"I have made a story that hath not been heard;
A great feat of arms that hath not been seen!"
--AMENEMHE'ET.
I woke slowly. It seemed that I struggled to wakefulness as a spent
swimmer struggles toward shore. Up, up through deep poles of sleep I
dragged myself, driven by some dimly sensed necessity. Peril had stolen
upon me in my unconsciousness, a stalking beast. I knew that with
nightmare certainty. It was as if my soul stood affrighted beside my
brain, wailing upon its ally to arouse and stand with it against the
menace. And my brain answered, but with infinite difficulty; like a
drugged warrior who hears the clang of battle and forces numbed limbs to
stir, arise and grasp the sword.
I was awake. Suddenly; the swimmer reaching the surface!
How shall I describe Fear incarnate? The Horror was at the open window
opposite the foot of my bed, staring in upon me with slavering
covetousness of the prey It watched. I lay there, and felt It seek for
me across the darkness with tentacles of evil that groped for some part
of me upon which It might lay hold.
The room was still. Between the draperies, the window showed nothing to
the eye except a dark square faintly tinged with the night luminance of
the sky. There was nothing to see; nothing to hear. But gradually I
became aware of a hideous odor of mould and mildew, of must and damp
decay that loaded the air with disgust.
I lay there, and opposed the approach of the Thing with all the will of
resistance in me. The sweat poured from my whole body, so that I lay as
in water and the drenched linen of my sleeping-suit clung coldly to me.
It could not pass the defense of my will. I felt the malevolent fury of
Its striving. Like the antennae of some monstrous insect brushing about
my body, I felt Its evil desires wavering about my mental self,
examining, searching where It might seize. It had not yet found the
weakness It sought. If It did----?
The sickening, vault-like air I must breathe fought for It. So did the
darkness. All this time, or the time that seemed so long, I had no more
command of my body than a cataleptic patient. Every ounce of force in me
had rushed to support the two warriors of the battle: the brain and will
that opposed the clutching menace. But now, as I grew more and more
fully awake, out of very loathing and danger I drew determination.
Slowly, painfully, I began to free my right arm and hand from this
paralysis.
As I advanced in resolution, the Thing seemed to recoil. Inch by inch, I
moved my hand across the bed toward my reading-lamp on the stand beside
me. In proportion as I moved, the dreadful tentacles drew back and away.
A last effort, and the chain was in my fingers. I jerked spasmodically.
Rosy light from the lamp flashed over the room. All the quiet comfort of
the place sprang into view as if to reassure me; the piano open as I had
left it, the table strewn with my evening's work, each bit of furniture,
each drapery or trinket undisturbed.
The Thing was gone. In the hush I heard my panting breath and the tick
of my watch on the stand. It was two o'clock in the morning. As I
mechanically read the hour, a cock somewhere shrilled its second call
before dawn. The Horror had been true to the legendary time of
apparitions.
Weak and chilled, I presently made an attempt to rise. But at the
movement, a wave of sickness swept through me. The room seemed to rock
and swing. I had just time to recognize the grip of faintness before I
fell back on the pillow.
* * * * *
Vivifying sweetness was in my nostrils, which expanded avidly for this
new air. Perfume that was a tonic, a subtle elixir; that sparkled upon
the senses, sank suavely and healingly through me, so that I seemed to
draw refreshment with each breath. Reluctantly, I aroused more and more
in response to this unusual stimulant; which somehow gave delicious rest
yet drew me from it into life.
I could have sworn someone had touched me. With some exclamation on my
lips, I started up; to find myself in darkness. The lamps I had left
lighted burned no longer.
This time there was no terror in my awakening. No Thing of nightmare
pressed against my window-space. The fragrance persisted; the ghastly
smell of mould and corruption was gone. But I wanted light for all that!
Reaching for the lamp beside me on its stand, I found the little chain.
I felt the chain draw in my fingers and heard the click that should have
meant light; but no answering brightness sprang up.
