Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood
bring only fear and sadness. Wretched is he who looks back upon lone hours in
vast and dismal chambers with brown hangings and maddening rows of antique
books, or upon awed watches in twilight groves of grotesque, gigantic, and
vine-encumbered trees that silently wave twisted branches far aloft. Such a lot
the gods gave to me—to me, the dazed, the disappointed; the barren, the broken.
And yet I am strangely content and cling desperately to those sere memories,
when my mind momentarily threatens to reach beyond to the other.
I know not where I was born, save that the castle
was infinitely old and infinitely horrible, full of dark passages and having
high ceilings where the eye could find only cobwebs and shadows. The stones in
the crumbling corridors seemed always hideously damp, and there was an accursed
smell everywhere, as of the piled-up corpses of dead generations. It was never
light, so that I used sometimes to light candles and gaze steadily at them for
relief, nor was there any sun outdoors, since the terrible trees grew high
above the topmost accessible tower. There was one black tower which reached
above the trees into the unknown outer sky, but that was partly ruined and
could not be ascended save by a well-nigh impossible climb up the sheer wall,
stone by stone.
I must have lived years in this place, but I
cannot measure the time. Beings must have cared for my needs, yet I cannot
recall any person except myself, or anything alive but the noiseless rats and
bats and spiders. I think that whoever nursed me must have been shockingly
aged, since my first conception of a living person was that of somebody
mockingly like myself, yet distorted, shrivelled, and decaying like the castle.
To me there was nothing grotesque in the bones and skeletons that strewed some
of the stone crypts deep down among the foundations. I fantastically associated
these things with everyday events, and thought them more natural than the
coloured pictures of living beings which I found in many of the mouldy books.
From such books I learned all that I know. No teacher urged or guided me, and I
do not recall hearing any human voice in all those years—not even my own; for
although I had read of speech, I had never thought to try to speak aloud. My
aspect was a matter equally unthought of, for there were no mirrors in the
castle, and I merely regarded myself by instinct as akin to the youthful
figures I saw drawn and painted in the books. I felt conscious of youth because
I remembered so little.
Outside, across the putrid moat and under the dark
mute trees, I would often lie and dream for hours about what I read in the
books; and would longingly picture myself amidst gay crowds in the sunny world
beyond the endless forests. Once I tried to escape from the forest, but as I
went farther from the castle the shade grew denser and the air more filled with
brooding fear; so that I ran frantically back lest I lose my way in a labyrinth
of nighted silence.
So through endless twilights I dreamed and waited,
though I knew not what I waited for. Then in the shadowy solitude my longing
for light grew so frantic that I could rest no more, and I lifted entreating
hands to the single black ruined tower that reached above the forest into the
unknown outer sky. And at last I resolved to scale that tower, fall though I might;
since it were better to glimpse the sky and perish, than to live without ever
beholding day.
In the dank twilight I climbed the worn and aged
stone stairs till I reached the level where they ceased, and thereafter clung
perilously to small footholds leading upward. Ghastly and terrible was that
dead, stairless cylinder of rock; black, ruined, and deserted, and sinister
with startled bats whose wings made no noise. But more ghastly and terrible
still was the slowness of my progress; for climb as I might, the darkness
overhead grew no thinner, and a new chill as of haunted and venerable mould
assailed me. I shivered as I wondered why I did not reach the light, and would
have looked down had I dared. I fancied that night had come suddenly upon me,
and vainly groped with one free hand for a window embrasure, that I might peer
out and above, and try to judge the height I had once attained.
All at once, after an infinity of awesome,
sightless, crawling up that concave and desperate precipice, I felt my head touch
a solid thing, and I knew I must have gained the roof, or at least some kind of
floor. In the darkness I raised my free hand and tested the barrier, finding it
stone and immovable. Then came a deadly circuit of the tower, clinging to
whatever holds the slimy wall could give; till finally my testing hand found
the barrier yielding, and I turned upward again, pushing the slab or door with
my head as I used both hands in my fearful ascent. There was no light revealed
above, and as my hands went higher I knew that my climb was for the nonce
ended; since the slab was the trapdoor of an aperture leading to a level stone
surface of greater circumference than the lower tower, no doubt the floor of
some lofty and capacious observation chamber. I crawled through carefully, and
tried to prevent the heavy slab from falling back into place, but failed in the
latter attempt. As I lay exhausted on the stone floor I heard the eerie echoes
of its fall, hoped when necessary to pry it up again.
