 The Empty House by Algernon Blackwood Certain houses, like certain persons, manage somehow to proclaim at once their character for evil. In the case of the latter no particular feature need betray them. They may boast an open countenance, an ingenuous smile, and yet a little of their company leaves the unalterable conviction that there is something radically amiss with their being—that they are evil. Willy-nilly they seem to communicate an atmosphere of secret and wicked thoughts which make those in their immediate neighbourhood shrink from them, as from a thing diseased. And, perhaps, with the houses the same principle is operative, and it is the aroma of evil deeds committed under a particular roof long after the actual doer has passed away that makes the goose-flesh come and the hair rise. Something of the original passion of the evil doer, and of the horror felt by his victim, enters the heart of the innocent watcher, and he becomes suddenly conscious of tingling nerves, creeping skin and a chilling of the blood, his terror stricken without apparent cause. There was manifestly nothing in the external appearance of this particular house to bear out the tales of the horror that was said to reign within. It was neither lonely nor unkempt. It stood crowded into a corner of the square and looked exactly like the houses on either side of it. It had the same number of windows as its neighbours, the same balcony overlooking the gardens, the same white steps leading up to the heavy black front door, and in the rear there was the same narrow strip of green with neat box-borders running up to the wall that divided it from the backs of the adjoining houses. Apparently, too, the number of chimney-pots on the roof was the same, the breadth and angle of the eaves and even the height of the dirty area railings. And yet this house in the square that seemed precisely similar to its fifty ugly neighbours was, as a matter of fact, entirely different, horribly different. Wherein lay this marked invisible difference is impossible to say. It cannot be ascribed wholly to the imagination, because persons who had spent some time in the house knowing nothing of the facts had declared positively that certain rooms were so disagreeable they would rather die than enter them again, and that the atmosphere of the whole house produced in these symptoms of a genuine terror, while the series of innocent tenants who had tried to live in it and been forced to decamp at the shortest possible notice was indeed little less than a scandal in the town. When short house arrived to pay a weekend visit to his aunt Julia in her little house on the sea-front at the other end of town, he found her charged the brim with mystery and excitement. He had only received her telegram that morning, and he had come anticipating boredom, but the moment he touched her hand and kissed her apple-skinned wrinkled cheek he caught the first wave of her electrical condition. The impression deepened when he learned that there were to be no other visitors, and that he had been telegraphed for with a very special object. Something was in the wind, and that something would doubtless bear fruit, for this elderly spinster aunt with a mania for psychical research had brains as well as will-power, and by hook or by crook she usually managed to accomplish her ends. The revelation was made suit after tea, when she sidled close up to him as they paced slowly along the sea-front in the dusk. I've got the keys," she announced in a delighted yet half-awesome voice. Got them till Monday. The keys of the bathing machine, or—he asked innocently, looking from the sea to the town—nothing brought her so quickly to the point as feigning stupidity. Neither, she whispered, I've got the keys of the haunted house in the square, and I'm going there to-night. Shorthouse was conscious of the slightest possible tremor down his back. He dropped his teasing tone. Something in her voice and manner thrilled him. She was in earnest. But you can't go alone, he began. That's why I wired for you, she said with decision. He turned to look at her. The ugly-lined enigmatic little face was alive with excitement. There was the glow of genuine enthusiasm round it like a halo. The eyes shone. He caught another wave of her excitement and a second tremor, more marked than the first, accompanied it. Thanks, St. Julia, he said politely. Thanks awfully. I should not dare to go quite alone, she went on raising her voice, but with you I should enjoy it immensely. You're afraid of nothing, I know. Thanks so much, he said again. Is anything likely to happen? A great deal has happened, she whispered, though it's been most cleverly hushed up. Three tenants have come and gone in the last few months, and the house is said to be empty for good now. In spite of himself Short House became interested, his aunt was so very much in earnest. The house is very old indeed, she went on, and the story, an unpleasant one, dates a long way back. It has to do with the murder committed by a jealous stapleman who had some affair with a servant in the house. One night he managed to secret himself in the cellar, and when everyone was asleep he crept upstairs to the servants' quarters, chased the girl down to the next landing, and before anyone could come to the rescue threw her bodily over the banisters into the hall below. And the stableman was caught, I believe, and hanged for murder, but it all happened a century ago, and I've not been able to get more details of the story. Short House now felt his interest thoroughly aroused, but though he was not particularly nervous for himself he hesitated a little on his aunt's account. On one condition, he said at length, nothing will prevent my going, she said firmly, but I may as well hear your condition. That you guarantee your power of self-control if anything really horrible happens, I mean that you are sure you won't get too frightened. Jim, she said scornfully, I'm not young, I know, nor am I nervous, but with you I should be afraid of nothing in the world. This of course settled it, for Short House had no pretensions to being other than a very ordinary young man, and an appeal to his vanity was irresistible. He agreed to go. Instinctively, by a sort of subconscious preparation, he kept himself and his forces well in hand the whole evening, compelling an accumulative reserve of control by that nameless inward process of gradually putting all the emotions away and turning the key upon them, a process difficult to describe but wonderfully effective as all men who have lived through severe trials of the inner man well understand. Later it stood him in good stead. But it was not until half-past ten, when they stood in the hall, well in the glare of friendly lamps and still surrounded by comforting human influences, that he had to make the first call upon his store of collected strength for, once the door was closed and he saw the deserted silent street stretching away white in the moonlight before them, it came to him clearly that the real test that night would be in dealing with two fears instead of one. He would have to carry his aunt's fears, as well as his own, and as he glanced down at her sphinx-like countenance and realised that it might assume no pleasant aspect in a rush of real terror, he felt satisfied with only one thing in the whole adventure, that he had the confidence in his own will and power to stand against any shock that might come. Slowly they walked along the empty streets of the town, a bright autumn moon silvered the roofs, casting deep shadows, there was no breath of wind and the trees in the former gardens by the sea-front watched them silently as they passed along. To his aunt's occasional remarks, Shorthouse made no reply, realising that she was simply surrounding herself with mental buffers, saying ordinary things to prevent herself thinking of extra-ordinary things. Few windows showed lights, and from scarcely a single chimney came smoke or sparks. Shorthouse had already begun to notice everything, even the smallest details. Presently they stopped at the street-corner and looked up at the name on the side of the house, full in the moonlight, and with one accord, but without remark, turned into the square and crossed over to the side of it that lay in the shadows. The number of the house is thirteen, whispered a voice at his side, and neither of them made the obvious reference, but passed across the broad sheet of moonlight and began to march up the pavement in silence. It was about half way up the square that Shorthouse felt an arm slipped quietly but significantly into his own, and knew that their adventure had begun in earnest, and that his companion was already yielding in perceptibly to the influences against them. A few minutes later they stopped before a tall, narrow house that rose before them into the night, ugly in shape and painted a dingy white. Shuttle-less windows without blinds stared down upon them, shining here and there in the moonlight. There were weather streaks in the walls and cracks in the paint, and the balcony bulged out from the first floor a little unnaturally, but beyond this generally full-on appearance of an unoccupied house there was nothing at first sight to single out this particular mansion for the evil character it had most certainly acquired. Taking a look over their shoulders to make sure they had not been followed, they went boldly up the steps, and stood against the huge black door that fronted them forbiddingly. But the first wave of nervousness was now upon them, and Shorthouse fumbled a long time with the key before he could fit it in the lock at all. For a moment, if truth were told, they both hoped it would not open, for they were prey to various unpleasant emotions as they stood there on the threshold of their ghostly adventure. Shorthouse, shuffling with a key and hampered by the steady weight of his arm, certainly felt the solemnity of the moment. It was as if the whole world, for all experience seemed at that instant concentrated in his own consciousness, were listening to the grating noise of that key. A stray puff of wind, wandering down the empty street, woke a momentary rustling in the trees behind them, but otherwise this rattling of the key was the only sound audible, and at last it turned in the lock, and the heavy door swung open and revealed a yawning gulf of darkness beyond. With the last glance at the moonlit square, they passed quickly in, and the door slammed behind them with a roar that echoed prodigiously through empty halls and passages. But instantly, with the echoes, another sound made itself heard, and Aunt Julia leaned suddenly so heavily upon him that he had to take a step backwards to save himself from falling. A man had coughed close beside them, so close that it seemed they must have been actually by his side in the darkness. The impossibility of practical jokes in his mind, short house at once swung his heavy stick in the direction of the sound, but it meant nothing more solid than