XXIV
- THE FOOTSTEPS IN THE GARDEN
Pepper
is dead! Even now, at times, I seem scarcely able to realize that this is so.
It is many weeks, since I came back from that strange and terrible journey
through space and time. Sometimes, in my sleep, I dream about it, and go
through, in imagination, the whole of that fearsome happening. When I wake, my
thoughts dwell upon it. That Sun - those Suns, were they indeed the great
Central Suns, 'round which the whole universe, of the unknown heavens,
revolves? Who shall say? And the bright globules, floating forever in the light
of the Green Sun! And the Sea of Sleep on which they float! How unbelievable it
all is. If it were not for Pepper, I should, even after the many extraordinary
things that I have witnessed, be inclined to imagine that it was but a gigantic
dream. Then, there is that dreadful, dark nebula (with its multitudes of red
spheres) moving always within the shadow of the Dark Sun, sweeping along on its
stupendous orbit, wrapped eternally in gloom. And the faces that peered out at
me! God, do they, and does such a thing really exist? ... There is still that
little heap of grey ash, on my study floor. I will not have it touched.
At
times, when I am calmer, I have wondered what became of the outer planets of
the Solar System. It has occurred to me, that they may have broken loose from
the sun's attraction, and whirled away into space. This is, of course, only a
surmise. There are so many things, about which I wonder.
Now
that I am writing, let me record that I am certain, there is something horrible
about to happen. Last night, a thing occurred, which has filled me with an even
greater terror, than did the Pit fear. I will write it down now, and, if
anything more happens, endeavor to make a note of it, at once. I have a
feeling, that there is more in this last affair, than in all those others. I am
shaky and nervous, even now, as I write. Somehow, I think death is not very far
away. Not that I fear death - as death is understood. Yet, there is that in the
air, which bids me fear - an intangible, cold horror. I felt it last night. It
was thus: -
Last
night, I was sitting here in my study, writing. The door, leading into the
garden, was half open. At times, the metallic rattle of a dog's chain, sounded
faintly. It belongs to the dog I have bought, since Pepper's death. I will not
have him in the house - not after Pepper. Still, I have felt it better to have
a dog about the place. They are wonderful creatures.
I
was much engrossed in my work, and the time passed, quickly. Suddenly, I heard
a soft noise on the path, outside in the garden - pad, pad, pad, it went, with
a stealthy, curious sound. I sat upright, with a quick movement, and looked out
through the opened door. Again the noise came - pad, pad, pad. It appeared to
be approaching. With a slight feeling of nervousness, I stared into the
gardens; but the night hid everything.
Then
the dog gave a long howl, and I started. For a minute, perhaps, I peered,
intently; but could hear nothing. After a little, I picked up the pen, which I
had laid down, and recommenced my work. The nervous feeling had gone; for I
imagined that the sound I had heard, was nothing more than the dog walking
'round his kennel, at the length of his chain.
A
quarter of an hour may have passed; then, all at once, the dog howled again,
and with such a plaintively sorrowful note, that I jumped to my feet, dropping
my pen, and inking the page on which I was at work.
'Curse
that dog!' I muttered, noting what I had done. Then, even as I said the words,
there sounded again that queer - pad, pad, pad. It was horribly close - almost
by the door, I thought. I knew, now, that it could not be the dog; his chain
would not allow him to come so near.
The
dog's growl came again, and I noted, subconsciously, the taint of fear in it.
Outside,
on the windowsill, I could see Tip, my sister's pet cat. As I looked, it sprang
to its feet, its tail swelling, visibly. For an instant it stood thus; seeming
to stare, fixedly, at something, in the direction of the door. Then, quickly,
it began to back along the sill; until, reaching the wall at the end, it could
go no further. There it stood, rigid, as though frozen in an attitude of
extraordinary terror.
