banks flew by like the country from an express train bathing under such conditions was an exhilarating operation and the terror of the night seemed cleansed out of me by a process of evaporation in the brain the sun was blazing hot not a cloud showed itself anywhere the wind however had not abated one little jot quite suddenly then the implied meaning of the swede's words flashed across me showing that he no longer wished to leave post haste and had changed his mind enough to last till tomorrow he assumed we should stay on the island another night it struck me as odd the night before he was so positive the other way how had the change come about great crumblings of the banks occurred at breakfast with heavy splashing and clouds of spray which the wind brought into our frying pan and my fellow traveler talked incessantly about the difficulty the vienna peth steamers must have to find the channel in flood but the state of his mind interested and impressed me far more than the state of the river or the difficulties of the steamers he had changed somehow since the evening before his manner was different a trifle excited a trifle shy with a sort of suspicion about his voice and gestures i hardly know how to describe it now in cold blood but at the time i remember being quite certain of one thing viz that he had become frightened he ate very little breakfast and for once omitted to smoke his pipe he had the map spread open beside him and kept studying its markings we'd better get off sharp in an hour i said presently feeling for an opening that must bring him indirectly to a partial confession at any rate and his answer puzzled me uncomfortably rather if they'll let us who will let us the elements i asked quickly with effected indifference the powers of this awful place whoever they are he replied keeping his eyes on the map the gods are here if they are anywhere at all in the world the elements are always the true immortals i replied laughing as naturally as i could manage yet knowing quite well that my face reflected my true feelings when he looked up gravely at me and spoke across the smoke we shall be fortunate if we get away without further disaster this was exactly what i had dreaded and i screwed myself up to the point of the direct question it was like agreeing to allow the dentist to extract the tooth it had to come anyhow in the long run and the rest was all pretense further disaster why what's happened for one thing the steering paddles gone he said quietly the steering paddle gone i repeated greatly excited for this was our rudder and the danube and flood without a rudder was suicide but what and there's a tear in the bottom of the canoe he added with a genuine little tremor in his voice i continued staring at him able only to repeat the words in his face somewhat foolishly there in the heat of the sun and on this burning sand i was aware of a freezing atmosphere descending around us i got up to follow him for he merely knotted his head gravely and led the way towards the tent a few yards on the other side of the fireplace the canoe is still lay there as i had last seen her in the night ribs uppermost the paddles or rather the paddle on the sand beside her there's only one he said stupid to pick it up and here's the rent in the baseboard it was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that i had clearly noticed two paddles a few hours before but a second impulse made me think better of it and i said nothing i approached to see there was a long finely made tear in the bottom of the canoe where a little slither of wood had been neatly taken clean out it looked as if the tooth of a sharp rock or snag had eaten down her length an investigation showed that the hole went through had we launched out in her without observing it we must inevitably have found it at first the water would have made the wood swell so as to close the hole but once out in midstream the water must have poured in and the canoe never more than two inches above the surface would have filled and sunk very rapidly there you see an attempt to prepare a victim for the sacrifice i heard him saying more to himself than to me two victims rather he added as he bent over and ran his fingers along the slit i began to whistle a thing i always do unconsciously when utterly non-plus and purposely paid no attention to his words i was determined to consider them foolish it wasn't there last night he said presently straightening up from his examination and looking anywhere but at me we must have scratched her in landing of course i stopped whistling to say the stones are very sharp i stopped abruptly for at that moment he turned around and met my eyes squarely i knew just as well as he did how impossible my explanation was there were no stones to begin with and then there's this to explain to he added quietly handing me the paddle and pointing to the blade a new and curious emotion spread freezingly over me as i took and examined it the blade was scraped down all over beautifully scraped as though someone had sandpapered it with care making it so thin that the first vigorous stroke must have snapped it off at the elbow one of us walked in his sleep and did this thing i said feebly or or it has been filed by the constant stream of sand particles blown against it by the wind perhaps ah said the swede turning away laughing a little you can explain everything the same wind that caught the steering paddle and flung it so near the bank that it fell in with the next lump that crumbled i called out after him absolutely