air. He heard his aunt give a little gas beside him. There's someone here, she whispered. I heard him. Be quiet, he said sternly. It was nothing but the noise of the front door. Oh, get a light, quick! she added as her nephew fumbling with a box of matches opened it upside down and let them all fall with a rattle onto the stone floor. The sound, however, was not repeated, and there was no evidence of retreating footsteps. In another minute they had a candle burning, using an empty end of a cigar case as a holder, and when the first flare had died down he held the impromptu lamp aloft and surveyed the scene. And it was dreary enough in all conscience, for there is nothing more desolate in all the abodes of men than an unfurnished house dimly lit, silent and forsaken, and yet teneted by rumour with the memories of evil and violent histories. They were standing in a wide hallway. On their left was the open door of a spacious dining-room, and in front the hall ran, ever narrowing, into a long, dark passage that led apparently to the top of the kitchen stairs. The broad, uncarpeted staircase rose in a suite before them, everywhere draped in shadows except for a single spot about half way up where the moonlight came in through the window and fell on a bright patch on the boards. This shaft of light shed a faint radiance above and below it, lending to the objects within its reach a misty outline that was infinitely more suggestive and ghostly than complete darkness. Filtered moonlight always seems to paint faces on the surrounding gloom, and as shorthouse peered up into the well of darkness and thought of the countless empty rooms and passages in the upper part of the old house, he caught himself long again for the safety of the moonlit square, or the cosy bright drawing room they had left an hour before. Then, realizing that these thoughts were dangerous, he thrust them away again and summoned all his energy for concentration on the present. Aunt Julia, he said aloud severely, we must now go through the house from top to bottom and make a thorough search. The echoes of his voice died away slowly all over the building, and in the intense silence that followed he turned to look at her. In the candlelight he saw that her face was already ghastly pale, but she dropped his arm for a moment and set in a whisper, stepping closely in front of him. I agree. We must be sure there's no one hiding. That's the first thing. She spoke with evident effort, and he looked at her with admiration. You feel quite sure of yourself. It's not too late. I think so, she whispered her eyes shifting nervously toward the shadows behind. Quite sure. Only one thing. What's that? You must never leave me alone for an instant. As long as you understand that any sound or appearance must be investigated at once, for to hesitate means to admit fear. That is fatal. Agreed, she said a little shakily after a moment's hesitation. I'll try. I'm in arm, shorthouse holding the dripping candle and the stick, while his aunt carried the cloak over her shoulder, figures of utter comedy to all but themselves. They began a systematic search. Stealthily, walking on tiptoe and shading the candle lest it should betray their presence, through the shuttlest windows, they went first into the big dining room. There was not a stick of furniture to be seen. Bare walls, ugly mental pieces and empty grates stared at them. Everything they felt resented their intrusion, watching them as it were with their veiled eyes. Whispers followed them. Shadows flittered noiselessly to right and left. Something seemed ever at their back, watching, waiting an opportunity to do them injury. There was the inevitable sense that operations which went on when the room was empty had been temporarily suspended till they were well out of the way again. The whole dark interior of the old building seemed to become a malignant presence that rose up, warning them to desist and mind their own business. Every moment the strain on the nerves increased. Out of the gloomy dining room they passed through large folding doors into a sort of library or smoking room wrapped equally in silence, darkness and dust, and from this they regained the hall near the top of the back stairs. Here a pitch-black tunnel opened before them into the lower regions and, it must be confessed, they hesitated. But only for a minute. With the worst of the night still to come it was essential to turn from nothing. Aunt Julia stumbled at the top-step of the dark descent, ill-lit by the flickering candle, and even shorthouse felt at least half the decision go out of his legs. "'Come on,' he said peremptorily, and his voice ran on and lost itself in the dark empty spaces below. "'I'm coming,' she faltered, catching his arm with unnecessary violence. They went a little unsteadily down the stone steps, a cold, damp air meeting them in the face, close and malodorous. The kitchen into which the stairs led along a narrow passage was large with a lofty ceiling. Several doors opened out of it, and some into cupboards with empty jars still standing on the shelves, and others into horrible little ghostly back offices, each colder and less inviting than the last. Black beetles scurried over the floor, and once when they knocked against a deal-table standing in a corner, something about the size of a cat jumped down with a rush and fled, scampering across the stone floor into the darkness. Everywhere there was a sense of recent occupation, an impression of sadness and gloom. Leaving the main kitchen, they next went towards the scullery. The door was standing ajar, and as they pushed it open to its full extent, Aunt Julia uttered a piercing scream which he instantly tried to stifle by placing her hand over her mouth. For a second Shorthouse stood stock still, catching his breath. He felt as if his spine had suddenly become hollow and someone had filled it with particles of ice. Facing them, directly in their way between doorsteps, stood the figure of a woman. She had dishevelled hair and wildly staring eyes, and her face was terrified and white as death. She stood there motionless for the space of a single second, then the candle flickered, and she was gone. Gone utterly, and the door flamed nothing but empty darkness. Only the beastly jumping candlelight, he said quickly in a voice that sounded like someone else's and was only half under control. Come on Aunt, there's nothing there. He dragged her forward with a clattering of feet and a great appearance of boldness. They went on, but over his body the skin moved as if crawling ants covered it, and he knew by the weight of his arm that he was supplying the force of locomotion for two. The scullery was cold, bare and empty, more like a large prison cell than anything else. They went round it, tried the door into the yard and the windows, but found them all fast and securely. His aunt moved beside him like a person in a dream. Her eyes were tightly shut and she seemed merely to follow the pressure of his arm. Her courage filled him with amazement. At the same time he noticed that a certain odd change had come over her face, a change which somehow evaded his power of analysis. There's nothing here, auntie, he repeated aloud quickly. Let's go upstairs and see the rest of the house, then we'll choose a room to wait up in. She followed him immediately, keeping close to his side, and they locked the kitchen door behind them. It was a relief to get up again. In the hall there was more light than before, for the moon had travelled a little further down the stairs. Cautiously they began to go up into the dark vault of the upper house, the boards creaking under their weight. On the first floor they found the large double drawing-rooms, a search of which revealed nothing. Here also was no sign of furniture or recent occupancy, nothing but dust and neglect and shadows. They opened the big folding doors between front and back drawing-rooms, and then came out again to the landing and went on upstairs. They had not gone up more than a dozen steps when they both simultaneously stopped to listen, looking to each other's eyes with a new apprehension across the flickering candle. From the room they had left, hardly ten seconds before, came the sounds of doors quietly closing. It was beyond all question. They heard the booming noise that accompanies the shutting of heavy doors, followed by the sharp catching of latch. We must go back and see, said Shorthouse briefly in a low tone and turning to go downstairs again. Somehow she managed to drag after him, her feet catching in her dress, her face livid. When they entered the front drawing-room it was plain that the folding doors had been closed half a minute before. Without hesitation Shorthouse opened them. He almost expected to see someone facing him in the back room, but only darkness and cold air met him. They went through both rooms finding nothing unusual. They tried in every way to make the doors close of themselves, but there was not wind enough even to set the candle-flame flickering. The doors would not move without strong pressure. All was silent as the grave. Undeniably the rooms were utterly empty, and the house utterly still. It's beginning! whispered a voice at his elbow which he hardly recognized as his aunts. He nodded acquiescence, taking out his watch to note the time. It was fifteen minutes before midnight. He made the entry of exactly what had occurred in his notebook, setting the candle in its case upon the floor in order to do so. It took a moment or two to balance it safely against the wall. Aunt Julia always declared that at this moment she was not actually watching him, but had turned her head towards the inner room where she fancied she heard something moving. But at any rate both positively agreed that there came a sound of rushing feet, heavy and very swift, and the next instant the candle was out. But to Shorthouse himself had come more than this, and he had always thanked his fortunate stars that it came to him alone and not to his aunt too. For as he rose from the stooping position of balancing the candle, and before it was actually extinguished, a face thrust itself forward so close to his own that he could almost have touched it with his lips. It was a face working with passion—a man's face, dark with thick features and angry, savage eyes. It belonged to a common man, and it was evil in its ordinary normal expression, no doubt, but as he saw it, alive with intense, aggressive emotion, it was a malignant and terrible human countenance. There was no movement of the air—nothing but the sound of rushing feet, stocking dormuffled feet, the apparition of the face, and the almost simultaneous extinguishing of the candle. In spite of himself, Shorthouse uttered a little cry, nearly losing his balance as his aunt clung to him with her whole weight in one moment of real, uncontrollable terror. She made no sound, but simply seized him bodily. Fortunately, however, she had seen nothing, but had only heard rushing feet for her control