OUT OF THE STORM
It was a miserable night which brought me first in touch with Jason
Croft. There was a rain and enough wind to send it in gusty dashes
against the windows. It was the sort of a night when I always felt glad
to cast off coat and shoes, don a robe and slippers, and sit down
with the curtains drawn, a lighted pipe, and the soft glow of a lamp
falling across the pages of my book. I am, I admit, always strangely
susceptible to the shut-in sense of comfort afforded by a pipe, the
steady yellow of a light, and the magic of printed lines at a time of
elemental turmoil and stress.
It was with a feeling little short of positive annoyance that I heard
the door-bell ring. Indeed, I confess, I was tempted to ignore it
altogether at first. But as it rang again, and was followed by a rapid
tattoo of rapping, as of fists pounded against the door itself, I rose,
laid aside my book, and stepped into the hall.
First switching on a porch-light, I opened the outer door, to reveal
the figure of an old woman, somewhat stooping, her head covered by a
shawl, which sloped wetly from her head to either shoulder, and was
caught and held beneath her chin by one bony hand.
"Doctor," she began in a tone of almost frantic excitement. "Dr.
Murray--come quick!"
Perhaps I may as well introduce myself here as anywhere else. I am Dr.
George Murray, still, as at the time of which I write, in charge of the
State Mental Hospital in a Western State. The institution was not then
very large, and since taking my position at the head of its staff I had
found myself with considerable time for my study along the lines of
human psychology and the various powers and aberrations of the mind.
Also, I may as well confess, as a first step toward a better
understanding of my part in what followed, that for years before coming
to the asylum I had delved more or less deeply into such studies,
seeking to learn what I might concerning both the normal and the
abnormal manifestations of mental force.
There is good reading and highly entertaining, I assure you, in the
various philosophies dealing with life, religion, and the several
beliefs regarding the soul of man. I was therefore fairly conversant
not only with the Occidental creeds, but with those of the Oriental
races as well. And I knew that certain of the Eastern sects had
advanced in their knowledge far beyond our Western world. I had
even endeavored to make their knowledge mine, so far as I could, in
certain lines at least, and had from time to time applied some of that
knowledge to the treatment of cases in the institution of which I was
the head.
But I was not thinking of anything like that as I looked at the
shawl-wrapped face of the little bent woman, wrinkled and wry enough
to have been a very part of the storm which beat about her and blew
back the skirts of my lounging-robe and chilled my ankles. I lived in a
residence detached from the asylum buildings proper, but none the less
a part of the institution; and, as a matter of fact, my sole thought
was a feeling of surprise that any one should have come here to find
me, and despite the woman's manifest state of anxiety and haste, a
decided reluctance to go with her quickly or otherwise on such a night.
I rather temporized: "But, my dear woman, surely there are other
doctors for you to call. I am really not in general practice. I am
connected with the asylum--"
"And that is the very reason I always said I would come for you if
anything happened to Mr. Jason," she cut in.
"Whom?" I inquired, interested in spite of myself at this plainly
premeditated demand for my service.
"Mr. Jason Croft, sir," she returned. "He's dead maybe--I dunno. But
he's been that way for a week."
"Dead?" I exclaimed in almost an involuntary fashion, startled by her
words.
"Dead, or asleep. I don't know which."
Clearly there was something here I wasn't getting into fully, and my
interest aroused. The whole affair seemed to be taking on an atmosphere
of the peculiar, and it was equally clear that the gusty doorway was no
place to talk. "Come in," I said. "What is your name?"
"Goss," said she, without making any move to enter. "I'm housekeeper
for Mr. Jason, but I'll not be comin' in unless you say you'll go."
"Then come in without any more delay," I replied, making up my mind. I
knew Croft in a way--by sight at least. He was a big fellow with light
hair and a splendid physique, who had been pointed out to me shortly
after my arrival. Once I had even got close enough to the man to look
into his eyes. They were gray, and held a peculiar something in their
gaze which had arrested my attention at once. Jason Croft had the eyes
of a mystic--of a student of those very things I myself had studied
more or less.
They were the eyes of one who saw deeper than the mere objective
surface of life, and the old woman's words at the last had waked up
my interest in no uncertain degree. I had decided I would go with her
to Croft's house, which was not very far down the street, and see, if
I might, for myself just what had occurred to send her rushing to me
through the night.