Believing I was now at prodigious height, far
above the accursed branches of the wood, I dragged myself up from the floor and
fumbled about for windows, that I might look for the first time upon the sky,
and the moon and stars of which I had read. But on every hand I was disappointed;
since all that I found were vast shelves of marble, bearing odious oblong boxes
of disturbing size. More and more I reflected, and wondered what hoary secrets
might abide in this high apartment so many aeons cut off from the castle below.
Then unexpectedly my hands came upon a doorway, where hung a portal of stone,
rough with strange chiselling. Trying it, I found it locked; but with a supreme
burst of strength I overcame all obstacles and dragged it open inward. As I did
so there came to me the purest ecstasy I have ever known; for shining
tranquilly through an ornate grating of iron, and down a short stone passageway
of steps that ascended from the newly found doorway, was the radiant full moon,
which I had never before seen save in dreams and in vague visions I dared not
call memories.
Fancying now that I had attained the very pinnacle
of the castle, I commenced to rush up the few steps beyond the door; but the
sudden veiling of the moon by a cloud caused me to stumble, and I felt my way
more slowly in the dark. It was still very dark when I reached the
grating—which I tried carefully and found unlocked, but which I did not open
for fear of falling from the amazing height to which I had climbed. Then the
moon came out.
Most demoniacal of all shocks is that of the
abysmally unexpected and grotesquely unbelievable. Nothing I had before
undergone could compare in terror with what I now saw; with the bizarre marvels
that sight implied. The sight itself was as simple as it was stupefying, for it
was merely this: instead of a dizzying prospect of treetops seen from a lofty
eminence, there stretched around me on the level through the grating nothing
less than the solid ground, decked and diversified by marble slabs and columns,
and overshadowed by an ancient stone church, whose ruined spire gleamed
spectrally in the moonlight.
Half unconscious, I opened the grating and
staggered out upon the white gravel path that stretched away in two directions.
My mind, stunned and chaotic as it was, still held the frantic craving for
light; and not even the fantastic wonder which had happened could stay my
course. I neither knew nor cared whether my experience was insanity, dreaming,
or magic; but was determined to gaze on brilliance and gaiety at any cost. I
knew not who I was or what I was, or what my surroundings might be; though as I
continued to stumble along I became conscious of a kind of fearsome latent
memory that made my progress not wholly fortuitous. I passed under an arch out
of that region of slabs and columns, and wandered through the open country;
sometimes following the visible road, but sometimes leaving it curiously to
tread across meadows where only occasional ruins bespoke the ancient presence
of a forgotten road. Once I swam across a swift river where crumbling, mossy
masonry told of a bridge long vanished.
Over two hours must have passed before I reached
what seemed to be my goal, a venerable ivied castle in a thickly wooded park,
maddeningly familiar, yet full of perplexing strangeness to me. I saw that the
moat was filled in, and that some of the well-known towers were demolished,
whilst new wings existed to confuse the beholder. But what I observed with
chief interest and delight were the open windows—gorgeously ablaze with light
and sending forth sound of the gayest revelry. Advancing to one of these I
looked in and saw an oddly dressed company indeed; making merry, and speaking
brightly to one another. I had never, seemingly, heard human speech before and
could guess only vaguely what was said. Some of the faces seemed to hold
expressions that brought up incredibly remote recollections, others were
utterly alien.