returned almost at once, and he was able to disentangle himself and strike a match. The shadows ran away on all sides before the glare, and his aunt stooped down and groped for the scar case with a precious candle. Then they discovered that the candle had not been blown out at all—it had been crushed out. The wick was pressed down into the wax, which was flattened as if by some smooth, heavy instrument. How his companions so quickly overcame her terror, Shorthouse never properly understood, but his admiration for her self-control increased tenfold, and at the same time served to feed his own dying flame, for which he was undeniably grateful. Equally inexplicable to him was the evident of physical force they had just witnessed. He had once suppressed the memory of stories he had heard of physical mediums and their dangerous phenomena, for if these were true, and either his aunt or himself was unwittingly a physical medium, it meant that they were simply aiding to focus the forces of a haunted house already charged to the brim. They were walking with unprotected lamps among uncovered stores of gunpowder. So, with as little reflection as possible, he simply relit the candle and went up to the next floor. The arm in his trembled, it is true, and his own tread was often uncertain, but they went on with thoroughness, and after a search revealing nothing they climbed the last flight of stairs to the top floor of all. Here they found a perfect nest of small servants' rooms, with broken pieces of furniture, dirty caned bottom chairs, chests of drawers, cracked mirrors and decrepit bedsteads. The rooms had low, sloping ceilings, already hung here and there with cobwebs, small windows and badly plastered walls, a depressing and dismal region which they were glad to leave behind. It was on the stroke of midnight when they entered a small room on the third floor close to the top of the stairs and arranged to make themselves comfortable for the remainder of their adventure. It was absolutely bare and was said to be the room then used as a clothes closet, into which the infuriated groom had chased his victim and finally caught her. Outside, across the narrow landing, began the stairs leading up to the floor above and the servants' quarters where they had just searched. In spite of the chilliness of the night there was something in the air of this room that cried for an open window. But there was more than this. Shorthouse could only describe it by saying that he felt less master of himself here than in any other part of the house. There was something that acted directly on the nerves, tiring the resolution and feebling the will. He was conscious of this result before he had been in the room five minutes and it was in the short time they stayed there that he suffered the wholesale depletion of his vital forces which was for himself the chief horror of the whole experience. They put the candle on the floor of the cupboard, leaving the door a few inches ajar so that there was no glare to confuse the eyes and no shadow to shift about on the walls and ceiling. Then they spread the cloak on the floor and sat down to wait with their backs against the wall. Shorthouse was within two feet of the door onto the landing. His position commanded a good view of the main staircase leading down into the darkness and also of the beginning of the servant's stairs going to the floor above, the heavy stick lay beside him within easy reach. The moon was now high above the house. Through the open window they could see the comforting stars like friendly eyes watching in the sky. One by one the clocks of the town struck midnight and when the sounds died away the deep silence of a windless night fell again over everything. Only the boom of the sea, far away in the gooberious, filled the air with hollow murmurs. Inside the house the silence became awful. Awful he thought because any minute now it might be broken by sounds pretending terror. The strain of waiting told more and more severely on the nerves. They talked in whispers when they talked at all for their voices allowed sounded queer and unnatural. A chillness not altogether due to the night air invaded the room and made them cold. The influences against them, whatever these might be, were slowly robbing them of self-confidence and the power of decisive action their forces were on the wane and the possibility of real fear took on a new and terrible meaning. He began to tremble for the elderly woman by his side whose pluck could hardly save her beyond a certain extent. He heard the blood singing in his veins. It sometimes seemed so loud that he fancied it prevented his hearing properly certain other sounds that were beginning very faintly to make themselves audible in the depths of the house. Every time he fastened his attention on these sounds they instantly ceased. They certainly came no nearer. Yet he could not read himself of the idea that movement was going on somewhere in the lower regions of the house. The drawing-room floor where the doors had been so strangely closed seemed too near. The sounds were further off than that. He thought of the great kitchen with the scurrying black beetles and of the dismal little scullery but somehow or other they did not seem to come from there either. Surely they were not outside the house. Then suddenly the truth flashed into his mind and for the space of a minute he felt as if his blood had stopped flowing and turned to ice. The sounds were not downstairs at all. They were upstairs. Upstairs somewhere among those horrid gloomy little servants-rooms with their bits of broken furniture, low ceilings and cramped windows. Upstairs where the victim had first been disturbed and stalked to her death. And the moment he discovered where the sounds were, he began to hear them more clearly. It was the sound of feet moving stealthily along the passage overhead, in and out among the rooms and past the furniture. He turned quickly to steal a glance at the motionless figure seated beside him to note whether she had shared his discovery. The faint candle-light coming through the crack in the cupboard door threw her strongly marked face into vivid relief again. But it was something else that made him catch his breath and stare again. An extraordinary something had come into her face and seemed to spread over her features like a mask. It smoothed out the deep lines and drew the skin everywhere a little tighter so that the wrinkles disappeared. It brought into the face, with the sole exception of the old eyes, an appearance of youth and almost of childhood. He stared in speechless amazement, amazement that was dangerously near to horror. It was his aunt's face indeed, but it was her face of forty years ago, the vacant, innocent face of a girl. He had heard stories of that strange effect of terror which could wipe a human countenance clean of other emotions, obliterating all previous expressions, but he had never realised that it could be late. Or could mean anything so simply horrible as what he now saw. For the dreadful signature of overmastering fear was written plainly in that utter vacancy of the girlish face beside him. And when, feeling his intense gaze, she turned to look at him, he instinctively closed his eyes tightly to shut out the sight. Yet, when he turned a minute later, his feelings well in hand, he saw to his intense relief another expression. His aunt was smiling, and though the face was deathly white, the awful veil had lifted and the normal look was returning. Anything wrong was all he could think to say at the moment, and the answer was eloquent coming from such a woman. I feel cold and a little frightened, she whispered. He offered to close the window, but she seized hold of him and begged him not to leave her side, even for an instant. It's upstairs, I know, she whispered with an odd half-laugh, but I can't possibly go up. But Shorthouse thought otherwise, knowing that in action lay their best hope of self-control. He took the brandy flask and poured out a glass of neat spirit, stiffened by the cold, brandy flask and poured out a glass of neat spirit, stiff enough to help anybody over anything. She swallowed it with a little shiver. His only idea now was to get out of the house before her collapse became inevitable, but this could not safely be done by turning tail and running from the enemy. In action was no longer possible. Every minute he was growing less master of himself, and desperate, aggressive measures were imperative without further delay. Moreover the action must be taken towards the enemy, not away from it. The climax, if necessary and unavoidable, would have to be faced boldly. He could do it now, but in ten minutes he might not have the force left to act for himself, much less for both. Upstairs the sounds were a meanwhile becoming louder and closer, accompanied by occasional creaking of the boards. Someone was moving stealthily about, stumbling now and then awkwardly against the furniture. Waiting a few moments to allow the tremendous dose of spirits to produce its effect, and knowing this would last but a short time under the circumstances, Shorthouse then quietly got on his feet, saying in a determined voice, Now aunt, we'll go upstairs and find out what all this noise is about. You must come too, it's what we agreed. He picked up his stick and went to the cupboard for the candle. A limp form rose shakily beside him, breathing hard, and he heard a voice say very faintly something about being ready to come. The woman's courage amazed him. It was so much greater than his own, and as they advanced, holding aloft the dripping candle, some subtle force exhaled from this trembling white-faced old woman at his side that was the true source of his inspiration. It held something really great that shamed him and gave him the support without which he would have proved far less equal to the occasion. They crossed the dark landing, avoiding with their eyes the deep black space over the banisters. Then they began to mount the narrow staircase to meet the sounds, which minute by minute grew louder and nearer. About half way up the stairs Aunt Julia stumbled, and Shorthouse turned to catch her by the arm, and just at that moment there came a terrible crash in the servants corridor overhead. It was instantly followed by a shrill, agonized scream that was a cry of terror and a cry for help melted into one. Before they could move aside or go down a single step, someone came rushing along the passage overhead, blundering horribly, racing madly at full speed, three steps at a time, down the very staircase where they stood. The steps were light and uncertain, but close behind them sounded the heavier tread of another person, and the staircase seemed to shake. Shorthouse and his companion just had time to flat themselves against the wall when the jumble of flying steps was upon them, and two persons, with the slightest possible interval between them, dashed past at full speed. It was a perfect whirlwind of sound breaking in upon the midnight