DARK DREAMS AND NIGHT SHADOWS
I suppose I must have gone on blindly for some time, for when I again
became conscious I stood beside a river, while tall trees waved their
leafless branches overhead. Strange noises filled the air. Sometimes
wailing sounds were wafted to me, which presently changed into hisses,
until it seemed as if a thousand serpents were creeping all around me.
The waters of the river looked black, while above me were weird,
fantastic forms leaping in the stillness of the night. No words were
spoken, no language was uttered, save that of wailing and hissing, and
that somehow was indistinct, as if it existed in fancy and not in
reality. By and by, however, I heard a voice.
"Onward!" it said, and I became unconscious.
* * * * *
Again I realized my existence in a vague shadowy way. I stood beneath
the ruined walls of an Eastern temple. Huge columns arose in the air,
surmounted by colossal architraves, while the ponderous stones of which
the temple was built were covered with lichen. Large grey lizards
crawled in and out among the crevices of the rocks, and seemed to laugh
as they sported amidst what was once the expression of a great religious
system, but which was now terrible in its weird desolation. By and by
the great building seemed to assume its original shape and became
inhabited by white-robed priests, who ministered to the people who came
to worship. I watched eagerly, but they faded away, leaving nothing save
the feeling that a terrible presence filled the place. I heard a noise
behind; I turned and saw Kaffar, his black eyes shining, while in his
hand he held a gleaming knife. He lifted it above his head as if to
strike; but I had the strength of ten men, and I hurled him from me. He
looked at me with a savage leer.
"Onward!" said a distant voice.
The temple vanished, and with it all my realization of life, save a
vague fancy that I was moving somewhere, I knew not where.
* * * * *
I stood by a well-remembered spot. I was by the side of Drearwater Pond.
Around me was a stretch of common land, on which grew heather and
furze. In front of me were noiseless waters, a dismal sight at the best
of times, but awful as I saw them. Across the pond in the near distance
loomed the dark fir trees. No sound broke the stillness of the night.
The wind had gone to rest, the moon shone dimly from behind the misty
clouds.
I stood alone.
Each minute my surroundings became more real. I recognized more clearly
the objects which had struck me during my first visit, while the stories
which had been told came back to me with terrible distinctness. I
remembered how it had been said that the pond had no bottom, and that it
was haunted by the spirits of those that had been murdered. The story of
its evil influence came back to me, and in my bewildered condition I
wondered whether there was not some truth in what had been said.
What was that?
The waters moved; distinctly moved near to where I stood, and from their
dark depths something appeared--I could not at first tell what.
What could it be? A monster of frightful mien? the ghost of some
murdered man or woman? I could have believed in either just then. It was
neither.
What then? A human hand, large and shapely, appeared distinctly on the
surface of the pond. Nothing more, not even the wrist to which it might
be attached. It did not beckon, or indeed move at all; it was as still
as the hand of death.
I stood motionless and watched, while the outline of the hand became
more clear; then I gave an awful shudder.
_The hand was red._
I gave a shriek, and for a time remembered nothing more.
* * * * *
I awoke to consciousness, fighting. At first it seemed as if I was
fighting with a phantom, but gradually my opponent became more real to
me. It was Kaffar.
I had only a dim hazy idea of what I was doing, except that I sought to
wrest from his hand a knife. We clutched each other savagely, and
wrestled there on the edge of the pond. Weights seemed to hang upon my
limbs, but I felt the stronger of the two. Gradually I knew I was
mastering him--then all was blank.
* * * * *
A sound of voices. A flash of light. A feeling of freedom, and I was
awake!
Where?
Still by Drearwater Pond. No phantoms, no shadow, nothing unreal, save
the memory of that which I have but dimly described. That was but as a
terrible nightmare--an awful dream.
Where was Kaffar?
I could not tell. Certainly he was not near; but two other forms stood
by me, one bearing a lantern.
"Is it you, Justin?" said a voice.
"It is I, Tom," I said, looking vacantly around.
"And where is Kaffar?" said another voice, which I recognized as
Voltaire's.
"Kaffar? I--I do not know."
"But you have been together."
"Have we?" I said vacantly.
"You know you have. What is that in your hand?"
I had scarcely known what I had been saying or doing up to this time,
but as he spoke I looked at my hand.
In the light of the moon I saw a knife red with blood, and my hand, too,
was also discoloured.
"What does this mean?" cried Voltaire.
"I do not know. I am dazed--bewildered."
"But that is Kaffar's knife. I know he had it this very evening. Where
is Kaffar now?"
"Is it true?" I remember saying. "Have we been together?" "That's his
knife, at any rate. And what is this?"
Voltaire picked up something from the ground and looked at it.
"Kaffar's," he said. "Look, Mr. Blake; do you recognize this?"
I looked and saw a finely-worked neckcloth, on which was written in
Arabic characters the words "Aba Wady Kaffar." It had every appearance
of being soiled by severe wrenching, and on it were spots of blood.
My faculties were rapidly returning to me, yet I stood as one in a
dream.
"You say, Mr. Justin Blake, that you do not know where Kaffar is, yet
you hold in your hand his knife, which is red with blood. Here is his
scarf, which has evidently been strained, and on it are spots of blood,
while all around are marks indicating a struggle. I say you do know what
this means, and you must tell us."
I reeled under this terrible shock. What had I done? Could it be that I
had murdered this man? Had I? Had I?
"I do not know what it means," I said. "I think I am ill."
"Men usually are when they have done what you have," he said.
"Why, what have I done?" I said, in a dazed kind of a way. "Done!" he
repeated. "You know best about that, in spite of the part you play.
Nevertheless, Kaffar has not gone without leaving a friend behind him,
and you will have to show how you came by that"--pointing to the knife,
which I had dropped with a shudder; "this"--holding up the neckcloth;
"you must explain these marks"--pointing to footmarks near the water's
edge; "besides which, you will have to produce my friend."
A terrible thought flashed into my mind. I had again been acting under
the influence of this man's power. By some means he had made me the
slave of his will, and I had unknowingly killed Kaffar, and he, like the
fiend he was, had come to sweep me out of his road. Perchance, too,
Kaffar's death might serve him in good stead. Undoubtedly the Egyptian
knew too much for Voltaire, and so I was made a tool whereby he could be
freed from troublesome obstacles. The idea maddened me. I would proclaim
the story to every one. If I were hanged I cared not. I opened my mouth
to tell Tom the whole truth, but I could not utter a word. My tongue
refused to articulate; my power of speech left me.
My position was too terrible. My overwrought nerves yielded at last. I
felt my head whirling around, while streams of icy water seemed to be
running down my legs. Then I fell down at Tom Temple's feet.
For some time after that I remembered nothing distinctly. I have some
idea of stumbling along, with Tom on one side of me and Voltaire on the
other, but no word was spoken until we came to Temple Hall. Then I heard
Tom say--
"He's better now. You go into the drawing-room as if nothing had
happened, and I'll take him quietly up-stairs to bed."
I entered the silent house like one in a dream, and went with Tom to my
bedroom, where I undressed like a weary child, and soon sunk into a deep
dreamless sleep.