Instead, across the dark came a voice; a voice low-pitched, soft without
weakness, keen with exultation:
"Victory! Victory! You have no need of light--who conquered in darkness!
The Enemy has fled. It has covered the Unspeakable Eyes from the eyes of
a man. By the will of a man Its will has been forbidden. It has dragged
Itself back to the Barrier and cowers there for this time. Oh, soldier
on the dreadful Frontier, be proud, putting off your armor tonight! Be
proud, and rest."
Those practical people who are never unnerved by the intangible, may
gauge if they can the weirdness of this address following my first
experience, and then smile their contempt of me. For I confess to a
moment of uncanny chill. The voice was that of the woman who had trailed
her braid of hair into my grasp, the night I first slept here. But, how
did she know of the Thing's visit to me? I had not spoken nor uttered a
cry throughout Its visitation. How could she have knowledge of that
silent struggle between It and me, or of my escape so narrowly won. How,
unless she too----?
I groped for a glass of water left on my stand. I drank, and felt my dry
throat relax.
"Who are you?" I asked.
A sigh trembled toward me.
"I am one who stands on the threshold of your beautiful world, as a
traveler stands outside a lighted palace, gazing where she may not
enter, and feeling the winter about her."
"Do not suppose me quite a superstitious fool," I said bruskly. "You are
a woman. The woman who left a very real braid of hair in my hands, not
long ago, to save herself from capture!"
"Yes. Yet, I am neither more nor less real than the One which came for
you a while since."
"Then my nightmare was real? A thing of flesh and blood, or clever
mechanism? You know it. Perhaps you produced it?"
The rush of my angry suspicion dashed in useless heat against her cool
melancholy.
"Real? What is real?" she challenged me. "Turn to the sciences that you
should understand better than I, and ask. Stretch out your arm. For a
million years men have vowed you touch empty air. They saw and felt it
empty. But now a child knows air swarms with life. In that thin
nothingness, crowd and move the distributors of death, disease, health,
vigor--existence itself. The water you have just tasted is pure and
clear in the glass? Pure? Each drop is an ocean of inhabitants clean and
unclean. I speak commonplaces. But is there no knowledge not yet
commonplace? Oh man, with all the unfathomed universe about us, _dare_
you pronounce what is real?"
"What is natural," I began.
She interrupted me.
"Doubtless what is not natural cannot and does not exist. Have you,
then, measured Nature? He was a great thinker, one of deep knowledge,
who compared Man to a child wandering on the shore of a vast ocean and
picking up a pebble here and there."
"Of what would you convince me? And, why?"
"Of what? Danger! Why? Would you watch a man enter a jungle where some
hideous beast crouched in ambush, while you neither warned nor armed
him? I am here to turn you back. I am the native of that country who
runs to cry warning to a stranger; to put into his hand the weapon of
understanding."
So solemn, so urgent a sincerity was in her voice, that again chill
touched me. The clammy dampness of my garments hung on my limbs as a
reminder of the Thing, real or unreal, that twice had made Its presence
felt beyond denial. Wild as her words might be, their incredible
suggestion was matched by my experience. I sought with my eyes for her,
before answering. The room was dark, yet the darker bulk of furniture
loomed out enough to be distinguishable. No figure was visible, even
traced by the direction of her voice. I was certain that any movement to
seek her would mean her flight.
"Do you mean that you want me to go away from this place?" I questioned.
The sigh came again, just audibly.
"Yes. Why should you die?"
Was I wrong in fancying the sigh regretful? Did I not hear a wistful
reluctance in her tone? Excitement ran along my veins like burning oil
on flowing water. The woman hidden in the dark, the association of her
voice with the strange, exquisite fragrance I breathed, the thought of
beauty in her born of that lovely braid of hair I had seized--all
blended in a spell of human magic. I have said I was a man much alone,
and a lame man who craved adventure.
"Just now," I said, "you spoke of some victory. You called me--soldier."