silence of the empty building. The two runners, pursuer and pursued, had passed clean through them where they stood, and already with a thud the boards below had received first one, then the other, yet they had seen absolutely nothing, not a hand or arm or face or even a shred of flying clothing. There came a second's pause. Then the first one, the lighter of the two, obviously the pursued one, ran with uncertain footsteps into the little room which Shorthouse and his aunt had just left. The heavier one followed, there was a sound of scuffling, gasping and smothered screaming, and then out onto the landing came the step of a single person, treading weightily. A dead silence followed for the space of half a minute, and then was heard a rushing sound through the air. It was followed by a dull, crashing thud in the depths of the house below, on the stone floor of the hall. Utter silence reigned after. Nothing moved. The flame of the candle was steady. It had been steady the whole time, and the air had been understood by any movement whatsoever. Pulsied with terror, Aunt Julia, without waiting for her companion, began fumbling her way downstairs. She was crying gently to herself, and when Shorthouse put his arm round her and half carried her, he felt that she was trembling like a leaf. He went into the little room and picked up the cloak from the floor, and arm in arm walking very slowly, without speaking a word or looking once behind them, they marched down the three flights into the hall. In the hall they saw nothing, but the hallway down the stairs they were conscious that someone followed them, step by step. When they went faster it was left behind, and when they went more slowly it caught them up. But never once did they look behind a sea, and at each turning of the staircase they lowered their eyes for fear of the following horror they might see upon the stairs above. With trembling hands Shorthouse opened the front door, and they walked out into the moonlight, and drew a deep breath of the cool night air blowing in from the sea. End of The Empty House Recording by Linda Ferguson Entrance and Exit 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 Bernard Spiel. Entrance and Exit by Algernon Blackwood These three, the old physicist, the girl, and the young Anglican person who was engaged to her, stood by the window of the country house. The blinds were not yet drawn. They could see the dark clump of pines in the field, with crests silhouetted against the pale, wintry sky of the February afternoon. Snow, freshly fallen, lay upon lawn and hill. A big moon was already lighting up. Yes, that's the wood, the old man said. And it was this very day fifty years ago, February thirteenth, the man disappeared from its shadows, swept in this extraordinary, incredible fashion into invisibility, into some other place. Can you wonder the grove is haunted? A strange impressiveness of manner belied the laugh following the words. Oh, please tell us, the girl whispered. We're all alone now? Curiosity triumphed. Yet a vague alarm betrayed itself in the questioning glance she cast for protection at her younger companion, whose fine face, on the other hand, was the expression that was grave and singularly wrapped. He was listening keenly. As though nature, the physicist, went on half to himself, here and there concealed vacuums, gaps, holes in space. His mind was always speculative, more than speculative, some said, through which a man might drop into invisibility, a new direction, in fact, at right angles to the three known ones, higher space, as Bolyai, Gauss, and Hinton might call it, and what you, with your mystical turn, looking toward the young priest, might consider a spiritual change of condition into a region where space and time do not exist and where all dimensions are possible because they are one. But please, the story, the girl begged, not understanding these dark sayings, although I'm not sure that Arthur had to hear it, he's much too interested in such queer things as it is. Smiling, yet uneasy, she stood closer to his side, as though her body might protect his soul. Very briefly, then, you shall hear what I remember of this haunting, for I was barely ten years old at the time. It was evening, clear and cold like this, with snow and moonlight, when someone reported to my father that a peculiar sound, variously described as crying, singing, wailing, was being heard in the grove. He paid no attention until my sister heard it, too, and was frightened. Then he sent a groom to investigate. Though the night was brilliant, the man took a lantern. We watched from this very window till he lost his figure against the trees, and the lantern stopped swinging suddenly, as if he had put it down. He seemed motionless. We waited half an hour, and then my father, curiously excited, I remember, went out quickly, and I, utterly terrified, went after him. We followed his tracks, which came to an end beside the lantern, the last step being astride almost impossible for a man to have made. All around the snow was unbroken by a single mark, but the man himself had vanished. Then we heard him calling for help, above, behind, beyond us, from all directions at once, yet from none came the sound of his voice. But though we called back, he made no answer, and gradually his cries grew fainter and fainter, as if going into tremendous distance, and at last died away altogether. And the man himself, asked both listeners, never returned. From that day to this has never been seen at intervals for weeks and months afterwards. Reports came in that he was still heard crying, always crying for help. With time, even these reports ceased. For most of us, he added under his breath, and that is all I know, a mere outline, as you see. The girl did not quite like the story, for the old man's manner made it too convincing. She was half disappointed, half frightened. See, there are the others coming home, she exclaimed with a note of relief, pointing to a group of figures moving over the snow near the pine trees. Now we can think of tea. She crossed the room to busy herself with the friendly tray, as the servant approached to fasten the shutters. The priest, however, deeply interested, talked on with their host, though in a voice almost too low for her to hear. Only the final sentences reached her, making her uneasy. Absurdly so, she thought, till afterwards. For matter, as we know, interpenetrates matter, she heard, and two objects may conceivably occupy the same space. The odd thing really is that one should hear, but not see, that air-wave should bring the voice, yet ether-waves failed to bring the picture. And then the older man, as if certain places in nature, yes, invited the change, places where these extraordinary forces stir from the earth, as from the surface of a living being with organs, places like islands, mountain tops, pine woods, especially pines isolated from their kind. You know the queer results of digging absolutely virgin soil, of course, and that theory of the earth's being alive, the voice dropped again. States of mind also helping the forces of the place, she caught the priest's reply in part, such as conditions induced by music, by intense listening, by certain moments in the mass even, by ecstasy, or, I say, what do you think, cried a girl's voice, came in with welcome chatter, and odours of tweeds and open fields. As we passed your old haunted pine wood, we heard such a queer noise, like someone wailing or crying. Caesar howled and ran, and Harry refused to go in and investigate. He positively funked it. They all laughed. More like a rabbit in a trap than a person crying, explained Harry, a blush kindly concealing his startling polar. I wanted my tea too much to bother about an old rabbit. It was some time after tea when the girl became aware that the priest had disappeared, and putting two and two together ran in alarm to her host's study. Quite easily, from the hastily open shutters, they saw his figure moving across the snow. The moon was very bright over the world, yet he carried a lantern that shone pale yellow against the white brilliance. Oh, for God's sake, quick! She cried, pale with fear. Quick, or we're too late! Arthur simply wild about such things. Oh, I might have known, I might have guessed. And this is the very night! I'm terrified! By the time he had found his overcoat and slipped round the house with her from the back door, the lantern, they saw, was already swinging close to the pine wood. The night was still as ice, bitterly cold. Breathlessly they ran, following the tracks. Halfway, his steps diverged and were plainly visible in the virgin snow by themselves. They heard the whispering of the branches ahead of them, for pines cry even when no airs stir. Follow me close! said the old man sternly. The lantern he already saw lay upon the ground, undetended. No human figure was anywhere visible. See? The steps come to an end here, stooping down as they reach the lantern. The tracks, hitherto so regular, showed an odd wavering. The snow curiously disturbed. Quite suddenly they stopped. The final step was a very long one. A stride, almost immense. As though he was pushed forward from behind, muttered the old man, too low to be overheard, or sucked forward from in front as in a fall. The girl would have dashed forward, but for his strong restraining grasp she clutched him, uttering a sudden dreadful cry. Hark! I hear his voice! She almost sobbed. They stood still to listen. A mystery that was more than the mystery of night closed about their hearts. A mystery that is beyond life and death, that only great awe and terror can summon from the deeps of the soul. Out of the heart of the trees, fifty feet away issued a crying voice, half wailing, half singing, very faint. Help! Help! It sounded through the still night. For the love of God, pray for me! The melancholy rustling of the pines followed, and then again the singular crying voice shot past them over their heads, now in front of them, now once more behind. It grew fainter and fainter, fading away it seemed into distance that somehow was appalling. The grove, however, was empty of all but the sighing wind, the snow unbroken by any tread, the moon through inky shadows, the cold bit. It was a terror of ice and death, and this awful singing cry. But why pray! screamed the girl, distracted frantic with her bewildered terror, why pray! Let us do something to help, do something! She swung round in a circle, nearly falling to the ground. Suddenly she perceived that the old man had dropped to his knees in the snow beside her and was praying. Because the forces of prayer, of thought, of the will to help alone can reach and succour him where he now is, was all the answers she got. And a moment later, in the snow, praying, so to speak, their very heart's life out. The search may be imagined, the steps taken by police, friends, newspapers, by the whole country, in fact. But the most curious part of this queer, higher space adventure is the end of it, at