"The Terror"
You say you cannot possibly understand it, and I believe you. You thinkI am losing my mind? Perhaps I am, but for other reasons than those youimagine, my dear friend.Yes, I am going to be married, and will tell you what has led me to takethat step.I may add that I know very little of the girl who is going to become mywife to-morrow; I have only seen her four or five times. I know thatthere is nothing unpleasing about her, and that is enough for my purpose.She is small, fair, and stout; so, of course, the day after to-morrow Ishall ardently wish for a tall, dark, thin woman.She is not rich, and belongs to the middle classes. She is a girl suchas you may find by the gross, well adapted for matrimony, without anyapparent faults, and with no particularly striking qualities. People sayof her:"Mlle. Lajolle is a very nice girl," and tomorrow they will say: "What avery nice woman Madame Raymon is." She belongs, in a word, to thatimmense number of girls whom one is glad to have for one's wife, till themoment comes when one discovers that one happens to prefer all otherwomen to that particular woman whom one has married."Well," you will say to me, "what on earth did you get married for?"I hardly like to tell you the strange and seemingly improbable reasonthat urged me on to this senseless act; the fact, however, is that I amafraid of being alone.I don't know how to tell you or to make you understand me, but my stateof mind is so wretched that you will pity me and despise me.I do not want to be alone any longer at night. I want to feel that thereis some one close to me, touching me, a being who can speak and saysomething, no matter what it be.I wish to be able to awaken somebody by my side, so that I may be able toask some sudden question, a stupid question even, if I feel inclined, sothat I may hear a human voice, and feel that there is some waking soulclose to me, some one whose reason is at work; so that when I hastilylight the candle I may see some human face by my side--because--because--I am ashamed to confess it--because I am afraid of being alone.Oh, you don't understand me yet.I am not afraid of any danger; if a man were to come into the room, Ishould kill him without trembling. I am not afraid of ghosts, nor do Ibelieve in the supernatural. I am not afraid of dead people, for Ibelieve in the total annihilation of every being that disappears from theface of this earth.Well--yes, well, it must be told: I am afraid of myself, afraid of thathorrible sensation of incomprehensible fear.You may laugh, if you like. It is terrible, and I cannot get over it.I am afraid of the walls, of the furniture, of the familiar objects;which are animated, as far as I am concerned, by a kind of animal life.Above all, I am afraid of my own dreadful thoughts, of my reason, whichseems as if it were about to leave me, driven away by a mysterious andinvisible agony.At first I feel a vague uneasiness in my mind, which causes a cold shiverto run all over me. I look round, and of course nothing is to be seen,and I wish that there were something there, no matter what, as long as itwere something tangible. I am frightened merely because I cannotunderstand my own terror.If I speak, I am afraid of my own voice. If I walk, I am afraid of Iknow not what, behind the door, behind the curtains, in the cupboard, orunder my bed, and yet all the time I know there is nothing anywhere, andI turn round suddenly because I am afraid of what is behind me, althoughthere is nothing there, and I know it.I become agitated. I feel that my fear increases, and so I shut myselfup in my own room, get into bed, and hide under the clothes; and there,cowering down, rolled into a ball, I close my eyes in despair, and remainthus for an indefinite time, remembering that my candle is alight on thetable by my bedside, and that I ought to put it out, and yet--I dare notdo it.It is very terrible, is it not, to be like that?Formerly I felt nothing of all that. I came home quite calm, and went upand down my apartment without anything disturbing my peace of mind. Hadany one told me that I should be attacked by a malady--for I can call itnothing else--of most improbable fear, such a stupid and terrible maladyas it is, I should have laughed outright. I was certainly never afraidof opening the door in the dark. I went to bed slowly, without lockingit, and never got up in the middle of the night to make sure thateverything was firmly closed.It began last year in a very strange manner on a damp autumn evening.When my servant had left the room, after I had dined, I asked myself whatI was going to do. I walked up and down my room for some time, feelingtired without any reason for it, unable to work, and even without energyto read. A fine rain was falling, and I felt unhappy, a prey to one ofthose fits of despondency, without any apparent cause, which make us feelinclined to cry, or to talk, no matter to whom, so as to shake off ourdepressing thoughts.I felt that I was alone, and my rooms seemed to me to be more empty thanthey had ever been before. I was in the midst of infinite andoverwhelming solitude. What was I to do? I sat down, but a kind ofnervous impatience seemed to affect my legs, so I got up and began towalk about again. I was, perhaps, rather feverish, for my hands, which Ihad clasped behind me, as one often does when walking slowly, almostseemed to burn one another. Then suddenly a cold shiver ran down myback, and I thought the damp air might have penetrated into my rooms, soI lit the fire for the first time that year, and sat down again andlooked at the flames. But soon I felt that I could not possibly remainquiet, and so I got up again and determined to go out, to pull myselftogether, and to find a friend to bear me company.I could not find anyone, so I walked to the boulevard ro try and meetsome acquaintance or other there.It was wretched everywhere, and the wet pavement glistened in thegaslight, while the oppressive warmth of the almost impalpable rain layheavily over the streets and seemed to obscure the light of the lamps.I went on slowly, saying to myself: "I shall not find a soul to talk to."I glanced into several cafes, from the Madeleine as far as the FaubourgPoissoniere, and saw many unhappy-looking individuals sitting at thetables who did not seem even to have enough energy left to finish therefreshments they had ordered.For a long time I wandered aimlessly up and down, and about midnight Istarted for home. I was very calm and very tired. My janitor opened thedoor at once, which was quite unusual for him, and I thought that anotherlodger had probably just come in.When I go out I always double-lock the door of my room, and I found itmerely closed, which surprised me; but I supposed that