With Intent to Steal

by Algernon Blackwood

To sleep in a lonely barn when the best bedrooms in the house were atour disposal, seemed, to say the least, unnecessary, and I felt thatsome explanation was due to our host.But Shorthouse, I soon discovered, had seen to all that; our enterprisewould be tolerated, not welcomed, for the master kept this sort of thingdown with a firm hand. And then, how little I could get this man,Shorthouse, to tell me. There was much I wanted to ask and hear, but hesurrounded himself with impossible barriers. It was ludicrous; he wassurely asking a good deal of me, and yet he would give so little inreturn, and his reason--that it was for my good--may have been perfectlytrue, but did not bring me any comfort in its train. He gave me sops nowand then, however, to keep up my curiosity, till I soon was aware thatthere were growing up side by side within me a genuine interest and anequally genuine fear; and something of both these is probably necessaryto all real excitement.The barn in question was some distance from the house, on the side ofthe stables, and I had passed it on several of my journeyings to and frowondering at its forlorn and untarred appearance under a regime whereeverything was so spick and span; but it had never once occurred to meas possible that I should come to spend a night under its roof with acomparative stranger, and undergo there an experience belonging to anorder of things I had always rather ridiculed and despised.At the moment I can only partially recall the process by whichShorthouse persuaded me to lend him my company. Like myself, he was aguest in this autumn house-party, and where there were so many tochatter and to chaff, I think his taciturnity of manner had appealed tome by contrast, and that I wished to repay something of what I owed.There was, no doubt, flattery in it as well, for he was more than twicemy age, a man of amazingly wide experience, an explorer of all theworld's corners where danger lurked, and--most subtle flattery ofall--by far the best shot in the whole party, our host included.At first, however, I held out a bit."But surely this story you tell," I said, "has the parentage common toall such tales--a superstitious heart and an imaginative brain--and hasgrown now by frequent repetition into an authentic ghost story? Besides,this head gardener of half a century ago," I added, seeing that he stillwent on cleaning his gun in silence, "who was he, and what positiveinformation have you about him beyond the fact that he was found hangingfrom the rafters, dead?""He was no mere head gardener, this man who passed as such," he repliedwithout looking up, "but a fellow of splendid education who used thiscurious disguise for his own purposes. Part of this very barn, of whichhe always kept the key, was found to have been fitted up as a completelaboratory, with athanor, alembic, cucurbite, and other appliances, someof which the master destroyed at once--perhaps for the best--and which Ihave only been able to guess at--""Black Arts," I laughed."Who knows?" he rejoined quietly. "The man undoubtedly possessedknowledge--dark knowledge--that was most unusual and dangerous, and Ican discover no means by which he came to it--no ordinary means, thatis. But I have found many facts in the case which point to theexercise of a most desperate and unscrupulous will; and the strangedisappearances in the neighbourhood, as well as the bones found buriedin the kitchen garden, though never actually traced to him, seem to mefull of dreadful suggestion."I laughed again, a little uncomfortably perhaps, and said it remindedone of the story of Giles de Rays, marechal of France, who was said tohave killed and tortured to death in a few years no less than onehundred and sixty women and children for the purposes of necromancy, andwho was executed for his crimes at Nantes. But Shorthouse would not"rise," and only returned to his subject."His suicide seems to have been only just in time to escape arrest," hesaid."A magician of no high order then," I observed sceptically, "if suicidewas his only way of evading the country police.""The police of London and St. Petersburg rather," returned Shorthouse;"for the headquarters of this pretty company was somewhere in Russia,and his apparatus all bore the marks of the most skilful foreign make. ARussian woman then employed in the household--governess, orsomething--vanished, too, about the same time and was never caught. Shewas no doubt the cleverest of the lot. And, remember, the object of thisappalling group was not mere vulgar gain, but a kind of knowledge thatcalled for the highest qualities of courage and intellect in theseekers."I admit I was impressed by the man's conviction of voice and manner, forthere is something very compelling in the force of an earnest man'sbelief, though I still affected to sneer politely."But, like most Black Magicians, the fellow only succeeded in compassinghis own destruction--that of his tools, rather, and of escapinghimself.""So that he might better accomplish his objects elsewhere andotherwise," said Shorthouse, giving, as he spoke, the most minuteattention to the cleaning of the lock."Elsewhere and otherwise," I gasped."As if the shell he left hanging from the rafter in the barn in no wayimpeded the man's spirit from continuing his dreadful work under newconditions," he added quietly, without noticing my interruption. "Theidea being that he sometimes revisits the garden and the barn, chieflythe barn--""The barn!" I exclaimed; "for what purpose?""Chiefly the barn," he finished, as if he had not heard me, "that is,when there is anybody in it."I stared at him without speaking, for there was a wonder in me how hewould add to this."When he wants fresh material, that is--he comes to steal from theliving.""Fresh material!" I repeated aghast. "To steal from the living!" Eventhen, in broad daylight, I was foolishly conscious of a creepingsensation at the roots of my hair, as if a cold breeze were passing overmy skull."The