The Middle Toe of the Right Foot

by Ambrose Bierce

　　It is well known that the old Manton house is haunted. In all the ruraldistrict near about, and even in the town of Marshall, a mile away, notone person of unbiased mind entertains a doubt of it; incredulity isconfined to those opinionated persons who will be called 'cranks' assoon as the useful word shall have penetrated the intellectual demesneof the Marshall Advance. The evidence that the house is haunted is oftwo kinds: the testimony of disinterested witnesses who have had ocularproof, and that of the house itself. The former may be disregarded andruled out on any of the various grounds of objection which may be urgedagainst it by the ingenious; but facts within the observation of all arematerial and controlling.In the first place, the Manton house has been unoccupied by mortalsfor more than ten years, and with its outbuildings is slowly fallinginto decay - a circumstance which in itself the judicious will hardlyventure to ignore. It stands a little way off the loneliest reach of theMarshall and Harriston road, in an opening which was once a farm and isstill disfigured with strips of rotting fence and half covered withbrambles overrunning a stony and sterile soil long unacquainted with theplough. The house itself is in tolerably good condition, though badlyweather-stained and in dire need of attention from the glazier, thesmaller male population of the region having attested in the manner ofits kind its disapproval of dwelling without dwellers. It is two storiesin height, nearly square, its front pierced by a single doorway flankedon each side by a window boarded up to the very top. Correspondingwindows above, not protected, serve to admit light and rain to the roomsof the upper floor. Grass and weeds grow pretty rankly all about, and afew shade trees, somewhat the worse for wind, and leaning all in onedirection, seem to be making a concerted effort to run away. In short,as the Marshall town humorist explained in the columns of the Advance,'the proposition that the Manton house is badly haunted is the onlylogical conclusion from the premises.' The fact that in this dwellingMr. Manton thought it expedient one night some ten years ago to rise andcut the throats of his wife and two small children, removing at once toanother part of the country, has no doubt done its share in directingpublic attention to the fitness of the place for supernatural phenomena.To this house, one summer evening, came four men in a wagon. Threeof them promptly alighted, and the one who had been driving hitched theteam to the only remaining post of what had been a fence. The fourthremained seated in the wagon. 'Come,' said one of his companions,approaching him, while the others moved away in the direction of thedwelling - 'this is the place.'The man addressed did not move. 'By God!' he said harshly, 'this isa trick, and it looks to me as if you were in it.''Perhaps I am,' the other said, looking him straight in the faceand speaking in a tone which had something of contempt in it. 'You willremember, however, that the choice of place was with your own assentleft to the other side. Of course if you are afraid of spooks -- ''I am afraid of nothing,' the man interrupted with another oath,and sprang to the ground. The two then joined the others at the door,which one of them had already opened with some difficulty, caused byrust of lock and hinge. All entered. Inside it was dark, but the man whohad unlocked the door produced a candle and matches and made a light. Hethen unlocked a door on their right as they stood in the passage. Thisgave them entrance to a large, square room that the candle but dimlylighted. The floor had a thick carpeting of dust, which partly muffledtheir footfalls. Cobwebs were in the angles of the walls and dependedfrom the ceiling like strips of rotting lace, making undulatorymovements in the disturbed air. The room had two windows in adjoiningsides, but from neither could anything be seen except the rough innersurfaces of boards a few inches from the glass. There was no fireplace,no furniture; there was nothing: besides the cobwebs and the dust, thefour men were the only objects there which were not a part of thestructure.Strange enough they looked in the yellow light of the candle. Theone who had so reluctantly alighted was especially spectacular - hemight have been called sensational. He was of middle age, heavily built,deep-chested and broad-shouldered. Looking at his figure, one would havesaid that he had a giant's strength; at his features, that he would useit like a giant. He was clean-shaven, his hair rather closely croppedand grey. His low forehead was seamed with wrinkles above the eyes, andover the nose these became vertical. The heavy black brows followed thesame law, saved from meeting only by an upward turn at what wouldotherwise have been the point of contact. Deeply sunken beneath theseglowed in the obscure light a pair of eyes of uncertain colour, butobviously enough too small. There was something forbidding in theirexpression, which was not bettered by the cruel mouth and wide jaw. Thenose was well enough, as noses go; one does not expect much of noses.All that was sinister in the man's face seemed accentuated by anunnatural pallor - he appeared altogether bloodless.The appearance of the other men was sufficiently commonplace: theywere such persons as one meets and forgets that he met. All were youngerthan the man described, between whom and the eldest of the others, whostood apart, there was apparently no kindly feeling. They avoidedlooking at each other.'Gentlemen,' said the man holding the candle and keys,' I believeeverything is right. Are you ready, Mr. Rosser?'The man standing apart from the group bowed and smiled.'And you, Mr. Grossmith?'The heavy man bowed and scowled.'You will be pleased to remove your outer clothing.'Their hats, coats, waistcoats and neckwear were soon removed andthrown outside the door, in the passage. The man with the candle nownodded, and the fourth man - he who had urged