I gave her a seat, said I would get on my shoes and coat, and went back
into the room I had left some moments before. There I dressed quickly
for my venture into the storm, adding a raincoat to my other attire,
and was back in the hall inside five minutes at most.
* * * * *
We set out at once, emerging into the wind-driven rain, my long
raincoat flapping about my legs and the little old woman tottering
along at my side. And what with the rain, the wind, and the unexpected
summons, I found myself in a rather strange frame of mind. The whole
thing seemed more like some story I had read than a happening of real
life, particularly so as my companion kept pace with me and uttered no
sound save at times a rather rasping sort of breath. The whole thing
became an almost eery experience as we hastened down the storm-swept
street.
Then we turned in at a gate and went up toward the large house I knew
to be Croft's, and the little old woman unlocked a heavy front door
and led me into a hall. It was a most unusual hall, too, its walls
draped with rare tapestries and rugs, its floor covered with other rugs
such as I had never seen outside private collections, lighted by a
hammered brass lantern through the pierced sides of which the rays of
an electric light shone forth.
Across the hall she scuttered, still in evident haste, and flung open
a door to permit me to enter a room which was plainly a study. It was
lined with cases of books, furnished richly yet plainly with chairs, a
heavy desk, and a broad couch, on which I saw in one swift glance the
stretched-out body of Croft himself.
He lay wholly relaxed, like one sunk in heavy sleep, his eyelids
closed, his arms and hands dropped limply at his sides, but with no
visible sign of respiration animating his deep full chest.
Toward him the little woman gestured with a hand, and stood watching,
still with her wet shawl about her head and shoulders, while I
approached and bent over the man.
I touched his face and found it cold. My fingers sought his pulse
and failed to find it at all. But his body was limp as I lifted an
arm and dropped it. There was no rigor, yet there was no evidence of
decay, such as must follow once rigor has passed away. I had brought
instruments with me as a matter of course. I took them from my pocket
and listened for some sound from the heart. I thought I found the
barest flutter, but I wasn't sure. I tested the tension of the eyeball
under the closed lids and found it firm. I straightened and turned to
face the little old woman.
"Dead, sir?" she asked in a sibilant whisper. Her eyes were wide in
their sockets. They stared into mine.
I shook my head. "He doesn't appear to be dead," I replied. "See here,
Mrs. Goss, what did you mean by saying he ought to have been back three
days ago? What do you mean by back?"
She fingered at her lips with one bony hand. "Why--awake, sir," she
said at last.
"Then why didn't you say so?" I snapped. "Why use the word back?"
"Because, sir," she faltered, "that's what he says when he wakes up.
'Well, Mary, I'm back.' I--I guess I just said it because he does,
doctor. I--was worrit when he didn't come back--when he didn't wake up,
tonight, an' it took to rainin', I reckon maybe it was th' storm scared
me, sir."
Her words had, however, given me a clue. "He's been like this before,
then?"
"Yes, sir. But never more than four days without telling me he would.
Th' first time was months ago--but it's been gettin' oftener and
oftener, till now all his sleeps are like this. He told me not to be
scared--an' to--to never bother about him--to--to just let him alone;
but--I guess I was scared tonight, when it begun to storm an' him
layin' there like that. It was like havin' a corpse in the house."
I began to gain a fuller appreciation of the situation. I myself had
seen people in a cataleptic condition, had even induced the state
in subjects myself, and it appeared to me that Jason Croft was in a
similar state, no matter how induced.
"What does your employer do?" I asked.
"He studies, sir--just studies things like that." Mrs. Goss gestured at
the cases of books. "He don't have to work, you know. His uncle left
him rich."
I followed her arm as she swept it about the glass-fronted cases. I
brought my glances back to the desk in the center of the room, between
the woman and myself as we stood. Upon it I spied another volume lying
open. It was unlike any book I had ever seen, yellowed with age; in
fact not a book at all, but a series of parchment pages tied together
with bits of silken cord.
I took the thing up and found the open pages covered with marginal
notes in English, although the original was plainly in Sanskrit, an
ancient language I had seen before, but was wholly unable to read. The
notations, however, threw some light into my mind, and as I read them
I forgot the storm, the little old woman--everything save what I read
and the bearing it held on the man behind me on the couch. I felt sure
they had been written by his own hand, and they bore on the subject of
astral projection--the ability of the soul to separate itself, or be
separated, from the physical body and return to its fleshy husk again
at will.