least the end so far, as at present known. For, after three weeks, when the winds of March trapped over the fields towards the house, the small, dark figure of a man, he was thin, pallid as a ghost, worn and fearfully emaciated. But upon his face and into his eyes were traces of an astonishing radiance, a glory unlike anything ever seen. It may, of course, have been deliberate, or it may have been a genuine loss of memory only, none could say, from the gates of death. But, at any rate, what had come to pass during the interval of his amazing disappearance, he has never yet been able to reveal. And you must never ask me, he would say to her, and repeat even after his complete and speedy restoration to bodily health, for I simply cannot tell. I know no language you see that could express it. I was near you all the time, but I was also elsewhere and otherwise. End of Entrance and Exit Recording by Bernard Spiel b-e-r-n-a-r-d-s-p-i-e-l.blogspot.com Fragment From In Ghostly, Japan by Lafcadio Hearn This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For further information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Bologna Times Fragment From In Ghostly, Japan by Lafcadio Hearn It was at the hour of sunset that they came to the foot of the mountain. There was in that place no sign of life. Neither token of water nor trace of plant nor shadow of flying bird. Nothing but desolation rising to desolation. And the summit was lost in heaven. Then the Bodhisattva said to his young companion, What you have asked to see will be shown to you. But the place of the vision is far and the way is rude. Follow after me and do not fear. Strength will be given you. Twilight gloomed about them as they climbed. There was no beaten path nor any mark of former human visitation. And the way was over an endless heaping of tumbled fragments that rolled or turned beneath the foot. Sometimes a mast dislodged would clatter down with hollow echoings. Sometimes the substance trodden would burst like an empty shell. Stars pointed and thrilled and the darkness deepened. Do not fear my son, said the Bodhisattva, guiding. Danger there is none. Though the way be grim under the stars they climbed. Fast, fast mounting by help of power superhuman. High zones of mist they passed and they saw below them ever widening as they climbed. A soundless flood of cloud like the tide of a milky sea. Hour after hour they climbed and forms invisible yielded to their tread with dull soft crashings and faint cold fires lighted and died at every breaking. And once the pilgrim youth laid hand on something smooth that was not stone and lifted it and dimly saw the cheekless jibe of death. Linger not thus my son, urged the voice of the teacher. The summit that we must gain is very far away. On through the dark they climbed and felt continually beneath them the soft strange breakings and saw the icy fires turn firm and die till the rim of the night turned gray and the stars began to fall and the east began to bloom and yet they still climbed. Fast, fast mounting by help of power superhuman about them now was frigidness of death and silence tremendous. A gold flame kindled in the east and the pilgrims gazed. The steeps revealed their nakedness and a trembling seized him and a ghastly fear for there was not any ground neither beneath him nor about him nor above him but a heaping only monstrous and measureless of skulls and fragments of skulls and dust of bone. With its shimmer of shed teeth crowned through the drift of it like the shimmer of scrags of shell and the rack of a tide do not fear my son cried the voice of Bodhisattva only the strong of heart can win to the place of the vision behind them the world had vanished nothing remained but the clouds beneath and the sky above and the heaping of skulls between the climbers and there was no warmth in the light of him but coldness sharp as a sword and the horror of stupendous height and the nightmare of stupendous depth and the terror of silence ever grew and grew and weighed upon the pilgrim and held his feet so that suddenly all power departed from him and he moaned cried the Bodhisattva the day is brief and the summit is very far away but the pilgrim shrieked I fear I fear unspeakably and the power has departed from me the power will return my son made answer the Bodhisattva look now below you and above you and about you and tell me what you see I dare not cried the pilgrim trembling and clinging I dare not look beneath before me and about me there is nothing but skulls of men and yet my son said the Bodhisattva laughing softly and yet you do not know of what this mountain is made the other shattering repeated I fear there is nothing but skulls of men a mountain of skulls it is responded the Bodhisattva but no my son that all of them are your own each has at some time been the nest of your dreams and delusions and desires not even one of them is the skull of any other being all your perception have been yours in the billions of your former lives end of fragment by Lafcadio Hearn Ghoul's Accountant by Stephen Crane this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Sean Michael Hogan a Ghoul's Accountant by Stephen Crane in a wilderness sunlight is noise darkness is a great tremendous silence accented by small and distant sounds the music of the wind in the trees is songs of loneliness hymns of abandonment and laze of the absence of things congenial and alive once a campfire lay dying in a fit of temper a few weak flames struggled calorically among them the burned out logs beneath a mass of angry red coals glowered and hated the world some hemlock sighed and sung in a wind purred in the grass the moon was looking through the locked branches at four imperturbable bundles of blankets which lay near the agonized campfire the fire groaned in its last throes but the bundles made no sign often the gloomy unknown a foot fell upon a twig the laurel leaves shivered at the stealthy passing of danger a moment later a man crept into the spot of dim light his skin was fiercely red and his whiskers infinitely black he gazed at the four passive bundles and smiled a smile that curled his lips and showed yellow disordered teeth the campfire threw up two lurid arms and quivering expired the voices of the trees grew hoarse and frightened the bundles were stalled the intruder stepped softly nearer and looked at the bundles one was shorter than the others he regarded it for some time motionless the hemlocks quavered nervously and the grass shook the intruder slid to the short bundle and touched it then he smiled the bundle partially upreared itself and the head of a little man appeared Lord! he said he found himself looking at the grin of a ghoul condemned to torment come croaked the ghoul what? said the little man he began to feel his flesh slide to and fro on his bones as he looked into the smile come croaked the ghoul what? the little man whimpered he grew gray and could not move his legs the ghoul lifted a three-pronged pickerel spear and flashed it near the little man's throat he saw menace on its points he struggled heavily to his feet he cast his eyes upon the remaining mummy-like bundles but the ghoul confronted his face with the spear where? shivered the little man the ghoul turned and pointed his countenance shone with lurid light of triumph go he croaked the little man blindly staggered in the direction indicated the three bundles by the fire were still immovable he tried to pierce the cloth with a glance and opened his mouth to hoop but the spear ever threatened his face the bundles were left far in the rear and the little man stumbled with the ghoul tangled thickets tripped him saplings buffeted him and stones turned away from his feet blinded and badgered he began to swear frenziedly a foam drifted to his mouth and his eyes glowed with a blue light go on thunderously croaked the ghoul the little man's blood turned to salt his eyes began to decay and refused to do their office he fell from gloom to gloom at last the house was before them threw a yellow-papered window shone an uncertain light the ghoul conducted his prisoner to the uneven threshold and kicked the decrepit door it swung groaning back and he dragged the little man into a room a soiled oil lamp gave a feeble light that turned the pine board walls and furniture a dull orange or a table sat a wild grey man the ghoul threw his victim upon a chair and went and stood by the man they regarded the little man with eyes that made wheels revolve in his soul he cast a dazed glance about the room and saw vaguely that it was disheveled as from a terrific scuffle chairs lay shattered and dishes in the cupboard were ground to pieces destruction had been present there were moments of silence the ghoul and the wild grey man contemplated their victim a throw of fear passed over him and he sank limp in his chair his eyes swept feverishly over the faces of his tormentors at last the ghoul spoke well he said to the wild grey man the other cleared his throat and stood up stranger he said suddenly how much is thirty-three bushels of potatoes at sixty-four and a half a bushel the ghoul leaned forward to catch the reply the wild grey man straightened his figure and listened a fierce light shone on their faces their breath schemed swiftly the little man wriggled his legs in agony twenty-one no two six quick two dollars and twenty-eight cents and a half laboriously stuttered the little man the ghoul gave a tremendous howl there Tom Jones during ya he yelled what did I tell ya hey ain't I right see didn't I tell you that the wild grey man's body shook he was delivered of a frightful roar he sprang forward and kicked the little man out of the door end of a ghoul's accountant recording by Sean Michael Hogan St. John's Newfoundland Canada a haunted island 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 Bernard Spiel a haunted island by Algernon Blackwood the following events occurred on a small island of isolated position in a large Canadian lake to whose cool waters the inhabitants of Montreal and Toronto flee for rest and recreation in the hot months it is only to be regretted that events of such peculiar interest to the genuine student of the psychical should be entirely uncorroborated such unfortunately however is the case our own party of nearly twenty had returned to Montreal that yen day and I was left in solitary possession for a week or two longer in order to accomplish some important reading for the law which I had foolishly neglected during the summer it was late in September and the big trout and masconons were stirring themselves in the depths of the lake and beginning slowly to move up to the surface waters as the north winds and early frosts lowered their temperature already the maples were crimson and gold and the wild laughter of the loons were the days that never knew their strange cry in the summer with a whole island to oneself a two-story cottage a canoe and only the chipmunks and the farmers weekly visit with eggs and bread to disturb