determined to find an explanation for everything he showed me i see he shouted back turning his head to look at me before disappearing among the willow bushes once alone with these perplexing evidences of personal agency i think my first thought took the form of one of us must have done this thing and it certainly was not i but my second thought decided how impossible it was to suppose under all the circumstances that either of us had done it that my companion the trusted friend of a dozen similar expeditions could have knowingly had a hand in it was a suggestion not to be entertained for a moment equally absurd seemed the explanation that this imperturbable and densely practical nature had suddenly become insane and was busy with insane purposes yet the fact remained that what disturbed me most and kept my fear actively alive even in this blaze of sunshine wild beauty was the clear certainty that some curious alteration had come about in his mind that he was nervous timid suspicious aware of goings on he did not speak about watching a series of secret and hitherto unmentionable events waiting in a word for a climax that he expected and i thought expected very soon this grew up in my mind intuitively i hardly knew how i made a hurried examination of the tent and its surroundings but the measurements of the night remain the same there were deep hollows formed in the sand i now notice for the first time basin shape and the various depths and sizes varying from that of a teacup to a large bowl the wind no doubt was responsible for these miniature craters just as it was for lifting the paddle and tossing it towards the water the rent in the canoe was the only thing that seemed quite inexplicable and after all it was conceivable that a sharp point had caught it when we landed the examination i made of the shore did not assist this theory but all the same i clung to it with that diminishing portion of my intelligence which i called my reason an explanation of some kind was an absolute necessity just as some working explanation of the universe is necessary however absurd to the happiness of every individual who seeks to do his duty in the world and face the problems of life the simile seemed to me at the time an exact parallel i at once set the pitch melting and presently the swede joined me at the work though under the best conditions in the world the canoe could not be safe for traveling till the following day i drew his attention casually to the hollows in the sand yes he said i know they're all over the island but you can explain them no doubt wind of course i answered without hesitation have you ever watched those little whirlwinds in the street that twist and twirl everything into a circle this sand's loose enough to yield that's all he made no reply and we worked on in silence for a bit i watched him surreptitiously all the time and i had an idea he was watching me he seemed to to be always listening attentively to something i could not hear or perhaps for something that he expected to hear for he kept turning about and staring into the bushes and up into the sky and out across the water where it was visible through the openings among the willows sometimes he even put his hand to his ear and held it there for several minutes he said nothing to me however about it and i asked no questions and meanwhile as he mended that torn canoe with a skill and a dress of a red indian i was glad to notice his absorption in the work for there was a vague dread in my heart that he would speak of the changed aspect of the willows and if he had noticed that my imagination could no longer be held a sufficient explanation of it at length after a long pause he began to talk queer thing he added in a hurried sort of voice as though he wanted to say something and get it over queer thing i mean about that otter last night i had expected something so totally different that he caught me with surprise and i looked up sharply shows how lonely this place is otters are awfully shy things i don't mean that of course he interrupted i mean do you think did you think it really was an otter what else in the name of heaven what else you know i saw it before you did and at first it seemed so much bigger than an otter the sunset as you looked upstream magnified it or something i replied he looked at me absently a moment as though his mind were busy with other thoughts it had such extraordinary yellow eyes he went on half to himself that was the song too i laughed a trifle boisterously i suppose you'll wonder next if that fellow in the boat i suddenly decided not to finish the sentence he was in the act again of listening turning his head to the wind and something in the expression of his face made me halt the subject dropped and we went on with our caulking apparently he had not noticed my unfinished sentence five minutes later however he looked at me across the canoe the smoking pitch in his hand his face exceedingly grave i did rather wonder if you want to know he said slowly what that thing in the boat was i remember thinking at the time it was not a man the whole business seemed to rise quite suddenly out of the water i laughed again boisterously in his face but this time it was impatience and a strain of anger too in my feeling look here now i cried this place is quite queer enough without going out of our way to imagine things that boat was an ordinary boat and the man in it was an ordinary man and they were both going downstream as fast as they could lick and that otter was an otter so don't let's play