some letters hadbeen brought up for me in the course of the evening.I went in, and found my fire still burning so that it lighted up the rooma little, and, while in the act of taking up a candle, I noticed somebodysitting in my armchair by the fire, warming his feet, with his backtoward me.I was not in the slightest degree frightened. I thought, very naturally,that some friend or other had come to see me. No doubt the porter, towhom I had said I was going out, had lent him his own key. In a moment Iremembered all the circumstances of my return, how the street door hadbeen opened immediately, and that my own door was only latched and notlocked.I could see nothing of my friend but his head, and he had evidently goneto sleep while waiting for me, so I went up to him to rouse him. I sawhim quite distinctly; his right arm was hanging down and his legs werecrossed; the position of his head, which was somewhat inclined to theleft of the armchair, seemed to indicate that he was asleep. "Who can itbe?" I asked myself. I could not see clearly, as the room was ratherdark, so I put out my hand to touch him on the shoulder, and it came incontact with the back of the chair. There was nobody there; the seat wasempty.I fairly jumped with fright. For a moment I drew back as if confrontedby some terrible danger; then I turned round again, impelled by animperious standing upright, panting with fear, so upset that I could notcollect my thoughts, and ready to faint.But I am a cool man, and soon recovered myself. I thought: "It is a merehallucination, that is all," and I immediately began to reflect on thisphenomenon. Thoughts fly quickly at such moments.I had been suffering from an hallucination, that was an incontestablefact. My mind had been perfectly lucid and had acted regularly andlogically, so there was nothing the matter with the brain. It was onlymy eyes that had been deceived; they had had a vision, one of thosevisions which lead simple folk to believe in miracles. It was a nervousseizure of the optical apparatus, nothing more; the eyes were rathercongested, perhaps.I lit my candle, and when I stooped down to the fire in doing so Inoticed that I was trembling, and I raised myself up with a jump, as ifsomebody had touched me from behind.I was certainly not by any means calm.I walked up and down a little, and hummed a tune or two. Then I double-locked the door and felt rather reassured; now, at any rate, nobody couldcome in.I sat down again and thought over my adventure for a long time; then Iwent to bed and blew out my light.For some minutes all went well; I lay quietly on my back, but presentlyan irresistible desire seized me to look round the room, and I turnedover on my side.My fire was nearly out, and the few glowing embers threw a faint light onthe floor by the chair, where I fancied I saw the man sitting again.I quickly struck a match, but I had been mistaken; there was nothingthere. I got up, however, and hid the chair behind my bed, and tried toget to sleep, as the room was now dark; but I had not forgotten myselffor more than five minutes, when in my dream I saw all the scene which Ihad previously witnessed as clearly as if it were reality. I woke upwith a start, and having lit the candle, sat up in bed, without venturingeven to try to go to sleep again.Twice, however, sleep overcame me for a few moments in spite of myself,and twice I saw the same thing again, till I fancied I was going mad.When day broke, however, I thought that I was cured, and slept peacefullytill noon.It was all past and over. I had been feverish, had had the nightmare. Iknow not what. I had been ill, in fact, but yet thought I was a greatfool.I enjoyed myself thoroughly that evening. I dined at a restaurant andafterward went to the theatre, and then started for home. But as I gotnear the house I was once more seized by a strange feeling of uneasiness.I was afraid of seeing him again. I was not afraid of him, not afraid ofhis presence, in which I did not believe; but I was afraid of beingdeceived again. I was afraid of some fresh hallucination, afraid lestfear should take possession of me.For more than an hour I wandered up and down the pavement; then, feelingthat I was really too foolish, I returned home. I breathed so hard thatI could hardly get upstairs, and remained standing outside my door formore than ten minutes; then suddenly I had a courageous impulse and mywill asserted itself. I inserted my key into the lock, and went into theapartment with a candle in my hand. I kicked open my bedroom door, whichwas partly open, and cast a frightened glance toward the fireplace.There was nothing there. A-h! What a relief and what a delight! What adeliverance! I walked up and down briskly and boldly, but I was notaltogether reassured, and kept turning round with a jump; the veryshadows in the corners disquieted me.I slept badly, and was constantly disturbed by imaginary noises, but didnot see him; no, that was all over.Since that time I have been afraid of being alone at night. I feel thatthe spectre is there, close to me, around me; but it has not appeared tome again.And supposing it did, what would it matter, since I do not believe in it,and know that it is nothing?However, it still worries me, because I am constantly thinking of it.His right arm hanging down and his head inclined to the left like a manwho was asleep--I don't want to think about it!Why, however, am I so persistently possessed with this idea? His feetwere close to the fire!He haunts me; it is very stupid, but who and what is he? I know that hedoes not exist except in my cowardly imagination, in my fears, and in myagony. There--enough of that!Yes, it is all very well for me to reason with myself, to stiffen mybackbone, so to say; but I cannot remain at home because I know he isthere. I know I shall not see him again; he will not show himself again;that is all over. But he is there, all the same, in my thoughts. Heremains invisible, but that does not prevent his being there. He isbehind the doors, in the closed cupboard, in the wardrobe, under the bed,in every dark corner. If I open the door or the cupboard, if I take thecandle to look under the bed and throw a light on the dark places he isthere no longer, but I feel that he is behind me. I turn round, certainthat I shall not see him, that I shall never see him again; but for allthat, he is behind me.It is very stupid, it is dreadful; but what am I to do? I cannot helpit.But if there were two of us in the place I feel certain that he would notbe there any longer, for he is there just because I am alone, simply andsolely because I am alone!
"The Terror" was featured as
TheShort Story of the Day on
Wed, Jun 03, 2015
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