strong vitality of the living is what this sort of creature issupposed to need most," he went on imperturbably, "and where he hasworked and thought and struggled before is the easiest place for him toget it in. The former conditions are in some way more easilyreconstructed--" He stopped suddenly, and devoted all his attention tothe gun. "It's difficult to explain, you know, rather," he addedpresently, "and, besides, it's much better that you should not know tillafterwards."I made a noise that was the beginning of a score of questions and of asmany sentences, but it got no further than a mere noise, and Shorthouse,of course, stepped in again."Your scepticism," he added, "is one of the qualities that induce me toask you to spend the night there with me.""In those days," he went on, in response to my urging for moreinformation, "the family were much abroad, and often travelled for yearsat a time. This man was invaluable in their absence. His wonderfulknowledge of horticulture kept the gardens--French, Italian, English--inperfect order. He had carte blanche in the matter of expense, and ofcourse selected all his own underlings. It was the sudden, unexpectedreturn of the master that surprised the amazing stories of thecountryside before the fellow, with all his cleverness, had time toprepare or conceal.""But is there no evidence, no more recent evidence, to show thatsomething is likely to happen if we sit up there?" I asked, pressing himyet further, and I think to his liking, for it showed at least that Iwas interested. "Has anything happened there lately, for instance?"Shorthouse glanced up from the gun he was cleaning so assiduously, andthe smoke from his pipe curled up into an odd twist between me and theblack beard and oriental, sun-tanned face. The magnetism of his look andexpression brought more sense of conviction to me than I had felthitherto, and I realised that there had been a sudden little change inmy attitude and that I was now much more inclined to go in for theadventure with him. At least, I thought, with such a man, one would besafe in any emergency; for he is determined, resourceful, and to bedepended upon."There's the point," he answered slowly; "for there has apparently beena fresh outburst--an attack almost, it seems,--quite recently. There isevidence, of course, plenty of it, or I should not feel the interest Ido feel, but--" he hesitated a moment, as though considering how much heought to let me know, "but the fact is that three men this summer, onseparate occasions, who have gone into that barn after nightfall, havebeen accosted--""Accosted?" I repeated, betrayed into the interruption by his choice ofso singular a word."And one of the stablemen--a recent arrival and quite ignorant of thestory--who had to go in there late one night, saw a dark substancehanging down from one of the rafters, and when he climbed up, shakingall over, to cut it down--for he said he felt sure it was a corpse--theknife passed through nothing but air, and he heard a sound up under theeaves as if someone were laughing. Yet, while he slashed away, andafterwards too, the thing went on swinging there before his eyes andturning slowly with its own weight, like a huge joint on a spit. The mandeclares, too, that it had a large bearded face, and that the mouth wasopen and drawn down like the mouth of a hanged man.""Can we question this fellow?""He's gone--gave notice at once, but not before I had questioned himmyself very closely.""Then this was quite recent?" I said, for I knew Shorthouse had not beenin the house more than a week."Four days ago," he replied. "But, more than that, only three days ago acouple of men were in there together in full daylight when one of themsuddenly turned deadly faint. He said that he felt an overmasteringimpulse to hang himself; and he looked about for a rope and was furiouswhen his companion tried to prevent him--""But he did prevent him?""Just in time, but not before he had clambered on to a beam. He was veryviolent."I had so much to say and ask that I could get nothing out in time, andShorthouse went on again."I've had a sort of watching brief for this case," he said with a smile,whose real significance, however, completely escaped me at the time,"and one of the most disagreeable features about it is the deliberateway the servants have invented excuses to go out to the place, andalways after dark; some of them who have no right to go there, and noreal occasion at all--have never been there in their lives beforeprobably--and now all of a sudden have shown the keenest desire anddetermination to go out there about dusk, or soon after, and with themost paltry and foolish excuses in the world. Of course," he added,"they have been prevented, but the desire, stronger than theirsuperstitious dread, and which they cannot explain, is very curious.""Very," I admitted, feeling that my hair was beginning to stand upagain."You see," he went on presently, "it all points to volition--in fact todeliberate arrangement. It is no mere family ghost that goes with everyivied house in England of a certain age; it is something real, andsomething very malignant."He raised his face from the gun barrel, and for the first time his eyecaught mine in the full. Yes, he was very much in earnest. Also, he knewa great deal more than he meant to tell."It's worth tempting--and fighting, I think," he said; "but I want acompanion with me. Are you game?" His enthusiasm undoubtedly caught me,but I still wanted to hedge a bit."I'm very sceptical," I pleaded."All the better," he said, almost as if to himself. "You have the pluck;I have the knowledge--""The knowledge?"He looked round cautiously as if to make sure that there was no onewithin earshot."I've been in the place myself," he said in a lowered voice, "quitelately--in fact only three nights ago--the day the man turned queer."I stared."But--I was obliged to come out--"Still I stared."Quickly," he added significantly."You've gone into the thing pretty thoroughly," was all I could find tosay, for