the fool about it he looked steadily at me with the same grave expression he was not in the least annoyed i took courage from his silence and for heaven's sake i went on don't keep pretending you hear things because it only gives me the jumps and there's nothing to hear but the river and this cursed old thundering wind you fool he answered in a low shocked voice you utter fool that's just the way all victims talk as if you didn't understand just as well as i do he sneered with scorn in his voice and a sort of resignation the best thing you can do is to keep quiet and try to hold your mind as firm as possible this feeble attempt at self deception only makes the truth harder when you're forced to meet it my little effort was over and i found nothing more to say for i knew quite well his words were true and that i was the fool not he up to a certain stage in the adventure he kept ahead of me easily and i think i felt annoyed to be out of it to be thus proved less psychic less sensitive than himself to these extraordinary happenings and half ignorant all the time of what was going on under my very nose he knew from the very beginning apparently but at the moment i wholly missed the point of his words about the necessity of there being a victim and that we ourselves were destined to satisfy the want i dropped all pretense thence forward but thence forward likewise my fear increased steadily to the climax but you're quite right about one thing he added before the subject passed and that is that we're wiser not to talk about it or even to think about it because what one thinks find expression in words and what one says happens that afternoon while the canoe dried and hardened we spent trying to fish testing the leak collecting wood and watching the enormous flood of rising water masses of driftwood swept near our shore sometimes and we fished for them with long willow branches the island grew perceptibly smaller as the banks were torn away with great gulps and splashes the weather kept brilliantly fine till about four o'clock and then for the first time for three days the wind showed signs of a bathing clouds began to gather in the southwest spreading then slowly over the sky this lessening of the wind came as a great relief for the incessant roaring banging and thundering had irritated our nerves yet the silence that came about five o'clock with its sudden cessation was in a manner quite as oppressive the booming of the river had everything its own way then it filled the air with deep murmurs more musical than the wind noises but infinitely more monotonous the wind held many notes rising falling always beating out some sort of great elemental tune whereas the river song lay between three notes at most dull pedal notes that held a lugubrious quality foreign to the wind and somehow seemed to me in my then nervous state to sound wonderfully well the music of doom it was extraordinary too how the withdrawal suddenly a bright sunlight took everything out of the landscape that made for cheerfulness and since this particular landscape had already managed to convey the suggestion of something sinister the change of course was all the more unwelcome and noticeable for me i know the darkening outlook became distinctly more alarming and i found myself more than once calculating how soon after sunset the full moon would get up in the east and whether the gathering clouds would greatly interfere with her lighting of the little island with this general hush of wind though it's still indulged in occasional brief gusts the river seemed to me to grow blacker the willows to stand more densely together the latter two kept up a sort of independent movement of their own rustling among themselves when no wind stirred and shaking oddly from the roots upwards when common objects in this way become charged with the suggestion of horror they stimulate the imagination far more than things of unusual appearance and these bushes crowding huddled about us assumed for me in the darkness a bizarre grotesquery of appearance that lent to them somehow the aspect of purposeful and living creatures their very ordinariness i felt masked what was malignant and hostile to us the forces of the region drew nearer with the coming of night they were focusing upon our island and more particularly upon ourselves for thus somehow in the terms of the imagination did my really indescribable sensations in this extraordinary place present themselves i had slept a good deal in the early afternoon and had thus recovered somewhat from the exhaustion of a disturbed night but this only served apparently to render me more susceptible than before to the obsessing spell of the haunting i fought against it laughing at my feelings as absurd and childish with very obvious psychological explanations yet in spite of every effort they gained in strength upon me so that i dreaded the night as a child lost in a forest must dread the approach of darkness the canoe we had carefully covered with a waterproof sheet during the day and the one remaining paddle had been securely tied by the swede to the base of a tree lest the wind should rob us of that too from five o'clock onwards i busied myself with the stew pot and preparations for dinner it being my turn to cook that night we had potatoes onions bits of bacon fat to add flavor and the general thick residue from former stews at the bottom of the pot with black bread broken up into it the result was most excellent and it was followed by a stew of plums with sugar and a brew of strong tea with dried