"Is it not victory to have driven back the Dark One? Is he not a soldier
who, aroused in the night to meet dreadful assault, sets his face to the
enemy and battles front to front? Before the Eyes men and women have
died or lost reason, or fled across half the world, broken by fear. What
are the wars of man with man, compared with a man's battle against the
Unknown? I honor you! I salute you! But--soldier alone on the forbidden
Frontier, go! Join your fellows in the world alloted to you; live, nor
seek to tread where mankind is not sent."
"How can there be wrong in facing a situation that I did not cause?"
"There is no wrong. There is danger."
"What danger?" I persisted.
"Can you ask me?" she retorted with a hint of impatience. "You who have
felt Its grope toward your inner spirit?"
I shuddered, remembering the brush of those antennae, exploring,
examining! But I persisted, beyond my every-day nature. Her speech was
for me like that liquor distilled from honey that inflamed the Norsemen
to war fury.
"You say I came off victor," I reminded her.
"Yes. But can you conquer again, and again, and again? Will you not feel
strength fail, health break, madness creep close? Will you not be worn
down by the Thing that knows no weariness and fall its prey at last?"
"It will come--often?"
"Until one conquers, It will come."
I forced away a qualm of panic.
"How can you know?" I demanded.
"Ask me not. I do know."
"But, look here!" I argued. "If as you say, this creature was not meant
to meet mankind, how can It come after me this way?"
She seemed to pause, finally answering with reluctance:
"Because, two centuries ago one of the race of man here broke through
the awful Barrier that rears a wall between human kind and those dark
forms of life to which It belongs. For know that a human will to evil
can force a breach in that Barrier, which those on the other side never
could pass without such aid."
I neither understood nor believed. At least, I told myself that I did
not believe her wild, legendary explanation of the nightmare Thing that
visited me. I did not want to believe. Neither did I wish to offend her
by saying so!
"You will go," she presently mistook my silence for surrender. "You are
wise as well as brave. Good go with you! Good walk beside you in that
happy world where you live!"
"Wait!" I cried sharply. Her voice had seemed to recede from me, a
retreating whisper at the last word. "No! I will not go. I must--I will
know more of you. You are no phantom. Who are you? Where--when can I see
you in daylight?"
"Never."
"Why not?"
"I came to hold a light before the dreadful path. The warning is given."
"But you will come again?"
"Never."
"What? The Thing will come, and not you?"
"What have I to do with It, who am more helpless before It than you? Go;
and give thanks that you may."
"Listen," I commanded, as firmly as I could. "I am not going away from
this house without better reason. All this is too sudden and too new to
me. If you have more knowledge than I, you have no right to desert me
half-convinced of what I should do."
"I can stay no longer."
"Why can you not come again?"
"You plan to trap me," she reproached.
"No. Word of honor! You shall come and go as you please; I will not make
a movement toward you."
"Not try--to see me, even?" she hesitated.
"Not even that, if you forbid."
There was a long pause.
"Perhaps----" drifted to me, a faint distant word on the wind that had
begun to stir the tree-branches and flutter through my room.
She was gone. There sounded a click whose meaning did not at once strike
me, intent as I was upon the girl. Twice I spoke to her, receiving no
reply, before judging that I might rise without breaking my promise.
Then I recognized the click of a moment before, as that of the electric
switch beside my door. No doubt she had turned off my lights at her
entrance and now restored them. I pulled the chain of my reading-lamp,
and this time light flashed over the room.
I had known no one would be there, and no one was. Yet I was
disappointed.
As I drew on my dressing-gown I heard a clock downstairs strike four.
Not a breath or a step stirred in the house. The damp freshness of
coming dawn crept in my windows, bringing scents of tansy and
bitter-sweet from the fields to strive against the unknown fragrance in
my room. The melancholy depression of the hour weighed upon me. Beneath
the gentle strife of sweet odors, my nostrils seemed to detect a lurking
foulness of mould and decay.
I sat down at my desk, to wait beside the lamp for the coming of
sunrise.