I had almost made up my mind to go with him, and was not surethat I wanted to hear too much beforehand.He nodded. "It's a bore, of course, but I must do everythingthoroughly--or not at all.""That's why you clean your own gun, I suppose?""That's why, when there's any danger, I take as few chances aspossible," he said, with the same enigmatical smile I had noticedbefore; and then he added with emphasis, "And that is also why I ask youto keep me company now."Of course, the shaft went straight home, and I gave my promise withoutfurther ado.Our preparations for the night--a couple of rugs and a flask of blackcoffee--were not elaborate, and we found no difficulty, about teno'clock, in absenting ourselves from the billiard-room withoutattracting curiosity. Shorthouse met me by arrangement under the cedaron the back lawn, and I at once realised with vividness what adifference there is between making plans in the daytime and carryingthem out in the dark. One's common-sense--at least in matters of thissort--is reduced to a minimum, and imagination with all her attendantsprites usurps the place of judgment. Two and two no longer makefour--they make a mystery, and the mystery loses no time in growing intoa menace. In this particular case, however, my imagination did not findwings very readily, for I knew that my companion was the mostunmovable of men--an unemotional, solid block of a man who wouldnever lose his head, and in any conceivable state of affairs wouldalways take the right as well as the strong course. So my faith in theman gave me a false courage that was nevertheless very consoling, and Ilooked forward to the night's adventure with a genuine appetite.Side by side, and in silence, we followed the path that skirted the EastWoods, as they were called, and then led across two hay fields, andthrough another wood, to the barn, which thus lay about half a mile fromthe Lower Farm. To the Lower Farm, indeed, it properly belonged; andthis made us realise more clearly how very ingenious must have been theexcuses of the Hall servants who felt the desire to visit it.It had been raining during the late afternoon, and the trees were stilldripping heavily on all sides, but the moment we left the second woodand came out into the open, we saw a clearing with the stars overhead,against which the barn outlined itself in a black, lugubrious shadow.Shorthouse led the way--still without a word--and we crawled in througha low door and seated ourselves in a soft heap of hay in the extremecorner."Now," he said, speaking for the first time, "I'll show you the insideof the barn, so that you may know where you are, and what to do, incase anything happens."A match flared in the darkness, and with the help of two more thatfollowed I saw the interior of a lofty and somewhat rickety-lookingbarn, erected upon a wall of grey stones that ran all round and extendedto a height of perhaps four feet. Above this masonry rose the woodensides, running up into the usual vaulted roof, and supported by a doubletier of massive oak rafters, which stretched across from wall to walland were intersected by occasional uprights. I felt as if we were insidethe skeleton of some antediluvian monster whose huge black ribscompletely enfolded us. Most of this, of course, only sketched itself tomy eye in the uncertain light of the flickering matches, and when I saidI had seen enough, and the matches went out, we were at once envelopedin an atmosphere as densely black as anything that I have ever known.And the silence equalled the darkness.We made ourselves comfortable and talked in low voices. The rugs, whichwere very large, covered our legs; and our shoulders sank into a reallyluxurious bed of softness. Yet neither of us apparently felt sleepy. Icertainly didn't, and Shorthouse, dropping his customary brevity thatfell little short of gruffness, plunged into an easy run of talkingthat took the form after a time of personal reminiscences. This rapidlybecame a vivid narration of adventure and travel in far countries, andat any other time I should have allowed myself to become completelyabsorbed in what he told. But, unfortunately, I was never able for asingle instant to forget the real purpose of our enterprise, andconsequently I felt all my senses more keenly on the alert than usual,and my attention accordingly more or less distracted. It was, indeed, arevelation to hear Shorthouse unbosom himself in this fashion, and to ayoung man it was of course doubly fascinating; but the little soundsthat always punctuate even the deepest silence out of doors claimed someportion of my attention, and as the night grew on I soon became awarethat his tales seemed somewhat disconnected and abrupt--and that, infact, I heard really only part of them.It was not so much that I actually heard other sounds, but that Iexpected to hear them; this was what stole the other half of mylistening. There was neither wind nor rain to break the stillness, andcertainly there were no physical presences in our neighbourhood, for wewere half a mile even from the Lower Farm; and from the Hall andstables, at least a mile. Yet the stillness was being continuallybroken--perhaps disturbed is a better word--and it was to these veryremote and tiny disturbances that I felt compelled to devote at leasthalf my listening faculties.From time to time, however, I made a remark or asked a question, to showthat I was listening and interested; but, in a sense, my questionsalways seemed to bear in one direction and to make for one issue,namely, my companion's previous experience in the barn when he had beenobliged to come out "quickly."Apparently I could not help myself in the matter, for this was reallythe one consuming curiosity I had; and the fact that it was better forme not to know it made me the keener to know it all, even the worst.Shorthouse realised this even better than I did. I could tell it by theway he dodged, or wholly ignored, my questions, and this subtle sympathybetween us showed plainly enough, had I been able at