THE OCCULT IN SHADOWS
Many of the shadows, I have seen, have not had material counterparts.
They have invariably proved themselves to be superphysical danger
signals, the sure indicators of the presence of those grey, inscrutable,
inhuman cerebrums to which I have alluded; of phantasms of the dead and
of elementals of all kinds. There is an indescribable something about
them, that at once distinguishes them from ordinary shadows, and puts me
on my guard. I have seen them in houses that to all appearances are the
least likely to be haunted--houses full of sunshine and the gladness of
human voices. In the midst of merriment, they have darkened the wall
opposite me like the mystic writing in Nebuchadnezzar's palace. They
have suddenly appeared by my side, as I have been standing on rich, new
carpeting or sun-kissed swards. They have floated into my presence with
both sunbeams and moonbeams, through windows, doors, and curtains, and
their advent has invariably been followed by some form or other of
occult demonstration. I spent some weeks this summer at Worthing, and,
walking one afternoon to the Downs, selected a bright and secluded spot
for a comfortable snooze. I revel in snatching naps in the open
sunshine, and this was a place that struck me as being perfectly ideal
for that purpose. It was on the brow of a diminutive hillock covered
with fresh, lovely grass of a particularly vivid green. In the rear and
on either side of it, the ground rose and fell in pleasing alternation
for an almost interminable distance, whilst in front of it there was a
gentle declivity (up which I had clambered) terminating in the broad,
level road leading to Worthing. Here, on this broad expanse of the
Downs, was a fairyland of soft sea air, sunshine and rest--rest from
mankind, from the shrill, unmusical voices of the crude and rude product
of the County Council schools.
I sat down; I never for one moment thought of phantasms; I fell asleep.
I awoke; the hot floodgates of the cloudless heaven were still open, the
air translucent over and around me, when straight in front of me, on a
gloriously gilded patch of grass, there fell a shadow--a shadow from no
apparent substance, for both air and ground were void of obstacles, and,
apart from myself, there was no living object in the near landscape. Yet
it was a shadow; a shadow that I could not diagnose; a waving,
fluctuating shadow, unpleasantly suggestive of something subtle and
horrid. It was, I instinctively knew, the shadow of the occult; a few
moments more, and a development would, in all probability, take place.
The blue sky, the golden sea, the tiny trails of smoke creeping up
lazily from the myriads of chimney-pots, the white house-tops, the red
house-tops, the church spire, the railway line, the puffing, humming,
shuffling goods-train, the glistening white roads, the breathing, busy
figures, and the bright and smiling mile upon mile of emerald turf rose
in rebellion against the likelihood of ghosts--yet, there was the
shadow. I looked away from it, and, as I did so, an icy touch fell on my
shoulder. I dared not turn; I sat motionless, petrified, frozen. The
touch passed to my forehead and from thence to my chin, my head swung
round forcibly, and I saw--nothing--only the shadow; but how different,
for out of the chaotic blotches there now appeared a well--a remarkably
well--defined outline, the outline of a head and hand, the head of a
fantastic beast, a repulsive beast, and the hand of a man. A flock of
swallows swirled overhead, a grasshopper chirped, a linnet sang, and,
with this sudden awakening of nature, the touch and shadow vanished
simultaneously. But the hillock had lost its attractions for me, and,
rising hastily, I dashed down the decline and hurried homewards. I
discovered no reason other than solitude, and the possible burial-place
of prehistoric man, for the presence of the occult; but the next time I
visited the spot, the same thing happened. I have been there twice
since, and the same, always the same thing--first the shadow, then the
touch, then the shadow, then the arrival of some form or other of joyous
animal life, and the abrupt disappearance of the Unknown.
I was once practising bowls on the lawn of a very old house, the other
inhabitants of which were all occupied indoors. I had taken up a bowl,
and was in the act of throwing it, when, suddenly, on the empty space in
front of me I saw a shadow, a nodding, waving, impenetrable,
undecipherable shadow. I looked around, but there was nothing visible
that could in any way account for it. I threw down the bowl and turned
to go indoors. As I did so, something touched me lightly in the face. I
threw out my hand and touched a cold, clammy substance strangely
suggestive of the leafy branch of a tree. Yet nothing was to be seen. I
felt again, and my fingers wandered to a broader expanse of something
gnarled and uneven. I kept on exploring, and my grasp closed over
something painfully prickly. I drew my hand smartly back, and, as I did
so, distinctly heard the loud and angry rustling of leaves. Just then
one of my friends called out to me from a window. I veered round to
reply, and the shadow had vanished. I never saw it again, though I often
had the curious sensation that it was there. I did not mention my
experience to my friends, as they were pronounced disbelievers in the
superphysical, but tactful inquiry led to my gleaning the information
that on the identical spot, where I had felt the phenomena, had once
stood a horse-chestnut tree, which had been cut down owing to the strong
aversion the family had taken to it, partly on account of a strange
growth on the trunk, unpleasantly suggestive of cancer, and partly
because a tramp had hanged himself on one of the branches.