Frightened,
and puzzled, I seized a stick from the corner, and went toward the door,
silently; taking one of the candles with me. I had come to within a few paces
of it, when, suddenly, a peculiar sense of fear thrilled through me - a fear,
palpitant and real; whence, I knew not, nor why. So great was the feeling of
terror, that I wasted no time; but retreated straight-way - walking backward,
and keeping my gaze, fearfully, on the door. I would have given much, to rush
at it, fling it to, and shoot the bolts; for I have had it repaired and
strengthened, so that, now, it is far stronger than ever it has been. Like Tip,
I continued my, almost unconscious, progress backward, until the wall brought
me up. At that, I started, nervously, and glanced 'round, apprehensively. As I
did so, my eyes dwelt, momentarily, on the rack of firearms, and I took a step
toward them; but stopped, with a curious feeling that they would be needless.
Outside, in the gardens, the dog moaned, strangely.
Suddenly,
from the cat, there came a fierce, long screech. I glanced, jerkily, in its
direction - Something, luminous and ghostly, encircled it, and grew upon my
vision. It resolved into a glowing hand, transparent, with a lambent, greenish
flame flickering over it. The cat gave a last, awful caterwaul, and I saw it
smoke and blaze. My breath came with a gasp, and I leant against the wall. Over
that part of the window there spread a smudge, green and fantastic. It hid the
thing from me, though the glare of fire shone through, dully. A stench of
burning, stole into the room.
Pad,
pad, pad - Something passed down the garden path, and a faint, mouldy odor
seemed to come in through the open door, and mingle with the burnt smell.
The
dog had been silent for a few moments. Now, I heard him yowl, sharply, as
though in pain. Then, he was quiet, save for an occasional, subdued whimper of
fear.
A
minute went by; then the gate on the West side of the gardens, slammed,
distantly. After that, nothing; not even the dog's whine.
I
must have stood there some minutes. Then a fragment of courage stole into my
heart, and I made a frightened rush at the door, dashed it to, and bolted it.
After that, for a full half-hour, I sat, helpless - staring before me, rigidly.
Slowly,
my life came back into me, and I made my way, shakily, up-stairs to bed.
That
is all.
XXV -
THE THING FROM THE ARENA
This
morning, early, I went through the gardens; but found everything as usual. Near
the door, I examined the path, for footprints; yet, here again, there was
nothing to tell me whether, or not, I dreamed last night.
It
was only when I came to speak to the dog, that I discovered tangible proof,
that something did happen. When I went to his kennel, he kept inside, crouching
up in one corner, and I had to coax him, to get him out. When, finally, he
consented to come, it was in a strangely cowed and subdued manner. As I patted
him, my attention was attracted to a greenish patch, on his left flank. On
examining it, I found, that the fur and skin had been apparently, burnt off;
for the flesh showed, raw and scorched. The shape of the mark was curious,
reminding me of the imprint of a large talon or hand.
I
stood up, thoughtful. My gaze wandered toward the study window. The rays of the
rising sun, shimmered on the smoky patch in the lower corner, causing it to
fluctuate from green to red, oddly. Ah! that was undoubtedly another proof;
and, suddenly, the horrible Thing I saw last night, rose in my mind. I looked
at the dog, again. I knew the cause, now, of that hateful looking wound on his
side - I knew, also, that, what I had seen last night, had been a real
happening. And a great discomfort filled me. Pepper! Tip! And now this poor
animal ...! I glanced at the dog again, and noticed that he was licking at his
wound.
'Poor
brute!' I muttered, and bent to pat his head. At that, he got upon his feet,
nosing and licking my hand, wistfully.
Presently,
I left him, having other matters to which to attend.
After
dinner, I went to see him, again. He seemed quiet, and disinclined to leave his
kennel. From my sister, I have learnt that he has refused all food today. She
appeared a little puzzled, when she told me; though quite unsuspicious of
anything of which to be afraid.
The
day has passed, uneventfully enough. After tea, I went, again, to have a look
at the dog. He seemed moody, and somewhat restless; yet persisted in remaining
in his kennel. Before locking up, for the night, I moved his kennel out, away
from the wall, so that I shall be able to watch it from the small window,
tonight. The thought came to me, to bring him into the house for the night; but
consideration has decided me, to let him remain out. I cannot say that the
house is, in any degree, less to be feared than the gardens. Pepper was in the
house, and yet...