the time to reflectupon its meaning, that the nerves of both of us were in a very sensitiveand highly-strung condition. Probably, the complete confidence I felt inhis ability to face whatever might happen, and the extent to which alsoI relied upon him for my own courage, prevented the exercise of myordinary powers of reflection, while it left my senses free to a morethan usual degree of activity.Things must have gone on in this way for a good hour or more, when Imade the sudden discovery that there was something unusual in theconditions of our environment. This sounds a roundabout mode ofexpression, but I really know not how else to put it. The discoveryalmost rushed upon me. By rights, we were two men waiting in an allegedhaunted barn for something to happen; and, as two men who trusted oneanother implicitly (though for very different reasons), there shouldhave been two minds keenly alert, with the ordinary senses in activeco-operation. Some slight degree of nervousness, too, there might alsohave been, but beyond this, nothing. It was therefore with something ofdismay that I made the sudden discovery that there was something more,and something that I ought to have noticed very much sooner than Iactually did notice it.The fact was--Shorthouse's stream of talk was wholly unnatural. He wastalking with a purpose. He did not wish to be cornered by my questions,true, but he had another and a deeper purpose still, and it grew uponme, as an unpleasant deduction from my discovery, that this strong,cynical, unemotional man by my side was talking--and had been talkingall this time--to gain a particular end. And this end, I soon feltclearly, was to convince himself. But, of what?For myself, as the hours wore on towards midnight, I was not anxious tofind the answer; but in the end it became impossible to avoid it, and Iknew as I listened, that he was pouring forth this steady stream ofvivid reminiscences of travel--South Seas, big game, Russianexploration, women, adventures of all sorts--because he wished the pastto reassert itself to the complete exclusion of the present. He wastaking his precautions. He was afraid.I felt a hundred things, once this was clear to me, but none of themmore than the wish to get up at once and leave the barn. If Shorthousewas afraid already, what in the world was to happen to me in the longhours that lay ahead? . . . I only know that, in my fierce efforts to denyto myself the evidence of his partial collapse, the strength came thatenabled me to play my part properly, and I even found myself helpinghim by means of animated remarks upon his stories, and by more or lessjudicious questions. I also helped him by dismissing from my mind anydesire to enquire into the truth of his former experience; and it wasgood I did so, for had he turned it loose on me, with those great powersof convincing description that he had at his command, I verily believethat I should never have crawled from that barn alive. So, at least, Ifelt at the moment. It was the instinct of self-preservation, and itbrought sound judgment.Here, then, at least, with different motives, reached, too, by oppositeways, we were both agreed upon one thing, namely, that temporarily wewould forget. Fools we were, for a dominant emotion is not so easilybanished, and we were for ever recurring to it in a hundred ways directand indirect. A real fear cannot be so easily trifled with, and while wetoyed on the surface with thousands and thousands of words--merewords--our sub-conscious activities were steadily gaining force, andwould before very long have to be properly acknowledged. We could notget away from it. At last, when he had finished the recital of anadventure which brought him near enough to a horrible death, I admittedthat in my uneventful life I had never yet been face to face with areal fear. It slipped out inadvertently, and, of course, withoutintention, but the tendency in him at the time was too strong to beresisted. He saw the loophole, and made for it full tilt."It is the same with all the emotions," he said. "The experiences ofothers never give a complete account. Until a man has deliberatelyturned and faced for himself the fiends that chase him down the years,he has no knowledge of what they really are, or of what they can do.Imaginative authors may write, moralists may preach, and scholars maycriticise, but they are dealing all the time in a coinage of which theyknow not the actual value. Their listener gets a sensation--but not thetrue one. Until you have faced these emotions," he went on, with thesame race of words that had come from him the whole evening, "and madethem your own, your slaves, you have no idea of the power that is inthem--hunger, that shows lights beckoning beyond the grave; thirst, thatfills with mingled ice and fire; passion, love, loneliness, revenge,and--" He paused for a minute, and though I knew we were on the brink Iwas powerless to hold him. " . . . and fear," he went on--"fear . . .I think that death from fear, or madness from fear, must sum up in asecond of time the total of all the most awful sensations it is possiblefor a man to know.""Then you have yourself felt something of this fear," I interrupted;"for you said just now--""I do not mean physical fear," he replied; "for that is more or less aquestion of nerves and will, and it is imagination that makes mencowards. I mean an absolute fear, a physical fear one might call it,that reaches the soul and withers every power one possesses."He said a lot more, for he, too, was wholly unable to stem the torrentonce it broke loose; but I have forgotten it; or, rather, mercifully Idid not hear it, for I stopped my ears and only heard the occasionalwords when I took my fingers out to find if he had come to an end. Indue course he did come to an end, and there we left it, for I then knewpositively what he already knew: that somewhere here in the night, andwithin the walls of this very barn where we were sitting, there waswaiting Something of dreadful malignancy and of great