Grossmith to leave thewagon - produced from the pocket of his overcoat two long,murderous-looking bowie-knives, which he drew now from their leatherscabbards.'They are exactly alike,' he said, presenting one to each of thetwo principals - for by this time the dullest observer would haveunderstood the nature of this meeting. It was to be a duel to the death.Each combatant took a knife, examined it critically near the candleand tested the strength of blade and handle across his lifted knee.Their persons were then searched in turn, each by the second of the other.'If it is agreeable to you, Mr. Grossmith,' said the man holdingthe light,' you will place yourself in that corner.'He indicated the angle of the room farthest from the door, whitherGrossmith retired, his second parting from him with a grasp of the handwhich had nothing of cordiality in it. In the angle nearest the door Mr.Rosser stationed himself, and after a whispered consultation his secondleft him, joining the other near the door. At that moment the candle wassuddenly extinguished, leaving all in profound darkness. This may havebeen done by the draught from the opened door; whatever the cause, theeffect was startling.'Gentlemen,' said a voice which sounded strangely unfamiliar in thealtered condition affecting the relations of the senses - 'gentlemen,you will not move until you hear the closing of the outer door.'A sound of trampling ensued, then the closing of the inner door;and finally the outer one closed with a concussion which shook theentire building.A few minutes afterward a belated farmer's boy met a light wagonwhich was being driven furiously toward the town of Marshall. Hedeclared that behind the two figures on the front seat stood a third,with its hands upon the bowed shoulders of the others, who appeared tostruggle vainly to free themselves from its grasp. This figure, unlikethe others, was clad in white, and had undoubtedly boarded the wagon asit passed the haunted house. As the lad could boast a considerableformer experience with the supernatural thereabouts his word had theweight justly due to the testimony of an expert. The story (inconnection with the next day's events) eventually appeared in theAdvance, with some slight literary embellishments and a concludingintimation that the gentlemen referred to would be allowed the use ofthe paper's columns for their version of the night's adventure. But theprivilege remained without a claimant.The events that led up to this 'duel in the dark' were simpleenough. One evening three young men of the town of Marshall were sittingin a quiet corner of the porch of the village hotel, smoking anddiscussing such matters as three educated young men of a Southernvillage would naturally find interesting. Their names were King, Sancherand Rosser. At a little distance, within easy hearing, but taking nopart in the conversation, sat a fourth. He was a stranger to the others.They merely knew that on his arrival by the stage-coach that afternoonhe had written in the hotel register the name Robert Grossmith. He hadnot been observed to speak to anyone except the hotel clerk. He seemed,indeed, singularly fond of his own company - or, as the /personnel/ ofthe /Advance/ expressed it, 'grossly addicted to evil associations.' Butthen it should be said in justice to the stranger that the /personnel/was himself of a too convivial disposition fairly to judge onedifferently gifted, and had, moreover, experienced a slight rebuff in aneffort at an 'interview.''I hate any kind of deformity in a woman,' said King, 'whethernatural or - acquired. I have a theory that any physical defect has itscorrelative mental and moral defect.''I infer, then,' said Rosser gravely, 'that a lady lacking themoral advantage of a nose would find the struggle to become Mrs. King anarduous enterprise.''Of course you may put it that way,' was the reply; 'but,seriously, I once threw over a most charming girl on learning quiteaccidentally that she had suffered amputation of a toe. My conduct wasbrutal if you like, but if I had married that girl I should have beenmiserable for life and should have made her so.''Whereas,' said Sancher, with a light laugh, 'by marrying agentleman of more liberal views she escaped with a parted throat.''Ah, you know to whom I refer. Yes, she married Manton, but I don'tknow about his liberality; I'm not sure but he cut her throat because hediscovered that she lacked that excellent thing in woman, the middle toeof the right foot.''Look at that chap!' said Rosser in a low voice, his eyes fixedupon the stranger.'That chap' was obviously listening intently to the conversation.'Damn his impudence!' muttered King - ' what ought we to do?''That's an easy one,' Rosser replied, rising. 'Sir,' he continued,addressing the stranger, 'I think it would be better if you would removeyour chair to the other end of the veranda. The presence of gentlemen isevidently an unfamiliar situation to you.'The man sprang to his feet and strode forward with clenched hands,his face white with rage. All were now standing. Sancher stepped betweenthe belligerents.'You are hasty and unjust,' he said to Rosser; 'this gentleman hasdone nothing to deserve such language.'But Rosser would not withdraw a word. By the custom of the countryand the time there could be but one outcome to the quarrel.'I demand the satisfaction due to a gentleman,' said the stranger,who had become more calm. 