one the opportunities for hard reading might be very great it all depends the rest of the party had gone off with many warnings to beware of Indians and not to stay late enough to be the victim of a frost that thinks nothing of forty below zero after they had gone the loneliness of the situation made itself unpleasantly felt there were no other islands within six or seven miles and though the mainland porous lay a couple of miles behind me they stretched for a very great distance unbroken by ally signs of human habitation but though the island was completely deserted and silent the rocks and trees that had echoed human laughter and voices almost every hour of the day but they all to retain some memories of it all and I was not surprised to fancy I heard a shout or a cry as I passed from rock to rock and more than once to imagine that I heard my own name called aloud in the cottage there were six tiny little bedrooms divided from one another by a plain unvarnished partitions of pine a wooded bedstead a mattress and a chair stood in each room but I only found two mirrors broken the boards creaked a good deal as I moved about and the signs of occupation were so recent that I could hardly believe I was alone I half expected to find someone left behind still trying to crowd into a box more than it would hold the door of one room was stiff and refused for a moment to open and it required very little persuasion to imagine someone was holding the handle on the inside and that when it opened my human eyes a thorough search of the floor led me to select as my own sleeping quarters a little room with a diminutive balcony over the veranda roof the room was very small but the bed was large and had the best mattress of them all it was situated directly over the sitting room where I should live and do my reading and the miniature window looked out to the rising sun with the exception of a narrow path which led from the front door and veranda through the trees to the boat landing the island was densely covered with naples hemlocks and cedars the trees gathered in round the cottage so closely that the slightest wind made the branches scrape the roof and tap the wooden walls a few moments after sunset the darkness became impenetrable and ten yards beyond the glare of the lamps that shone through the sitting room windows of which there were four you could not see an inch before the tree was falling up against a tree the rest of that day I spent moving my belongings from my tent to the sitting room taking stock of the contents of the larder and chopping enough wood for the stove to last me a week after that, just before sunset I went round the island a couple of times in my canoe for precaution's sake I had never dreamed of doing this before but when a man is alone he does things that never occur to him when he is one of a large party the island seemed when I landed again the sun was down and twilight is unknown in these northern regions the darkness comes up at once the canoe safely pulled up and turned over on her face I groped my way up the little narrow pathway to the veranda the six lamps were soon burning merrily in the front room but in the kitchen where I dined the shadows were so gloomy and the lamp lights so inadequate that the stars could be seen and the tracks between the rafters I turned in early that night though it was calm and there was no wind the creaking of my bedstead and the musical gurgle of the water over the rocks below were not the only sounds that reached my ears as I lay awake the appalling emptiness of the house grew upon me the corridors and vacant rooms seemed to echo innumerable footsteps shufflings the rustle of skirts and the sound of whispering when sleep at length overtook me the breathings and noises, however passed gently to mingle with the voices of my dreams a week passed by and the reading progressed favorably on the tenth day of my solitude a strange thing happened I awoke after a good night's sleep to find myself possessed with a marked repugnance from my room the air seemed to stifle me the more I tried to define the cause of this dislike the more unreasonable it appeared there was something about the room that made me afraid absurd as it seems this feeling clung to me obstinately while dressing and more than once I caught myself shivering and conscious of an inclination to get out of the room as quickly as possible the more I tried to laugh it away the more real it became the more I was dressed and went out into the passage and downstairs into the kitchen it was with the feelings of relief such as I might imagine what a company once escaped from the presence of a dangerous contagious disease while cooking my breakfast I carefully recalled every night spent in the room in the hope that I might in some way connect the dislike I now felt with some disagreeable incident that had occurred in it this stormy night when I suddenly awoke and heard the boards creaking so loudly in the corridor that I was convinced there were people in the house so certain was I of this that I had descended the stairs gun in hand only to find the doors and windows securely fastened and the mice and black beetles in sole possession of the floor this was certainly not sufficient to account for the strength I broke off in the middle of the day for a swim and luncheon I was very much surprised if not a little alarmed to find that my dislike for the room had, if anything, grown stronger going upstairs to get a book I experienced the most marked aversion to entering the room and while within I was conscious all the time of an uncomfortable feeling that was half uneasiness and half apprehension the ultimate was that instead of reading I spent the afternoon on the water paddling and fishing and when I got home about sundown brought with me half a dozen delicious black bass for the supper table and the larder as sleep was an important matter to me at this time I had decided that if my aversion to the room was so strongly marked on my return as it had been before I would move my bed down into the sitting room and sleep there in no sense a concession to an absurd and fanciful fear but simply a precaution to ensure a good night's sleep a bad night involved the loss of the next day's reading a loss I was not prepared to incur I accordingly moved my bed downstairs into a corner of the sitting room facing the door and was moreover uncommonly glad when the operation was completed and the door of the bedroom closed finally upon the shadows of the strange fear that shared the room with them the coking stroke of the kitchen clock sounded the hour of eight as I finished washing up my few dishes and closing the kitchen door behind me passed into the front room all the lamps were lit and the reflectors which I had polished up during the day threw a blaze of light into the room outside the night was still and warm not a breath of air was stirring the waves were silent the trees motionless and heavy clouds hung like an oppressive curtain over the heavens the darkness seemed to have rolled up with unusual swiftness and not the faintest glow of color remained to show where the sun had set there was present in the atmosphere that ominous and overwhelming silence which so often precedes the most violent storms I sat down to my books with my brain unusually clear and in my heart the pleasant satisfaction of knowing that five black bass were lying in the ice house and that tomorrow morning the old farmer would arrive with fresh bread and eggs I was soon absorbed in my books as the night wore on the silence deepened even the chipmunks were still and the boards of the floors and walls ceased creaking I had read on steadily till from the gloomy shadows of the kitchen came the horse sound of the clock striking nine how loud the strokes sounded they were like blows of a big hammer I closed one book and opened another feeling that I was just warming up to my work this however did not last long I presently found that I was reading the same paragraphs over twice simple paragraphs that did not require such effort then I noticed that my mind began to wander to other things and the effort to recall my thoughts became harder with each digression concentration was growing momentarily more difficult presently I discovered that I had turned over two pages instead of one and had not noticed my mistake until I was well down the page this was becoming serious what was the disturbing influence it could not be physical fatigue on the contrary my mind was unusually alert and in a more receptive condition than usual I made a new and determined effort to read and for a short time succeeded in giving my whole attention to my subject but in a very few moments again I found myself leaning back in my chair staring vacantly into space something was evidently at work in my subconsciousness there was something I had neglected to do perhaps the kitchen door and windows were not fastened I accordingly went to see and found that they were the fire perhaps needed attention I went to see and found that it was alright I looked at the lamps went upstairs into every bedroom in turn and then went round the house and even into the ice house nothing was wrong everything was in its place yet something was wrong the conviction grew stronger and stronger within me when I at length settled down to my books again and tried to read I became aware for the first time that the room seemed growing cold yet the day had been oppressively warm and evening had brought no relief the six big lamps moreover gave out heat enough to warm the room pleasantly but a chilliness that perhaps crept up from the lake made itself felt in the room and caused me to get up to close the glass door opening onto the veranda for a brief moment I stood looking out at the shaft of light that fell from the windows and shown some little distance down the pathway and out for a few feet into the lake as I looked I saw a canoe glide into the pathway of light and immediately crossing it passed out of sight again into the darkness it was perhaps a hundred feet from the shore and it moved swiftly I was surprised that a canoe should pass the island at that time of night for all the summer visitors from the other side of the lake had gone home weeks before and the island was a long way out of any line of water traffic my reading from this moment did not make very good progress for somehow the picture of that canoe gliding so dimly and swiftly across the narrow track of light in the black waters in the background of my mind with singular vividness it kept coming between my eyes and the printed page the more I thought about it the more surprised I became it was a larger build than any I had seen during the past summer months and was more like the old Indian war canoes with the high curving boughs and stern and wide beam the more I tried to read the less success attended my efforts and finally I closed my books and went out onto the veranda to walk up and down a bit and shake the chilliness out of my bones the night