power. Somethingthat we might both have to face ere morning, and Something that he hadalready tried to face once and failed in the attempt.The night wore slowly on; and it gradually became more and more clear tome that I could not dare to rely as at first upon my companion, and thatour positions were undergoing a slow process of reversal. I thank Heaventhis was not borne in upon me too suddenly; and that I had at least thetime to readjust myself somewhat to the new conditions. Preparation waspossible, even if it was not much, and I sought by every means in mypower to gather up all the shreds of my courage, so that they mighttogether make a decent rope that would stand the strain when it came.The strain would come, that was certain, and I was thoroughly wellaware--though for my life I cannot put into words the reasons for myknowledge--that the massing of the material against us was proceedingsomewhere in the darkness with determination and a horrible skillbesides.Shorthouse meanwhile talked without ceasing. The great quantity of hayopposite--or straw, I believe it actually was--seemed to deaden thesound of his voice, but the silence, too, had become so oppressive thatI welcomed his torrent and even dreaded the moment when it would stop. Iheard, too, the gentle ticking of my watch. Each second uttered itsvoice and dropped away into a gulf, as if starting on a journey whencethere was no return. Once a dog barked somewhere in the distance,probably on the Lower Farm; and once an owl hooted close outside and Icould hear the swishing of its wings as it passed overhead. Above me, inthe darkness, I could just make out the outline of the barn, sinisterand black, the rows of rafters stretching across from wall to wall likewicked arms that pressed upon the hay. Shorthouse, deep in some involvedyarn of the South Seas that was meant to be full of cheer and sunshine,and yet only succeeded in making a ghastly mixture of unnaturalcolouring, seemed to care little whether I listened or not. He made noappeal to me, and I made one or two quite irrelevant remarks whichpassed him by and proved that he was merely uttering sounds. He, too,was afraid of the silence.I fell to wondering how long a man could talk without stopping. . . . Thenit seemed to me that these words of his went falling into the same gulfwhere the seconds dropped, only they were heavier and fell faster. Ibegan to chase them. Presently one of them fell much faster than therest, and I pursued it and found myself almost immediately in a land ofclouds and shadows. They rose up and enveloped me, pressing on theeyelids. . . . It must have been just here that I actually fell asleep,somewhere between twelve and one o'clock, because, as I chased this wordat tremendous speed through space, I knew that I had left the otherwords far, very far behind me, till, at last, I could no longer hearthem at all. The voice of the story-teller was beyond the reach ofhearing; and I was falling with ever increasing rapidity through animmense void.A sound of whispering roused me. Two persons were talking under theirbreath close beside me. The words in the main escaped me, but I caughtevery now and then bitten-off phrases and half sentences, to which,however, I could attach no intelligible meaning. The words were quiteclose--at my very side in fact--and one of the voices sounded sofamiliar, that curiosity overcame dread, and I turned to look. I was notmistaken; it was Shorthouse whispering. But the other person, who musthave been just a little beyond him, was lost in the darkness andinvisible to me. It seemed then that Shorthouse at once turned up hisface and looked at me and, by some means or other that caused me nosurprise at the time, I easily made out the features in the darkness.They wore an expression I had never seen there before; he seemeddistressed, exhausted, worn out, and as though he were about to give inafter a long mental struggle. He looked at me, almost beseechingly, andthe whispering of the other person died away."They're at me," he said.I found it quite impossible to answer; the words stuck in my throat. Hisvoice was thin, plaintive, almost like a child's."I shall have to go. I'm not as strong as I thought. They'll call itsuicide, but, of course, it's really murder." There was real anguish inhis voice, and it terrified me.A deep silence followed these extraordinary words, and I somehowunderstood that the Other Person was just going to carry on theconversation--I even fancied I saw lips shaping themselves just over myfriend's shoulder--when I felt a sharp blow in the ribs and a voice,this time a deep voice, sounded in my ear. I opened my eyes, and thewretched dream vanished. Yet it left behind it an impression of a strongand quite unusual reality."Do try not to go to sleep again," he said sternly. "You seemexhausted. Do you feel so?" There was a note in his voice I did notwelcome,--less than alarm, but certainly more than mere solicitude."I do feel terribly sleepy all of a sudden," I admitted, ashamed."So you may," he added very earnestly; "but I rely on you to keep awake,if only to watch. You have been asleep for half an hour at least--andyou were so still--I thought I'd wake you--""Why?" I asked, for my curiosity and nervousness were altogether toostrong to be resisted. "Do you think we are in danger?""I think they are about here now. I feel my vitality goingrapidly--that's always the first sign. You'll last longer than I,remember. Watch carefully."The conversation dropped. I was afraid to say all I wanted to say. Itwould have been too unmistakably a confession; and intuitively Irealised the danger of admitting the existence of certain emotions untilpositively forced to. But presently Shorthouse began again. His voicesounded odd, and as if it had lost power. It was more like a woman's ora boy's voice than a man's, and recalled the voice in my dream."I suppose you've got a knife?" he asked."Yes--a big clasp knife; but why?" He made no answer. "You don't think apractical joke likely? No