The Other Lodgers

by Ambrose Bierce

　　

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"In order to take that train," said Colonel Levering, sitting in theWaldorf-Astoria hotel, "you will have to remain nearly all night inAtlanta. That is a fine city, but I advise you not to put up at theBreathitt House, one of the principal hotels. It is an old woodenbuilding in urgent need of repairs. There are breaches in the wallsthat you could throw a cat through. The bedrooms have no locks onthe doors, no furniture but a single chair in each, and a bedsteadwithout bedding--just a mattress. Even these meager accommodationsyou cannot be sure that you will have in monopoly; you must takeyour chance of being stowed in with a lot of others. Sir, it is amost abominable hotel."The night that I passed in it was an uncomfortable night. I got inlate and was shown to my room on the ground floor by an apologeticnight-clerk with a tallow candle, which he considerately left withme. I was worn out by two days and a night of hard railway traveland had not entirely recovered from a gunshot wound in the head,received in an altercation. Rather than look for better quarters Ilay down on the mattress without removing my clothing and fellasleep."Along toward morning I awoke. The moon had risen and was shiningin at the uncurtained window, illuminating the room with a soft,bluish light which seemed, somehow, a bit spooky, though I dare sayit had no uncommon quality; all moonlight is that way if you willobserve it. Imagine my surprise and indignation when I saw thefloor occupied by at least a dozen other lodgers! I sat up,earnestly damning the management of that unthinkable hotel, and wasabout to spring from the bed to go and make trouble for the night-clerk--him of the apologetic manner and the tallow candle--whensomething in the situation affected me with a strange indispositionto move. I suppose I was what a story-writer might call 'frozenwith terror.' For those men were obviously all dead!"They lay on their backs, disposed orderly along three sides of theroom, their feet to the walls--against the other wall, farthest fromthe door, stood my bed and the chair. All the faces were covered,but under their white cloths the features of the two bodies that layin the square patch of moonlight near the window showed in sharpprofile as to nose and chin."I thought this a bad dream and tried to cry out, as one does in anightmare, but could make no sound. At last, with a desperateeffort I threw my feet to the floor and passing between the two rowsof clouted faces and the two bodies that lay nearest the door, Iescaped from the infernal place and ran to the office. The night-clerk was there, behind the desk, sitting in the dim light ofanother tallow candle--just sitting and staring. He did not rise:my abrupt entrance produced no effect upon him, though I must havelooked a veritable corpse myself. It occurred to me then that I hadnot before really observed the fellow. He was a little chap, with acolorless face and the whitest, blankest eyes I ever saw. He had nomore expression than the back of my hand. His clothing was a dirtygray."'Damn you!' I said; 'what do you mean?'"Just the same, I was shaking like a leaf in the wind and did notrecognize my own voice."The night-clerk rose, bowed (apologetically) and--well, he was nolonger there, and at that moment I felt a hand laid upon my shoulderfrom behind. Just fancy that if you can! Unspeakably frightened, Iturned and saw a portly, kind-faced gentleman, who asked:"'What is the matter, my friend?'"I was not long in telling him, but before I made an end of it hewent pale himself. 'See here,' he said, 'are you telling thetruth?'"I had now got myself in hand and terror had given place toindignation. 'If you dare to doubt it,' I said, 'I'll hammer thelife out of you!'"'No,' he replied, 'don't do that; just sit down till I tell you.This is not a hotel. It used to be; afterward it was a hospital.Now it is unoccupied, awaiting a tenant. The room that you mentionwas the dead-room--there were always plenty of dead. The fellowthat you call the night-clerk used to be that, but later he bookedthe patients as they were brought in. I don't understand his beinghere. He has been dead a few weeks.'"'And who are you?' I blurted out."'Oh, I look after the premises. I happened to be passing just now,and seeing a light in here came in to investigate. Let us have alook into that room,' he added, lifting the sputtering candle fromthe desk."'I'll see you at the devil first!' said I, bolting out of the doorinto the street."Sir, that Breathitt House, in Atlanta, is a beastly place! Don'tyou stop there.""God forbid! Your account of it certainly does not suggest comfort.By the way, Colonel, when did all that occur?""In September, 1864--shortly after the siege."

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