was perfectly still and as dark as imaginable I stumbled down the path to the little landing wharf where the water made the very faintest of gurgling under the timbers the sound of a big tree falling in the mainland forest far across the lake stirred echoes in the heavy air the first guns of a distant night attack no other sound disturbed the stillness that reigned supreme as I stood upon the wharf and a broad splash of light that followed me from the sitting room windows I saw another canoe cross the pathway of uncertain light upon the water and disappear at once into the impenetrable gloom that lay beyond this time I saw more distinctly than the four like the former canoe a big birch bark with high crusted boughs and stern and broad beam it was paddled by two Indians of whom the one in the stern the steerer appeared to be a very large man I could see this very plainly and though the second canoe was much nearer the island than the first I judged that they were both on their way home to the government reservation which was situated some 15 miles away from the island I was wondering in my mind what could possibly bring any Indians down to this part of the lake at such an hour of the night when a third canoe of precisely similar build and also occupied by two Indians passed silently around the end of the wharf this time the canoe was very much nearer shore and it suddenly flashed into my mind that the three canoes were in reality one and the same and that only one canoe was this was by no means a pleasant reflection because if it were the correct solution of the unusual appearance of the three canoes in this lonely part of the lake at so late an hour the purpose of the two men could only reasonably be considered to be in some way connected with myself I had never known of the Indians attempting any violence upon the settlers who shared the wild inhospitable country with them at the same time it was not beyond the region of possibility to suppose but then I did not care even to think of such hideous possibilities and my imagination immediately sought relief in all manner of other solutions to the problem which indeed came readily enough to my mind but did not succeed in recommending themselves to my reason meanwhile by a sort of instinct I stepped back out of the bright light which I had hitherto been standing and waited in the deep shadow of a rock to see if the canoe would again make its appearance here I could see without being seen and the precautions seemed a wise one after less than five minutes the canoe as I had anticipated made its fourth appearance this time it was not twenty yards from the wharf and I saw that the Indians had landed I recognized the two men as those who had passed before and the steerer was certainly an immense fellow it was unquestionably the same canoe there could be no longer any doubt that for some purpose of their own the men had been going round and round the island for some time waiting for an opportunity to land I strained my eyes to follow them in the darkness but the night had completely swallowed them up and the squish of the paddles reached my ears as the Indians applied their long and powerful strokes the canoe would be round again in a few moments and this time it was possible that the men might land it was well to be prepared I knew nothing of their intentions and the two to one when the two are big Indians late at night on our lonely island was not exactly my idea of a pleasant intercourse I stood my Marlin rifle with ten cartridges in the magazine and one lying snugly in the greased breach there was just time to get up to the house and take up a position of defense in that corner without an instant hesitation I ran up to the veranda carefully picking my way among the trees so as to avoid being seen in the light entering the room I shut the door leading to the veranda and as quickly as possible I turned my lamp on to be in a room so brilliantly lighted where my every movement could be observed from outside while I could see nothing but impenetrable darkness at every window was by all laws of warfare and unnecessary concession to the enemy and this enemy if enemy it was to be was far too wily and dangerous to be granted any such advantages I stood in the corner of the room with my back against the wall the table covered with my books lay between me and the door but for the first few minutes after the lights were out the darkness was so intense that nothing could be discerned at all then very gradually the outline of the room became visible and the framework of the windows began to shape itself dimly before my eyes after a few minutes the door it's up or half of glass and the two windows became specially distinct and I was glad that this was so because if the Indians came up to the house I should be able to see their approach and gather something of their plans nor was I mistaken for there presently came to my ears the peculiar hollow sound of a canoe landing and being carefully dragged up over the rocks the paddles I distinctly heard being placed underneath and the silence that ensued there upon I rightly interpreted to mean the Indians were stealthily approaching the house while it would be absurd to claim that I was not alarmed even frightened at the gravity of the situation and its possible outcome I speak the whole truth when I say that I was not overwhelmingly afraid for myself I was conscious that even at this stage of the night I was passing into a psychical condition in which my sensations seemed no longer normal physical fear at no time nor my feelings and though I kept my hand upon my rifle the greater part of the night I was all the more conscious that its assistance could be of little avail against the terrors that I had to face more than once I seemed to feel most curiously that I was in no real sense a part of the proceedings nor actually involved in them but that I was playing the part of a spectator a spectator moreover on a psychic rather than on a material plane the sensations that night were too vague for definite description and analysis but the main feeling that will stay with me is the end of my days as the awful horror of it all and the miserable sensation that if the strain had lasted a little longer than was actually the case my mind must inevitably have given way meanwhile I stood still in my corner and waited patiently for what was to come the house was as still as the grave but the inarticulate voices of the night sang in my ears and I seemed to hear the blood running in my veins and dancing in my pulses if the Indians came to the back of the house they would find the kitchen door and window securely fastened they could not get in there without making considerable noise which I was bound to hear the only mode of getting in was by means of the door that faced me and I kept my eyes glued on that door without taking them off for the smallest fraction of a second my sight adapted itself every minute better to the darkness I saw the table that nearly filled the room and left only a narrow passage on each side I could also make out the strange backs of the wooden chairs pressed up against it and could even distinguish my papers and ink stand lying on the white oil cloth covering I thought of the gay faces that had gathered around that table during the summer and I longed for the sunlight as I had never longed for it before less than three feet to my left the passageway led to the kitchen and the stairs leading to the bedrooms above commenced in this passageway but almost in the sitting room itself through the windows I could see the dim motionless outlines of the trees not a leaf stirred not a branch moved a few moments of this awful silence and then I was aware of a soft tread on the boards of the veranda so stealthy that it seemed an impression directly on my brain rather than upon the nerves of hearing immediately afterwards a black figure darkened the glass door and I perceived that a face was pressed against the upper panes a shiver ran down my back and my hair was conscious of a tendency to rise and stand at right angles to my head it was the figure of an Indian broad shouldered and immense indeed the largest figure of a man I have ever seen outside of a circus hall by some power of light that seemed to generate itself in the brain I saw the strong dark face with the aquiline nose and high cheekbones flattened against the glass the direction of the gaze I could not determine but faint gleams of light as the big eyes rolled round and showed their whites told me plainly that no corner of the room escaped their searching for what seemed fully five minutes the dark figure stood there with the huge shoulders bent forward so as to bring the head down to the level of the glass while behind him though not nearly so large the shadowy form of the other Indian swayed to and fro like a bent tree while I waited in an agony of suspense and agitation for the next movement little currents of icy sensation ran up and down my spine and my heart seemed alternately to stop beating and then start off again with terrifying rapidity they must have heard its thumping and the singing of the blood in my head moreover I was conscious as I felt a cold stream of perspiration trickle down my face of a desire to scream to shout to bang the walls like a child to make a noise or do anything that would relieve the suspense and bring things to a speedy climax it was probably this inclination that led me to another discovery for when I tried to bring my rifle from behind my back to raise it and have it pointed at the door ready to fire I found that I was powerless to move the muscles and the desire refused to obey the will here indeed was a terrifying complication there was a faint sound of rattling at the brass knob and the door was pushed open a couple of inches a pause of a few seconds and it was pushed open still further without the sound of footsteps that was appreciable to my ears the two figures glided into the room and the man behind they were alone with me between the four walls could they see me standing there so still and straight in my corner had they perhaps already seen me my blood surged and sang like the roll of drums in an orchestra and though I did my best to suppress my breathing it sounded like the rushing of wind through a pneumatic tube my suspense as to the next move was soon at an end in my inner alarm the men had hitherto exchanged no words and no signs but there were general indications of a movement across the room in whichever way they went they would have to pass round the table if they came my way they would have to pass within six inches of my person while I was considering this very disagreeable possibility I perceived that the smaller Indian a smaller bike in Paris and suddenly raised his arm and pointed to the ceiling the other fellow raised his head and followed the direction of his companion's arm I began to understand at last they were going upstairs and the room directly overhead to which they pointed had been until this