one suspects we're here," I went on. Nothingwas more significant of our real feelings this night than the way wetoyed with words, and never dared more than to skirt the things in ourmind."It's just as well to be prepared," he answered evasively. "Better bequite sure. See which pocket it's in--so as to be ready."I obeyed mechanically, and told him. But even this scrap of talk provedto me that he was getting further from me all the time in his mind. Hewas following a line that was strange to me, and, as he distanced me, Ifelt that the sympathy between us grew more and more strained. He knewmore; it was not that I minded so much--but that he was willing tocommunicate less. And in proportion as I lost his support, I dreadedhis increasing silence. Not of words--for he talked more volubly thanever, and with a fiercer purpose--but his silence in giving no hint ofwhat he must have known to be really going on the whole time.The night was perfectly still. Shorthouse continued steadily talking,and I jogged him now and again with remarks or questions in order tokeep awake. He paid no attention, however, to either.About two in the morning a short shower fell, and the drops rattledsharply on the roof like shot. I was glad when it stopped, for itcompletely drowned all other sounds and made it impossible to hearanything else that might be going on. Something was going on, too, allthe time, though for the life of me I could not say what. The outerworld had grown quite dim--the house-party, the shooters, thebilliard-room, and the ordinary daily incidents of my visit. All myenergies were concentrated on the present, and the constant strain ofwatching, waiting, listening, was excessively telling.Shorthouse still talked of his adventures, in some Eastern country now,and less connectedly. These adventures, real or imaginary, had quite asavour of the Arabian Nights, and did not by any means make it easierfor me to keep my hold on reality. The lightest weight will affect thebalance under such circumstances, and in this case the weight of histalk was on the wrong scale. His words were very rapid, and I found itoverwhelmingly difficult not to follow them into that great gulf ofdarkness where they all rushed and vanished. But that, I knew, meantsleep again. Yet, it was strange I should feel sleepy when at the sametime all my nerves were fairly tingling. Every time I heard what seemedlike a step outside, or a movement in the hay opposite, the blood stoodstill for a moment in my veins. Doubtless, the unremitting strain toldupon me more than I realised, and this was doubly great now that I knewShorthouse was a source of weakness instead of strength, as I hadcounted. Certainly, a curious sense of languor grew upon me more andmore, and I was sure that the man beside me was engaged in the samestruggle. The feverishness of his talk proved this, if nothing else. Itwas dreadfully hard to keep awake.But this time, instead of dropping into the gulf, I saw something comeup out of it! It reached our world by a door in the side of the barnfurthest from me, and it came in cautiously and silently and moved intothe mass of hay opposite. There, for a moment, I lost it, but presentlyI caught it again higher up. It was clinging, like a great bat, to theside of the barn. Something trailed behind it, I could not make outwhat. . . . It crawled up the wooden wall and began to move out along oneof the rafters. A numb terror settled down all over me as I watched it.The thing trailing behind it was apparently a rope.The whispering began again just then, but the only words I could catchseemed without meaning; it was almost like another language. The voiceswere above me, under the roof. Suddenly I saw signs of active movementgoing on just beyond the place where the thing lay upon the rafter.There was something else up there with it! Then followed panting, likethe quick breathing that accompanies effort, and the next minute a blackmass dropped through the air and dangled at the end of the rope.Instantly, it all flashed upon me. I sprang to my feet and rushedheadlong across the floor of the barn. How I moved so quickly in thedarkness I do not know; but, even as I ran, it flashed into my mind thatI should never get at my knife in time to cut the thing down, or elsethat I should find it had been taken from me. Somehow or other--theGoddess of Dreams knows how--I climbed up by the hay bales and swung outalong the rafter. I was hanging, of course, by my arms, and the knifewas already between my teeth, though I had no recollection of how it gotthere. It was open. The mass, hanging like a side of bacon, was only afew feet in front of me, and I could plainly see the dark line of ropethat fastened it to the beam. I then noticed for the first time that itwas swinging and turning in the air, and that as I approached it seemedto move along the beam, so that the same distance was always maintainedbetween us. The only thing I could do--for there was no time tohesitate--was to jump at it through the air and slash at the rope as Idropped.I seized the knife with my right hand, gave a great swing of my bodywith my legs and leaped forward at it through the air. Horrors! It wascloser to me than I knew, and I plunged full into it, and the arm withthe knife missed the rope and cut deeply into some substance that wassoft and yielding. But, as I dropped past it, the thing had time to turnhalf its width so that it swung round and faced me--and I could havesworn as I rushed past it through the air, that it had the features ofShorthouse.The shock of this brought the vile nightmare to an abrupt end, and Iwoke up a second time on the soft hay-bed to find that the grey dawn wasstealing in, and that I was exceedingly cold. After all I had failed tokeep awake, and my sleep, since it was growing light, must have lastedat least an hour. A whole hour off my guard!There was no sound from Shorthouse, to whom, of course, my firstthoughts turned; probably his flow of words had ceased long ago, and hetoo had yielded to