I finished the open pages and turned to others. The notations were
still present wherever I looked. At last I turned to the very front
and found that the manuscript was by Ahmid, an occult adept of
Hindustan, who lived somewhere in the second or third century of the
Christian era.
With a strange sensation I laid down the silk-bound pages. They were
very, very old. Over a thousand years had come and passed since they
were written by the dead Ahmid's hand. Yet I had held them tonight, and
I felt sure Jason Croft had held them often--read them and understood
them, and that the condition in which I found him this night was
in some way subtly connected with their store of ancient lore. And
suddenly I sensed the storm and the little old woman and the silent
body of the man at my back again, with a feeling of something uncanny
in the whole affair.
* * * * *
"You can do nothing for him?" the woman broke my introspection.
I looked up and into her eyes, dark and bright and questioning as she
stood still clutching her damp shawl.
"I'm not so sure of that," I said. "But--Mr. Croft's condition is
rather--peculiar. Whatever I do will require quiet--that I am alone
with him for some time. I think if I can be left here with him for
possibly an hour, I can bring him back."
I paused abruptly. I had used the woman's former words almost. And I
saw she noticed the fact, for a slight smile gathered on her faded
lips. She nodded. "You'll bring him back," she said. "Mind you, doctor,
th' trouble is with Mr. Jason's head, I've been thinking. 'Twas for
that I've been telling myself I would come for you, if he forgot to
come back some time, like I've been afraid he would."
"You did quite right," I agreed. "But--the trouble is not with Mr.
Croft's mind. In fact, Mrs. Goss, I believe he is a very learned man.
How long have you known him, may I ask?"
"Ever since he was a boy, except when he was travelin'," she returned.
"He has traveled?" I took her up.
"Yes, sir, a lot. Me an' my husband kept up th' place while he was
gone."
"I see," I said. "And now if you will let me try what I can do."
"Yes, sir. I'll set out in th' hall," she agreed, and turned in her
rapid putter from the room.
Left alone, I took a chair, dragged it to the side of the couch, and
studied my man.
So far as I could judge, he was at least six feet tall, and
correspondingly built. His hair was heavy, almost tawny, and, as I
knew, his eyes were gray. The whole contour of his head and features
showed what appeared to me remarkable intelligence and strength,
the nose finely chiseled, the mouth well formed and firm, the chin
unmistakably strong. That Croft was an unusual character I felt more
and more as I sat there. His very condition, which, from what I had
learned from the little old woman and his own notation on the margins
of Ahmid's writings, I believed self-induced, would certainly indicate
that.
But my own years of study had taught me no little of hypnosis,
suggestion, and the various phases of the subconscious mind. I had
developed no little power with various patients, or "subjects," as a
hypnotist calls them, who from time to time had submitted themselves
to my control. Wherefore I felt that I knew about what to do to waken
the sleeping objective mind of the man on the couch. I had asked for an
hour, and the time had been granted. It behooved me to get to work.
I began. I concentrated my mind to the exclusion of all else upon
my task, sending a mental call to the soul of Jason Croft, wherever
it might be, commanding it to return to the body it had temporarily
quitted of its own volition, and once more animate it to a conscious
life. I forgot the strangeness of the situation, the rattle of the
rain against the glass panes of the room. And after a time I began
speaking to the form beside which I sat, as to a conscious person,
firmly repeating over and over my demand for the presence of Jason
Croft--demanding it, nor letting myself doubt for a single instant that
the demand would be given heed in time.
It was a nerve-racking task. In the end it came to seem that I sat
there and struggled against some intangible, invisible force which
resisted all my efforts. I look back now on the time spent there
that night as an ordeal such as I never desire to again attempt. But
I did not desist. I had asked for an hour, because when I asked I
never dreamed the thing I had attempted, the thing which is yet to be
related, concerning the weird, yet true narrative, as I fully believe,
of Jason Croft.
I had then no conception of how far his venturesome spirit had plumbed
the universe. If I thought of him at all, it was merely as some
experimenter who might have need of help, rather than as an adept of
adepts, who had transcended all human accomplishments in his line of
research and thought.
In my own blindness I had fancied that his overlong period in his
cataleptic trance might even be due to some inability on his part to
reanimate his own body, after leaving it where it lay. I thought of
myself as possibly aiding him in the task by what I would do in the
time for which I had asked.
But the hour ran away, and another, and still the body over which I
worked lay as it had lain at first, nor gave any sign of any effect
of my concentrated will. It had been close to ten when I came to the
house. It was three in the morning when I gained my first reward.