'I have not an acquaintance in this region.Perhaps you, sir,' bowing to Sancher, 'will be kind enough to representme in this matter.'Sancher accepted the trust - somewhat reluctantly it must beconfessed, for the man's appearance and manner were not at all to hisliking. King, who during the colloquy had hardly removed his eyes fromthe stranger's face and had not spoken a word, consented with a nod toact for Rosser, and the upshot of it was that, the principals havingretired, a meeting was arranged for the next evening. The nature of thearrangements has been already disclosed. The duel with knives in a darkroom was once a commoner feature of south-western life than it is likelyto be again. How thin a veneering of 'chivalry' covered the essentialbrutality of the code under which such encounters were possible we shallsee.In the blaze of a midsummer noonday the old Manton house was hardlytrue to its traditions. It was of the earth, earthy. The sunshinecaressed it warmly and affectionately, with evident disregard of its badreputation. The grass greening all the expanse in its front seemed togrow, not rankly, but with a natural and joyous exuberance, and theweeds blossomed quite like plants. Full of charming lights and shadowsand populous with pleasant-voiced birds, the neglected shade trees nolonger struggled to run away, but bent reverently beneath their burdenof sun and song. Even in the glassless upper windows was an expressionof peace and contentment, due to the light within. Over the stony fieldsthe visible heat danced with a lively tremor incompatible with thegravity which is an attribute of the supernatural.Such was the aspect under which the place presented itself toSheriff Adams and two other men who had come out from Marshall to lookat it. One of these men was Mr. King, the sheriff's deputy; the other,whose name was Brewer, was a brother of the late Mrs. Manton. Under abeneficent law of the State relating to property which had been for acertain period abandoned by an owner whose residence cannot beascertained, the sheriff was legal custodian of the Manton farm andappurtenances thereunto belonging. His present visit was in mereperfunctory compliance with some order of a court in which Mr. Brewerhad an action to get possession of the property as heir to his deceasedsister. By a mere coincidence, the visit was made on the day after thenight that Deputy King had unlocked the house for another and verydifferent purpose. His presence now was not of his own choosing: he hadbeen ordered to accompany his superior, and at the moment could think ofnothing more prudent than simulated alacrity in obedience to the command.Carelessly opening the front door, which to his surprise was notlocked, the sheriff was amazed to see, lying on the floor of the passageinto which it opened, a confused heap of men's apparel. Examinationshowed it to consist of two hats, and the same number of coats,waistcoats and scarves, all in a remarkably good state of preservation,albeit somewhat defiled by the dust in which they lay. Mr. Brewer wasequally astonished, but Mr. King's emotion is not on record. With a newand lively interest in his own actions the sheriff now unlatched andpushed open the door on the right, and the three entered. The room wasapparently vacant - no; as their eyes became accustomed to the dimmerlight something was visible in the farthest angle of the wall. It was ahuman figure - that of a man crouching close in the corner. Something inthe attitude made the intruders halt when they had barely passed thethreshold. The figure more and more clearly defined itself. The man wasupon one knee, his back in the angle of the wall, his shoulders elevatedto the level of his ears, his hands before his face, palms outward, thefingers spread and crooked like claws; the white face turned upward onthe retracted neck had an expression of unutterable fright, the mouthhalf open, the eyes incredibly expanded. He was stone dead. Yet, withthe exception of a bowie-knife, which had evidently fallen from his ownhand, not another object was in the room.In thick dust that covered the floor were some confused footprintsnear the door and along the wall through which it opened. Along one ofthe adjoining walls, too, past the boarded-up windows, was the trailmade by the man himself in reaching his corner. Instinctively inapproaching the body the three men followed that trail. The sheriffgrasped one of the out-thrown arms; it was as rigid as iron, and theapplication of a gentle force rocked the entire body without alteringthe relation of its parts. Brewer, pale with excitement, gazed intentlyinto the distorted face. 'God of mercy!' he suddenly cried, 'it isManton! ''You are right,' said King, with an evident attempt at calmness: 'Iknew Manton. He then wore a full beard and his hair long, but this is he.'He might have added: 'I recognized him when he challenged Rosser. Itold Rosser and Sancher who he was before we played him this horribletrick. When Rosser left this dark room at our heels, forgetting hisouter clothing in the excitement, and driving away with us in his shirtsleeves - all through the discreditable proceedings we knew whom we weredealing with, murderer and coward that he was!'But nothing of this did Mr. King say. With his better light he wastrying to penetrate the mystery of the man's death. That he had not oncemoved from the corner where he had been stationed; that his posture wasthat of neither attack nor defence; that he had dropped his weapon; thathe had obviously perished of sheer horror of something that he saw -these were circumstances which Mr. King's disturbed intelligence couldnot rightly comprehend.Groping in intellectual darkness for a clue to his maze of doubt,his gaze, directed mechanically downward in the way of one who pondersmomentous matters, fell upon something which, there, in the light of dayand in the presence of living companions, affected him with terror. Inthe dust of years that lay thick upon the floor - leading from the doorby which they had entered, straight across the room to within a yard ofManton's crouching corpse - were three parallel lines of footprints -light but definite impressions of bare feet, the outer ones those ofsmall children, the inner a woman's. From the point at which they endedthey did not return; they pointed all one way. Brewer, who had observedthem at the same moment, was leaning forward in an attitude of raptattention, horribly pale.'Look at that!' he cried, pointing with both hands at the nearestprint of the woman's right foot, where she had apparently stopped andstood. 'The middle toe is missing - it was Gertrude!'Gertrude was the late Mrs. Manton, sister of Mr. Brewer.