the persuasions of the seductive god. I turned towake him and get the comfort of companionship for the horror of mydream, when to my utter dismay I saw that the place where he had beenwas vacant. He was no longer beside me.It had been no little shock before to discover that the ally in whom layall my faith and dependence was really frightened, but it is quiteimpossible to describe the sensations I experienced when I realised hehad gone altogether and that I was alone in the barn. For a minute ortwo my head swam and I felt a prey to a helpless terror. The dream, too,still seemed half real, so vivid had it been! I was thoroughlyfrightened--hot and cold by turns--and I clutched the hay at my side inhandfuls, and for some moments had no idea in the world what I shoulddo.This time, at least, I was unmistakably awake, and I made a great effortto collect myself and face the meaning of the disappearance of mycompanion. In this I succeeded so far that I decided upon a thoroughsearch of the barn, inside and outside. It was a dreadful undertaking,and I did not feel at all sure of being able to bring it to aconclusion, but I knew pretty well that unless something was done atonce, I should simply collapse.But, when I tried to move, I found that the cold, and fear, and I knownot what else unholy besides, combined to make it almost impossible. Isuddenly realised that a tour of inspection, during the whole of whichmy back would be open to attack, was not to be thought of. My will wasnot equal to it. Anything might spring upon me any moment from the darkcorners, and the growing light was just enough to reveal every movementI made to any who might be watching. For, even then, and while I wasstill half dazed and stupid, I knew perfectly well that someone waswatching me all the time with the utmost intentness. I had not merelyawakened; I had been awakened.I decided to try another plan; I called to him. My voice had a thin weaksound, far away and quite unreal, and there was no answer to it. Hark,though! There was something that might have been a very faint voice nearme!I called again, this time with greater distinctness, "Shorthouse, whereare you? can you hear me?"There certainly was a sound, but it was not a voice. Something wasmoving. It was someone shuffling along, and it seemed to be outside thebarn. I was afraid to call again, and the sound continued. It was anordinary sound enough, no doubt, but it came to me just then assomething unusual and unpleasant. Ordinary sounds remain ordinary onlyso long as one is not listening to them; under the influence of intenselistening they become unusual, portentous, and therefore extraordinary.So, this common sound came to me as something uncommon, disagreeable. Itconveyed, too, an impression of stealth. And with it there was another,a slighter sound.Just at this minute the wind bore faintly over the field the sound ofthe stable clock, a mile away. It was three o'clock; the hour whenlife's pulses beat lowest; when poor souls lying between life and deathfind it hardest to resist. Vividly I remember this thought crashingthrough my brain with a sound of thunder, and I realised that the strainon my nerves was nearing the limit, and that something would have to bedone at once if I was to reclaim my self-control at all.When thinking over afterwards the events of this dreadful night, it hasalways seemed strange to me that my second nightmare, so vivid in itsterror and its nearness, should have furnished me with no inkling ofwhat was really going on all this while; and that I should not have beenable to put two and two together, or have discovered sooner than I didwhat this sound was and where it came from. I can well believe thatthe vile scheming which lay behind the whole experience found it an easytrifle to direct my hearing amiss; though, of course, it may equallywell have been due to the confused condition of my mind at the time andto the general nervous tension under which I was undoubtedly suffering.But, whatever the cause for my stupidity at first in failing to tracethe sound to its proper source, I can only say here that it was with ashock of unexampled horror that my eye suddenly glanced upwards andcaught sight of the figure moving in the shadows above my head among therafters. Up to this moment I had thought that it was somebody outsidethe barn, crawling round the walls till it came to a door; and the rushof horror that froze my heart when I looked up and saw that it wasShorthouse creeping stealthily along a beam, is something altogetherbeyond the power of words to describe.He was staring intently down upon me, and I knew at once that it was hewho had been watching me.This point was, I think, for me the climax of feeling in the wholeexperience; I was incapable of any further sensation--that is anyfurther sensation in the same direction. But here the abominablecharacter of the affair showed itself most plainly, for it suddenlypresented an entirely new aspect to me. The light fell on the picturefrom a new angle, and galvanised me into a fresh ability to feel when Ithought a merciful numbness had supervened. It may not sound a greatdeal in the printed letter, but it came to me almost as if it had beenan extension of consciousness, for the Hand that held the pencilsuddenly touched in with ghastly effect of contrast the element of theludicrous. Nothing could have been worse just then. Shorthouse, themasterful spirit, so intrepid in the affairs of ordinary life, whosepower increased rather than lessened in the face of danger--this man,creeping on hands and knees along a rafter in a barn at three o'clock inthe morning, watching me all the time as a cat watches a mouse! Yes, itwas distinctly ludicrous, and while it gave me a measure with which togauge the dread emotion that caused his aberration, it stirredsomewhere deep in my interior the strings of an empty laughter.One of those moments then came to me that are said to come sometimesunder the stress of great emotion, when in an instant the mind growsdazzlingly