It
is now two o'clock. Since eight, I have watched the kennel, from the small,
side window in my study. Yet, nothing has occurred, and I am too tired to watch
longer. I will go to bed...
During
the night, I was restless. This is unusual for me; but, toward morning, I
obtained a few hours' sleep.
I
rose early, and, after breakfast, visited the dog. He was quiet; but morose,
and refused to leave his kennel. I wish there was some horse doctor near here;
I would have the poor brute looked to. All day, he has taken no food; but has
shown an evident desire for water - lapping it up, greedily. I was relieved to
observe this.
The
evening has come, and I am in my study. I intend to follow my plan of last
night, and watch the kennel. The door, leading into the garden, is bolted,
securely. I am consciously glad there are bars to the windows...
Night:
- Midnight has gone. The dog has been silent, up to the present. Through the
side window, on my left, I can make out, dimly, the outlines of the kennel. For
the first time, the dog moves, and I hear the rattle of his chain. I look out,
quickly. As I stare, the dog moves again, restlessly, and I see a small patch
of luminous light, shine from the interior of the kennel. It vanishes; then the
dog stirs again, and, once more, the gleam comes. I am puzzled. The dog is
quiet, and I can see the luminous thing, plainly. It shows distinctly. There is
something familiar about the shape of it. For a moment, I wonder; then it comes
to me, that it is not unlike the four fingers and thumb of a hand. Like a hand!
And I remember the contour of that fearsome wound on the dog's side. It must be
the wound I see. It is luminous at night - Why? The minutes pass. My mind is
filled with this fresh thing...
Suddenly,
I hear a sound, out in the gardens. How it thrills through me. It is
approaching. Pad, pad, pad. A prickly sensation traverses my spine, and seems
to creep across my scalp. The dog moves in his kennel, and whimpers,
frightenedly. He must have turned 'round; for, now, I can no longer see the
outline of his shining wound.
Outside,
the gardens are silent, once more, and I listen, fearfully. A minute passes,
and another; then I hear the padding sound, again. It is quite close, and
appears to be coming down the graveled path. The noise is curiously measured
and deliberate. It ceases outside the door; and I rise to my feet, and stand
motionless. From the door, comes a slight sound - the latch is being slowly
raised. A singing noise is in my ears, and I have a sense of pressure about the
head -
The
latch drops, with a sharp click, into the catch. The noise startles me afresh;
jarring, horribly, on my tense nerves. After that, I stand, for a long while,
amid an ever-growing quietness. All at once, my knees begin to tremble, and I
have to sit, quickly.
An
uncertain period of time passes, and, gradually, I begin to shake off the
feeling of terror, that has possessed me. Yet, still I sit. I seem to have lost
the power of movement. I am strangely tired, and inclined to doze. My eyes open
and close, and, presently, I find myself falling asleep, and waking, in fits
and starts.
It
is some time later, that I am sleepily aware that one of the candles is
guttering. When I wake again, it has gone out, and the room is very dim, under
the light of the one remaining flame. The semi-darkness troubles me little. I
have lost that awful sense of dread, and my only desire seems to be to sleep - sleep.
Suddenly,
although there is no noise, I am awake - wide awake. I am acutely conscious of
the nearness of some mystery, of some overwhelming Presence. The very air seems
pregnant with terror. I sit huddled, and just listen, intently. Still, there is
no sound. Nature, herself, seems dead. Then, the oppressive stillness is broken
by a little eldritch scream of wind, that sweeps 'round the house, and dies
away, remotely.
I
let my gaze wander across the half-lighted room. By the great clock in the far
corner, is a dark, tall shadow. For a short instant, I stare, frightenedly.
Then, I see that it is nothing, and am, momentarily, relieved.
