Staley Fleming's Hallucination

by Ambrose Bierce

　　

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Of two men who were talking one was a physician.'I sent for you, Doctor,' said the other, 'but I don't think youcan do me any good. Maybe you can recommend a specialist in psychopathy.I fancy I'm a bit loony.''You look all right,' the physician said.'You shall judge -- I have hallucinations. I wake every night andsee in my room, intently watching me, a big black Newfoundland dog witha white forefoot.''You say you wake; are you sure about that? "Hallucinations" aresometimes only dreams.''Oh, I wake all right. Sometimes I lie still a long time, lookingat the dog as earnestly as the dog looks at me -- I always leave thelight going. When I can't endure it any longer I sit up in bed -- andnothing is there!''M, 'm -- what is the beast's expression?''It seems to me sinister. Of course I know that, except in art, ananimal's face in repose has always the same expression. But this is nota real animal. Newfoundland dogs are pretty mild looking, you know;what's the matter with this one?"'Really, my diagnosis would have no value: I am not going to treatthe dog.'The physician laughed at his own pleasantry, but narrowly watchedhis patient from the corner of his eye. Presently he said: 'Fleming,your description of the beast fits the dog of the late Atwell Barton.'Fleming half rose from his chair, sat again and made a visibleattempt at indifference. 'I remember Barton,' he said; 'I believe he was-- it was reported that -- wasn't there something suspicious in his death?'Looking squarely now into the eyes of his patient, the physiciansaid: 'Three years ago the body of your old enemy, Atwell Barton, wasfound in the woods near his house and yours. He had been stabbed todeath. There have been no arrests; there was no clue. Some of us had"theories." I had one. Have you?"'I? Why, bless your soul, what could I know about it? You rememberthat I left for Europe almost immediately afterward -- a considerabletime afterward. In the few weeks since my return you could not expect meto construct a "theory." In fact, I have not given the matter a thought.What about his dog?"'It was first to find the body. It died of starvation on his grave.'We do not know the inexorable law underlying coincidences. StaleyFleming did not, or he would perhaps not have sprung to his feet as thenight wind brought in through the open window the long wailing howl of adistant dog. He strode several times across the room in the steadfastgaze of the physician; then, abruptly confronting him, almost shouted:'What has all this to do with my trouble, Dr. Halderman? You forget whyyou were sent for.' Rising, the physician laid his hand upon hispatient's arm and said, gently: 'Pardon me. I cannot diagnose yourdisorder offhand -- to-morrow, perhaps. Please go to bed, leaving yourdoor unlocked; I will pass the night here with your books. Can you callme without rising?"'Yes, there is an electric bell.''Good. If anything disturbs you push the button without sitting up.Good night.'Comfortably installed in an arm-chair the man of medicine staredinto the glowing coals and thought deeply and long, but apparently tolittle purpose, for he frequently rose and opening a door leading to thestaircase, listened intently; then resumed his seat. Presently, however,he fell asleep, and when he woke it was past midnight. He stirred thefailing fire, lifted a book from the table at his side and looked at thetitle. It was Denneker's Meditations. He opened it at random and beganto read:'Forasmuch as it is ordained of God that all flesh hath spirit andthereby taketh on spiritual powers, so, also, the spirit hath powers ofthe flesh, even when it is gone out of the flesh and liveth as a thingapart, as many a violence performed by wraith and lemure sheweth. Andthere be who say that man is not single in this, but the beasts have thelike evil inducement, and -- 'The reading was interrupted by a shaking of the house, as by thefall of a heavy object. The reader flung down the book, rushed from theroom and mounted the stairs to Fleming's bed-chamber. He tried the door,but contrary to his instructions it was locked. He set his shoulderagainst it with such force that it gave way. On the floor near thedisordered bed, in his night-clothes, lay Fleming, gasping away his life.The physician raised the dying man's head from the floor andobserved a wound in the throat. 'I should have thought of this,' hesaid, believing it suicide.When the man was dead an examination disclosed the unmistakablemarks of an animal's fangs deeply sunken into the jugular vein.But there was no animal.

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