clear. An abnormal lucidity took the place of my confusion ofthought, and I suddenly understood that the two dreams which I had takenfor nightmares must really have been sent me, and that I had beenallowed for one moment to look over the edge of what was to come; theGood was helping, even when the Evil was most determined to destroy.I saw it all clearly now. Shorthouse had overrated his strength. Theterror inspired by his first visit to the barn (when he had failed) hadroused the man's whole nature to win, and he had brought me to divertthe deadly stream of evil. That he had again underrated the poweragainst him was apparent as soon as he entered the barn, and his wildtalk, and refusal to admit what he felt, were due to this desire not toacknowledge the insidious fear that was growing in his heart. But, atlength, it had become too strong. He had left my side in my sleep--hadbeen overcome himself, perhaps, first in his sleep, by the dreadfulimpulse. He knew that I should interfere, and with every movement hemade, he watched me steadily, for the mania was upon him and he wasdetermined to hang himself. He pretended not to hear me calling, and Iknew that anything coming between him and his purpose would meet thefull force of his fury--the fury of a maniac, of one, for the timebeing, truly possessed.For a minute or two I sat there and stared. I saw then for the firsttime that there was a bit of rope trailing after him, and that this waswhat made the rustling sound I had noticed. Shorthouse, too, had come toa stop. His body lay along the rafter like a crouching animal. He waslooking hard at me. That whitish patch was his face.I can lay claim to no courage in the matter, for I must confess that inone sense I was frightened almost beyond control. But at the same timethe necessity for decided action, if I was to save his life, came to mewith an intense relief. No matter what animated him for the moment,Shorthouse was only a man; it was flesh and blood I had to contendwith and not the intangible powers. Only a few hours before I had seenhim cleaning his gun, smoking his pipe, knocking the billiard ballsabout with very human clumsiness, and the picture flashed across mymind with the most wholesome effect.Then I dashed across the floor of the barn and leaped upon the hay balesas a preliminary to climbing up the sides to the first rafter. It wasfar more difficult than in my dream. Twice I slipped back into the hay,and as I scrambled up for the third time I saw that Shorthouse, who thusfar had made no sound or movement, was now busily doing something withhis hands upon the beam. He was at its further end, and there must havebeen fully fifteen feet between us. Yet I saw plainly what he was doing;he was fastening the rope to the rafter. The other end, I saw, wasalready round his neck!This gave me at once the necessary strength, and in a second I had swungmyself on to a beam, crying aloud with all the authority I could putinto my voice--"You fool, man! What in the world are you trying to do? Come down atonce!"My energetic actions and words combined had an immediate effect upon himfor which I blessed Heaven; for he looked up from his horrid task,stared hard at me for a second or two, and then came wriggling alonglike a great cat to intercept me. He came by a series of leaps andbounds and at an astonishing pace, and the way he moved somehow inspiredme with a fresh horror, for it did not seem the natural movement of ahuman being at all, but more, as I have said, like that of some lithewild animal.He was close upon me. I had no clear idea of what exactly I meant to do.I could see his face plainly now; he was grinning cruelly; the eyes werepositively luminous, and the menacing expression of the mouth was mostdistressing to look upon. Otherwise it was the face of a chalk man,white and dead, with all the semblance of the living human drawn out ofit. Between his teeth he held my clasp knife, which he must have takenfrom me in my sleep, and with a flash I recalled his anxiety to knowexactly which pocket it was in."Drop that knife!" I shouted at him, "and drop after it yourself--""Don't you dare to stop me!" he hissed, the breath coming between hislips across the knife that he held in his teeth. "Nothing in the worldcan stop me now--I have promised--and I must do it. I can't hold out anylonger.""Then drop the knife and I'll help you," I shouted back in his face. "Ipromise--""No use," he cried, laughing a little, "I must do it and you can't stopme."I heard a sound of laughter, too, somewhere in the air behind me. Thenext second Shorthouse came at me with a single bound.To this day I cannot quite tell how it happened. It is still a wildconfusion and a fever of horror in my mind, but from somewhere I drewmore than my usual allowance of strength, and before he could well haverealised what I meant to do, I had his throat between my fingers. Heopened his teeth and the knife dropped at once, for I gave him a squeezehe need never forget. Before, my muscles had felt like so much soakedpaper; now they recovered their natural strength, and more besides. Imanaged to work ourselves along the rafter until the hay was beneath us,and then, completely exhausted, I let go my hold and we swung roundtogether and dropped on to the hay, he clawing at me in the air even aswe fell.The struggle that began by my fighting for his life ended in a wildeffort to save my own, for Shorthouse was quite beside himself, and hadno idea what he was doing. Indeed, he has always averred that heremembers nothing of the entire night's experiences after the time whenhe first woke me from sleep. A sort of deadly mist settled over him, hedeclares, and he lost all sense of his own identity. The rest was ablank until he came to his senses under a mass of hay with me on the topof him.It was the hay that saved us, first by breaking the fall and then byimpeding his movements so that I was able to prevent his choking me todeath.

Previous Authors：The Wood of the Dead Next Authors：Old Ironsides