And when it came, it was so sudden that I actually started back in
my chair and sat clutching its carved arms, and staring in something
almost like horror, I think, at first at the body which had lifted
itself to a sitting posture on the couch.
And I know that when the man said, "So you are the one who called me
back?" I actually gasped before I answered:
"Yes."
* * * * *
Croft fastened his eyes upon me in a steady regard. "You are Dr.
Murray, from the Mental Hospital, are you not?" he went on.
"Ye-es," I stammered again. Mrs. Goss had said his sleep was like
having a corpse about the house. I found myself thinking this was
nearly as though a corpse should rise up and speak.
But he nodded, with the barest smile on his lips. "Only one acquainted
with the nature of my condition could have roused me," he said.
"However, you were engaging in a dangerous undertaking, friend."
"Dangerous for you, you mean," I rejoined. "Do you know you have lain
cataleptic for something like a week?"
"Yes." He nodded again. "But I was occupied on a most important
mission."
"Occupied!" I exclaimed. "You mean you were engaged in some undertaking
while you lay there?" I pointed to the couch where he sat.
"Yes." Once more he smiled.
Well, the man was sane. In fact, it seemed to me in those first few
moments that he was far saner than I, far less excited, far less
affected by the whole business from the first to last. In fact, he
seemed quite calm and a trifle amused, while I was admittedly upset.
And my very knowledge gained by years of study told me he was sane,
that his was a perfectly balanced brain. There was nothing about him to
even hint at anything else, save his extraordinary words. In the end I
continued with a question:
"Where?"
"On the planet Palos, one of the Dog Star pack--a star in the system of
the sun Sirius," he replied.
"And you mean you have just returned from--there?" I faltered over
the last word badly. My brain seemed slightly dazed at the astounding
statement he had made--that I--I had called him from a planet beyond
the ken of the naked eye, known only to those who studied the heavens
with powerful glasses--farther away than any star of our own earthly
system of planets. The thing made my senses reel.
And he seemed to sense my emotions, because he went on in a softly
modulated tone: "Do not think me in any way similar to those
unfortunates under your charge. As an alienist you must know the
truth of that, just as you knew that my trancelike sleep was wholly
self-induced."
"I gathered that from the volume on your desk," I explained.
He glanced toward Ahmid's work. "You read the Sanskrit?" he inquired.
I shook my head. "No, I read the marginal notes."
"I see. Who called you here?"
I explained.
Croft frowned. "I cannot blame her; she is a faithful soul," he
remarked. "I can comprehend her worry. I have explained to her as fully
as I dared, but--she does not understand, and I remained away longer
than I really intended, to tell the truth. However, now that you can
reassure her, I must ask you to excuse me, doctor, for a while. Come to
me in about twelve hours and I will be here to meet you and explain in
part at least." He stretched himself out once more on the couch.
"Wait!" I cried. "What are you going to do?"
"I am going back to Palos," he told me with a smile.
"But--will your body stand the strain?" I questioned, beginning to
doubt his sanity after all.
He met my objection with another smile. "I have studied that well
before I began these little excursions of mine. Meet me at, say, four
o'clock this afternoon." He appeared to relax, sighed softly, and sank
again into his trance.
I sprang up and stood looking down upon him. I hardly knew what to do.
I began pacing the floor. Finally I gave my attention to the books
in the cases which lined the room. They comprised the most wonderful
collection of works on the occult ever gathered within four walls. They
helped me to make up my mind in the end. I decided to take Jason Croft
at his word and keep the engagement for the coming afternoon.
I went to the study door and set it open. The little old woman sat
huddled on a chair. At first I thought she slept, but almost at once I
found her bright eyes upon me, and she started to her feet.
"He came back--I--I heard him speaking," she began in a husky whisper.
"He--is he all right?"
"All right," I replied. "But he is asleep again now and has promised
to see me this afternoon at four. In the mean time do not attempt to
disturb him in any way, Mrs. Goss."
She nodded. Suddenly she seemed wholly satisfied. "I won't, sir," she
gave her promise. "I was worrit--worrit--that was all."
"You need not worry any more," I sought to reassure her. "I fancy Mr.
Croft is able to take care of himself."
And, oddly enough, I found myself believing my own words as I went
down the steps and turned toward my own home to get what sleep I
could--since, to tell the truth, I felt utterly exhausted after my
efforts to call Jason Croft back from--the planet of a distant sun.