In
the time that follows, the thought flashes through my brain, why not leave this
house - this house of mystery and terror? Then, as though in answer, there
sweeps up, across my sight, a vision of the wondrous Sea of Sleep, - the Sea of
Sleep where she and I have been allowed to meet, after the years of separation
and sorrow; and I know that I shall stay on here, whatever happens.
Through
the side window, I note the somber blackness of the night. My glance wanders
away, and 'round the room; resting on one shadowy object and another. Suddenly,
I turn, and look at the window on my right; as I do so, I breathe quickly, and
bend forward, with a frightened gaze at something outside the window, but close
to the bars. I am looking at a vast, misty swine-face, over which fluctuates a
flamboyant flame, of a greenish hue. It is the Thing from the arena. The
quivering mouth seems to drip with a continual, phosphorescent slaver. The eyes
are staring straight into the room, with an inscrutable expression. Thus, I sit
rigidly - frozen.
The
Thing has begun to move. It is turning, slowly, in my direction. Its face is
coming 'round toward me. It sees me. Two huge, inhumanly human, eyes are
looking through the dimness at me. I am cold with fear; yet, even now, I am
keenly conscious, and note, in an irrelevant way, that the distant stars are
blotted out by the mass of the giant face.
A
fresh horror has come to me. I am rising from my chair, without the least
intention. I am on my feet, and something is impelling me toward the door that
leads out into the gardens. I wish to stop; but cannot. Some immutable power is
opposed to my will, and I go slowly forward, unwilling and resistant. My glance
flies 'round the room, helplessly, and stops at the window. The great
swine-face has disappeared, and I hear, again, that stealthy pad, pad, pad. It
stops outside the door - the door toward which I am being compelled...
There
succeeds a short, intense silence; then there comes a sound. It is the rattle
of the latch, being slowly lifted. At that, I am filled with desperation. I
will not go forward another step. I make a vast effort to return; but it is, as
though I press back, upon an invisible wall. I groan out loud, in the agony of
my fear, and the sound of my voice is frightening. Again comes that rattle, and
I shiver, clammily. I try - aye, fight and struggle, to hold back, back; but it
is no use...
I
am at the door, and, in a mechanical way, I watch my hand go forward, to undo
the topmost bolt. It does so, entirely without my volition. Even as I reach up
toward the bolt, the door is violently shaken, and I get a sickly whiff of
mouldy air, which seems to drive in through the interstices of the doorway. I
draw the bolt back, slowly, fighting, dumbly, the while. It comes out of its
socket, with a click, and I begin to shake, aguishly. There are two more; one
at the bottom of the door; the other, a massive affair, is placed about the
middle.
For,
perhaps a minute, I stand, with my arms hanging slackly, by my sides. The
influence to meddle with the fastenings of the door, seems to have gone. All at
once, there comes the sudden rattle of iron, at my feet. I glance down,
quickly, and realize, with an unspeakable terror, that my foot is pushing back
the lower bolt. An awful sense of helplessness assails me... The bolt comes out of its hold, with a slight,
ringing sound and I stagger on my feet, grasping at the great, central bolt,
for support. A minute passes, an eternity; then another----My God, help me! I
am being forced to work upon the last fastening. I will not! Better to die,
than open to the Terror, that is on the other side of the door. Is there no
escape ...? God help me, I have jerked the bolt half out of its socket! My lips
emit a hoarse scream of terror, the bolt is three parts drawn, now, and still
my unconscious hands work toward my doom. Only a fraction of steel, between my
soul and That. Twice, I scream out in the supreme agony of my fear; then, with
a mad effort, I tear my hands away. My eyes seem blinded. A great blackness is
falling upon me. Nature has come to my rescue. I feel my knees giving. There is
a loud, quick thudding upon the door, and I am falling, falling...
I
must have lain there, at least a couple of hours. As I recover, I am aware that
the other candle has burnt out, and the room is in an almost total darkness. I
cannot rise to my feet, for I am cold, and filled with a terrible cramp. Yet my
brain is clear, and there is no longer the strain of that unholy influence.