night my bedroom it was the room in which I had experienced that very morning so strange a sensation of fear and but for which the Indians then began to move silently around the room they were going upstairs and they were coming round my side of the table so stealthy were their movements that but for the abnormally sensitive state of the nerves I should never have heard them as it was their cat like tread was distinctly audible like two monstrous black cats they came round the table toward me and for the first time as it trailed along over the floor with a soft sweeping sound I somehow got the impression that it was a large dead thing without stretched wings or a large spreading cedar branch whatever it was I was unable to see it even in outline and I was too terrified even had I possessed the power over my muscles to move my neck forward in the effort to determine its nature nearer and nearer they came with a giant hand upon the table as he moved my lips were glued together and the air seemed to burn in my nostrils I tried to close my eyes so that I might not see as they passed me but my eyelids had stiffened and refused to obey would they never get by me sensations seemed almost to have left my legs and it was as if I were standing on mere supports of wood or stone worse still I was conscious that I was losing the power of balance the power to stand upright or even to lean backwards against the wall some force was drawing me forward and a dizzy terror seized me that I should lose my balance and topple forward against the Indians just as they were in the act of passing me even moments drawn out into hours must come to an end sometime and almost before I knew it the figures had passed me and had their feet upon the lower step of the stairs leading to the upper bedrooms there could not have been six inches between us and yet I was conscious only of a current of cold air that followed them they had not touched me and I was convinced that they had not seen me even the trailing thing on the floor behind them had not touched my feet as I had dreaded it would and on such an occasion as this I was grateful even for the smallest mercies the absence of the Indians from my immediate neighborhood shivering and shuddering in corner and beyond being able to breathe more freely I felt no wit less uncomfortable also I was aware that a certain light which without apparent source or raise had enabled me to follow their every gesture and movement had gone out of the room with their departure an unnatural darkness now filled the room and pervaded its every corner so that I could barely make out the positions of the windows and the glass doors as I said before my condition was evidently an abnormal one the capacity for feeling surprise seemed as in dreams to be wholly absent my senses recorded with unusual accuracy every smallest occurrence but I was able to draw only the simplest deductions the Indians soon reached the top of the stairs and there they halted for a moment I had not the faintest clue as to their next movement they appeared to hesitate they were listening attentively then I heard one of them who by the weight of his soft tread must have been the giant crossed the narrow corridor and entered the room directly overhead my own little bedroom but for the insistent of that unaccountable dread I had experienced there in the morning I should at that very moment had been lying in the bed with the big Indian in the room standing beside me for the space of a hundred seconds there was silence such as might have existed before the birth of sound it was followed by a long quivering shriek of terror which rang out into the night and ended in a short gulp before it had run its full course at the same moment the other Indian left his place at the head of the stairs and joined his companion in the bedroom I heard the thing trailing behind him along the floor falling and then all became as still and silent as before it was at this point that the atmosphere surged charged all day with the electricity of a fierce storm found relief in a dancing flash of brilliant lightning simultaneously with a crash of loudest thunder for five seconds every article in the room was visible to me with amazing distinctness and through the windows I saw the tree trunks standing in solemn rows I saw it across the lake and among the distant islands and the flood gates of heaven then opened and let out their rain in streaming torrents the drops fell with a swift rushing sound upon the still waters of the lake which leaped up to meet them and pattered with a rattle of shot on the leaves of the maples and the roof of the cottage a moment later and another flash even more brilliant and of longer duration than the first I could see the rain glistening on the leaves and branches outside the wind rose suddenly and in less than a minute the storm that had been gathering all day burst forth in its full fury above all the noisy voices of the elements the slightest sounds in the room overhead made themselves heard and in the few seconds of deep silence that followed the shriek of terror and pain I was aware that the movements had commenced again the men were leaving the room and approaching the top of the stairs and they began to descend behind them tumbling from step to step I could hear that trailing thing being dragged along it had become ponderous I awaited their approach with a degree of calmness almost of apathy which was only explicable on the ground that after a certain point nature applies her own anesthetic an immerseful condition of numbness super veins on they came step by step nearer and nearer with the shuffling sound of the bird they were already half way down the stairs when I was galvanized afresh into a condition of terror by the consideration of a new and horrible possibility it was the reflection that if another vivid flash of lightning were to come when the shadowy procession was in the room perhaps when it was actually passing in front of me I should see everything in detail and worse be seen myself I could only hold my breath and wait wait while the minute lengthened into hours and the procession made its slow progress around the room the Indians had reached the foot of the staircase the form of the huge leader loomed in the doorway of the passage and the burden with an ominous thud had dropped for the last step to the floor there was a moment's pause while I again saw the Indian turn and stooped to assist his companion then the procession moved forward again entered the room close on my left and began to move slowly around my side of the table the leader was already beyond me and his companion dragging on the floor behind him the burden whose confused outline I could dimly make out was exactly in front of me when the cavalcade came to a dead halt at the same moment with the strange suddenness of thunderstorms the splash of the rain ceased altogether and the wind died away into utter silence for the space of five seconds my heart seemed to stop beating and then the worst came a double flash of lightning lit up the room in its contents with merciless vividness the huge Indian leader stood a few feet past me on my right one leg was stretched forward and the act of taking a step his immense shoulders were turned towards his companion and in all their magnificent fierceness I saw the outline of his features his gaze was directed upon the burden his companion was dragging along the floor but his profile his cheekbone straight black hair and bold chin burnt itself in that brief instant into my brain never again to fade Dwarfish compared with his gigantic figure appeared the proportions of the other Indian who within 12 inches on my face was stooping over the thing he was dragging in a position that landed to his person the additional horror of deformity and the burden lying upon a sweeping cedar branch which he held and dragged by a long stem was the body of a white man the scalp had been neatly lifted and blood lay in a broad smear upon the cheeks and forehead then for the first time that night the terror that had paralyzed my muscles and my will lifted its unholy spell for my soul with a loud cry I stretched out my arms to seize the big Indian by the throat and grasping only air tumbled forward unconscious upon the ground I had recognized the body and the face was my own it was bright daylight when a man's voice recalled me to consciousness I was lying where I had fallen and the farmer was standing in the room with the lobes of bread in his hands the horror of the night was still in my heart and as the bluffed settler helped me to my feet and picked up the rifle which had fallen with me with many questions and expressions of condolence I imagined my brief replies and the words of the man were neither self-explanatory nor even intelligible that day after a thorough and fruitless search of the house I left the island and went over to spend my last ten days with the farmer and when time had came for me to leave the necessary reading had been accomplished and my nerves had completely recovered their balance on the day of my departure the farmer started early in his big boat with my wife the farmer started early in his big boat with my belongings to road to the point twelve miles distant where a little steamer ran twice a week for the accommodation of hunters late in the afternoon I went off in another direction in my canoe wishing to see the island once again where I had been the victim of so strange and experience in due course I arrived there and made a tour of the island I also made a search of the little house and it was not without a curious sensation in my heart the farmer's bedroom there seemed nothing unusual just after I re-embarked I saw a canoe gliding ahead of me around the curve of the island a canoe was an unusual sight at this time of the year and this one seemed to have sprung from nowhere altering my course a little I watched it disappear around the next projecting point of rock it had high curving boughs and there were two Indians in it I lingered with some excitement to see if it would appear again around the other side of the island and in less than five minutes it came into view there were less than two hundred yards between us and the Indians sitting on their haunches were paddling swiftly in my direction I never paddled faster in my life than I did in those next few minutes when I turned to look again the Indians had altered their course and were again circling the island the sun was sinking behind the forests on the mainland and the crimson colored clouds of sunset were reflected in the waters of the lake when I looked round for the last time and saw the big bark canoe and its two dusky occupants still going round the island then the shadows deepened rapidly the lake grew black and the night wind blew its first breath in my face as I turned to corner and a projecting bluff of rock hid from my view both island and canoe end of A Haunted Island recording by Bernard Spiel B-E-R-N-A-R-D-S-P-I-E-L dot blogspot dot com