I now stepped through the low window into the
brilliantly lighted room, stepping as I did so from my single bright moment of
hope to my blackest convulsion of despair and realization. The nightmare was
quick to come, for as I entered, there occurred immediately one of the most
terrifying demonstrations I had ever conceived. Scarcely had I crossed the sill
when there descended upon the whole company a sudden and unheralded fear of
hideous intensity, distorting every face and evoking the most horrible screams
from nearly every throat. Flight was universal, and in the clamour and panic
several fell in a swoon and were dragged away by their madly fleeing
companions. Many covered their eyes with their hands, and plunged blindly and
awkwardly in their race to escape, overturning furniture and stumbling against
the walls before they managed to reach one of the many doors.
The cries were shocking; and as I stood in the
brilliant apartment alone and dazed, listening to their vanishing echoes, I
trembled at the thought of what might be lurking near me unseen. At a casual
inspection the room seemed deserted, but when I moved towards one of the
alcoves I thought I detected a presence there—a hint of motion beyond the
golden-arched doorway leading to another and somewhat similar room. As I
approached the arch I began to perceive the presence more clearly; and then,
with the first and last sound I ever uttered—a ghastly ululation that revolted
me almost as poignantly as its noxious cause—I beheld in full, frightful
vividness the inconceivable, indescribable, and unmentionable monstrosity which
had by its simple appearance changed a merry company to a herd of delirious
fugitives.
I cannot even hint what it was like, for it was a
compound of all that is unclean, uncanny, unwelcome, abnormal, and detestable.
It was the ghoulish shade of decay, antiquity, and dissolution; the putrid,
dripping eidolon of unwholesome revelation, the awful baring of that which the
merciful earth should always hide. God knows it was not of this world—or no
longer of this world—yet to my horror I saw in its eaten-away and
bone-revealing outlines a leering, abhorrent travesty on the human shape; and
in its mouldy, disintegrating apparel an unspeakable quality that chilled me
even more.
I was almost paralysed, but not too much so to
make a feeble effort towards flight; a backward stumble which failed to break
the spell in which the nameless, voiceless monster held me. My eyes bewitched
by the glassy orbs which stared loathsomely into them, refused to close; though
they were mercifully blurred, and showed the terrible object but indistinctly
after the first shock. I tried to raise my hand to shut out the sight, yet so
stunned were my nerves that my arm could not fully obey my will. The attempt,
however, was enough to disturb my balance; so that I had to stagger forward
several steps to avoid falling. As I did so I became suddenly and agonizingly
aware of the nearness of the carrion thing, whose hideous hollow breathing I
half fancied I could hear. Nearly mad, I found myself yet able to throw out a
hand to ward off the foetid apparition which pressed so close; when in one
cataclysmic second of cosmic nightmarishness and hellish accident my fingers
touched the rotting outstretched paw of the monster beneath the golden arch.
I did not shriek, but all the fiendish ghouls that
ride the nightwind shrieked for me as in that same second there crashed down
upon my mind a single fleeting avalanche of soul-annihilating memory. I knew in
that second all that had been; I remembered beyond the frightful castle and the
trees, and recognized the altered edifice in which I now stood; I recognized,
most terrible of all, the unholy abomination that stood leering before me as I
withdrew my sullied fingers from its own.
But in the cosmos there is balm as well as
bitterness, and that balm is nepenthe. In the supreme horror of that second I
forgot what had horrified me, and the burst of black memory vanished in a chaos
of echoing images. In a dream I fled from that haunted and accursed pile, and ran
swiftly and silently in the moonlight. When I returned to the churchyard place
of marble and went down the steps I found the stone trap-door immovable; but I
was not sorry, for I had hated the antique castle and the trees. Now I ride
with the mocking and friendly ghouls on the night-wind, and play by day amongst
the catacombs of Nephren-Ka in the sealed and unknown valley of Hadoth by the
Nile. I know that light is not for me, save that of the moon over the rock
tombs of Neb, nor any gaiety save the unnamed feasts of Nitokris beneath the
Great Pyramid; yet in my new wildness and freedom I almost welcome the
bitterness of alienage.
For although nepenthe has calmed me, I know always
that I am an outsider; a stranger in this century and among those who are still
men. This I have known ever since I stretched out my fingers to the abomination
within that great gilded frame; stretched out my fingers and touched a cold and
unyielding surface of polished glass.
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