Cautiously,
I get upon my knees, and feel for the central bolt. I find it, and push it
securely back into its socket; then the one at the bottom of the door. By this
time, I am able to rise to my feet, and so manage to secure the fastening at
the top. After that, I go down upon my knees, again, and creep away among the
furniture, in the direction of the stairs. By doing this, I am safe from
observation from the window.
I
reach the opposite door, and, as I leave the study, cast one nervous glance
over my shoulder, toward the window. Out in the night, I seem to catch a
glimpse of something impalpable; but it may be only a fancy. Then, I am in the
passage, and on the stairs.
Reaching
my bedroom, I clamber into bed, all clothed as I am, and pull the bedclothes
over me. There, after awhile, I begin to regain a little confidence. It is
impossible to sleep; but I am grateful for the added warmth of the bedclothes.
Presently, I try to think over the happenings of the past night; but, though I
cannot sleep, I find that it is useless, to attempt consecutive thought. My
brain seems curiously blank.
Toward
morning, I begin to toss, uneasily. I cannot rest, and, after awhile, I get out
of bed, and pace the floor. The wintry dawn is beginning to creep through the
windows, and shows the bare discomfort of the old room. Strange, that, through
all these years, it has never occurred to me how dismal the place really is.
And so a time passes.
From
somewhere down stairs, a sound comes up to me. I go to the bedroom door, and
listen. It is Mary, bustling about the great, old kitchen, getting the
breakfast ready. I feel little interest. I am not hungry. My thoughts, however;
continue to dwell upon her. How little the weird happenings in this house seem
to trouble her. Except in the incident of the Pit creatures, she has seemed
unconscious of anything unusual occurring. She is old, like myself; yet how
little we have to do with one another. Is it because we have nothing in common;
or only that, being old, we care less for society, than quietness? These and
other matters pass through my mind, as I meditate; and help to distract my
attention, for a while, from the oppressive thoughts of the night.
After
a time, I go to the window, and, opening it, look out. The sun is now above the
horizon, and the air, though cold, is sweet and crisp. Gradually, my brain
clears, and a sense of security, for the time being, comes to me. Somewhat
happier, I go down stairs, and out into the garden, to have a look at the dog.
As
I approach the kennel, I am greeted by the same mouldy stench that assailed me
at the door last night. Shaking off a momentary sense of fear, I call to the
dog; but he takes no heed, and, after calling once more, I throw a small stone
into the kennel. At this, he moves, uneasily, and I shout his name, again; but
do not go closer. Presently, my sister comes out, and joins me, in trying to
coax him from the kennel.
In
a little the poor beast rises, and shambles out lurching queerly. In the
daylight he stands swaying from side to side, and blinking stupidly. I look and
note that the horrid wound is larger, much larger, and seems to have a whitish,
fungoid appearance. My sister moves to fondle him; but I detain her, and
explain that I think it will be better not to go too near him for a few days;
as it is impossible to tell what may be the matter with him; and it is well to
be cautious.
A
minute later, she leaves me; coming back with a basin of odd scraps of food.
This she places on the ground, near the dog, and I push it into his reach, with
the aid of a branch, broken from one of the shrubs. Yet, though the meat should
be tempting, he takes no notice of it; but retires to his kennel. There is
still water in his drinking vessel, so, after a few moments' talk, we go back
to the house. I can see that my sister is much puzzled as to what is the matter
with the animal; yet it would be madness, even to hint the truth to her.
The
day slips away, uneventfully; and night comes on. I have determined to repeat
my experiment of last night. I cannot say that it is wisdom; yet my mind is
made up. Still, however, I have taken precautions; for I have driven stout
nails in at the back of each of the three bolts, that secure the door, opening
from the study into the gardens. This will, at least, prevent a recurrence of
the danger I ran last night.
From
ten to about two-thirty, I watch; but nothing occurs; and, finally, I stumble
off to bed, where I am soon asleep.