milk a good pile of wood lay close at hand and the absence of wind made my duties easy my companions sat lazily watching me dividing his attention between cleaning his pipe and giving useless advice an admitted privilege of the off-duty man he had been very quiet all afternoon engaged in re-caulking the canoe strengthening the tent ropes and fishing for driftwood while i slept no more talk about undesirable things had passed between us and i think his only remarks had to do with the gradual destruction of the island which he declared was now fully a third smaller than when we first landed the pot had just begun to bubble when i heard his voice calling to me from the bank where he had wandered away without my noticing i ran up come and listen he said and see what you make of it he held his hand cup wise to his ear as so often before now do you hear anything he asked watching me curiously we stood there listening attentively together at first i heard only the deep note of the water and the hissings rising from its turbulent surface the willows for once were motionless and silent then the sound began to reach my ears faintly a peculiar sound something like the humming of a distant gong it seemed to come across to us in the darkness from the waist of swamps and willows opposite it was repeated at regular intervals but it was certainly neither the sound of a bell nor the hooting of a distant steamer i can liken it to nothing so much as to the sound of an immense gong suspended far up in the sky repeating incessantly its muffled metallic note soft and musical as it was repeatedly struck my heart quickened as i listened i've heard it all day said my companion while you slept this afternoon it came all around the island i hunted it down but could never get near enough to see to localize it correctly sometimes it was overhead and sometimes it seemed under the water once or twice too i could have sworn it was not outside at all but within myself you know the way a sound in the fourth dimension is supposed to come i was too much puzzled to pay much attention to his words i listened carefully striving to associate it with any known familiar sound i could think of but without success it changed in direction too coming nearer and then sinking utterly away into remote distance i cannot say that it was ominous in quality because to me it seemed distinctly musical yet i must admit it set going a distressing feeling that made me wish i had never heard it the wind blowing in those sand funnels i said determined to find an explanation were the bushes rubbing together after the storm perhaps it comes off the whole swamp my friend answered it comes from everywhere at once he ignored my explanations it comes from the willow bushes somehow but now the wind has dropped i objected the willows can hardly make a noise by themselves can they his answer frightened me first because i had dreaded it and secondly because i knew intuitively it was true it is because the wind has dropped we now hear it it was drowned before it is the cry i believe of the i dashed back to my fire warned by a sound of bubbling that the stew was in danger but determined at the same time to escape from further conversation i was resolute if possible to avoid the exchanging of views i dreaded too that he would begin again about the gods or the elemental forces or something else disquieting and i wanted to keep myself well in hand for what might happen later there was another night to be faced before we escaped from this distressing place and there was no knowing yet what it might bring forth come and cut up bread for the pot i call to him vigorously stirring the appetizing mixture that stew pot held sanity for both of us and the thought made me laugh he came over slowly and took the provision sack from the tree fumbling in its mysterious depths and then emptying the entire contents upon the ground sheet at his feet hurry up i cried it's boiling the sweet burst out into a roar of laughter that startled me it was forced laughter not artificial exactly but mirthless there's nothing here he shouted holding his sides bread i mean it's gone there is no bread they've taken it i dropped the long spoon and ran up everything the sack it contained lay upon the ground sheet but there was no loaf the whole dead weight of my growing fear fell upon me and shook me then i burst out laughing too it was the only thing to do and the sound of my own laughter also made me understand his the strain of psychical pressure caused it this explosion of unnatural laughter in both of us it was an effort of repressed forces to seek relief it was a temporary safety valve and with both of us it ceased quite suddenly how criminally stupid of me i cried still determined to be consistent and find an explanation i clean forgot to buy a loaf at pressburg that chattering woman put everything out of my head and i must have left it lying on the counter or the oatmeal too is much less than it was this morning the sweet interrupted why in the world need he draw attention to it i thought angrily there's enough for tomorrow i said stirring vigorously and we can get lots more at comorn or gran in 24 hours we shall be miles from here i hope so to god he muttered putting the things back into the sack unless we're claimed first as victims for the sacrifice he added with a foolish laugh he dragged the sack into the tent for safety's sake i suppose and i heard him mumbling on to himself but so indistinctly that it seemed quite natural for me to ignore his words end of part two