All sorts of extraordinary shadows have come to me in the Parks, the
Twopenny Tube, and along the Thames Embankment. At ten o'clock, on the
morning of 1st April 1899, I entered Hyde Park by one of the side gates
of the Marble Arch, and crossing to the island, sat down on an empty
bench. The sky was grey, the weather ominous, and occasional heavy drops
of rain made me rejoice in the possession of an umbrella. On such a day,
the park does not appear at its best. The Arch exhibited a dull, dirty,
yellowish-grey exterior; every seat was bespattered with mud; whilst, to
render the general aspect still more unprepossessing, the trees had not
yet donned their mantles of green, but stood dejectedly drooping their
leafless branches as if overcome with embarrassment at their nakedness.
On the benches around me sat, or lay, London's homeless--wretched-looking
men in long, tattered overcoats, baggy, buttonless trousers, cracked and
laceless boots, and shapeless bowlers, too weak from want of food and
rest even to think of work, almost incapable, indeed, of thought at
all--breathing corpses, nothing more, with premature signs of
decomposition in their filthy smell. And the women--the women were, if
possible, ranker--feebly pulsating, feebly throbbing, foully stinking,
rotten, living deaths. No amount of soap, food, or warmth could reclaim
them now. Nature's implacable law--the survival of the fittest, the
weakest to the wall--was here exhibited in all its brutal force, and, as
I gazed at the weakest, my heart turned sick within me.
Time advanced; one by one the army of tatterdemalions crawled away, God
alone knew how, God alone knew where. In all probability God did not
care. Why should He? He created Nature and Nature's laws.
A different type of humanity replaced this garbage: neat and dapper
girls on their way to business; black-bowlered, spotless-leathered,
a-guinea-a-week clerks, casting longing glances at the pale grass and
countless trees (their only reminiscence of the country), as they
hastened their pace, lest they should be a minute late for their hateful
servitude; a policeman with the characteristic stride and swinging arms;
a brisk and short-stepped postman; an apoplectic-looking,
second-hand-clothes-man; an emaciated widow; a typical charwoman; two
mechanics; the usual brutal-faced labourer; one of the idle rich in
shiny hat, high collar, cutaway coat, prancing past on a coal-black
horse; and a bevy of nursemaids.
To show my mind was not centred on the occult,--bootlaces, collar-studs,
the two buttons on the back of ladies' coats, dyed hair, servants' feet,
and a dozen and one other subjects, quite other than the superphysical,
successively occupied my thoughts. Imagine, then, my surprise and the
shock I received, when, on glancing at the gravel in front of me, I saw
two shadows--two enigmatical shadows. A dog came shambling along the
path, showed its teeth, snarled, sprang on one side, and, with bristling
hair, fled for its life. I examined the plot of ground behind me; there
was nothing that could in any way account for the shadows, nothing like
them. Something rubbed against my leg. I involuntarily put down my hand;
it was a foot--a clammy lump of ice, but, unmistakably, a foot. Yet of
what? I saw nothing, only the shadows. I did not want to discover more;
my very soul shrank within me at the bare idea of what there might be,
what there was. But, as is always the case, the superphysical gave me no
choice; my hand, moving involuntarily forward, rested on something flat,
round, grotesque, horrid, something I took for a face, but a face which
I knew could not be human. Then I understood the shadows. Uniting, they
formed the outline of something lithe and tall, the outline of a
monstrosity with a growth even as I had felt it--flat, round, grotesque,
and horrid. Was it the phantasm of one of those poor waifs and strays,
having all their bestialities and diseases magnified; or was it the
spirit of a tree of some unusually noxious nature?
I could not divine, and so I came away unsatisfied. But I believe the
shadow is still there, for I saw it only the last time I was in the
Park.