It was but for a moment that I remained undecided whether or not to
follow my servant; pride and curiosity alike forbade so dastardly a
flight. I reentered my room, closing the door after me, and proceeded
cautiously into the interior chamber. I encountered nothing to justify
my servant’s terror.
I again carefully examined the walls, to see if there were any concealed
door. I could find no trace of one—not even a seam in the dull-brown
paper with which the room was hung. How then had the THING, whatever it
was, which had so scared him, obtained ingress, except through my own
chamber?
I returned to my room, shut and locked the door that opened upon the
interior one, and stood on the hearth, expectant and prepared.
I now perceived that the dog had slunk into an angle of the wall, and
was pressing close against it, as if literally striving to force his way
into it. I approached the animal and spoke to it; the poor brute was
evidently beside itself with terror. It showed all its teeth, the slaver
dropping from its jaws, and would certainly have bitten me if I had
touched it. It did not seem to recognize me. Whoever has seen at the
Zoological Gardens a rabbit fascinated by a serpent, cowering in a
corner, may form some idea of the anguish which the dog exhibited.
Finding all efforts to soothe the animal in vain, and fearing that his
bite might be as venomous in that state as if in the madness of
hydrophobia, I left him alone, placed my weapons on the table beside the
fire, seated myself, and recommenced my Macaulay.
Perhaps, in order not to appear seeking credit for a courage, or rather
a coolness, which the reader may conceive I exaggerate, I may be
pardoned if I pause to indulge in one or two egotistical remarks.
As I hold presence of mind, or what is called courage, to be precisely
proportioned to familiarity with the circumstances that lead to it, so I
should say that I had been long sufficiently familiar with all
experiments that appertain to the marvelous. I had witnessed many very
extraordinary phenomena in various parts of the world—phenomena that
would be either totally disbelieved if I stated them, or ascribed to
supernatural agencies.
Now, my theory is that the supernatural is the impossible, and that what
is called supernatural is only a something in the laws of nature of
which we have been hitherto ignorant. Therefore, if a ghost rise before
me, I have not the right to say, “So, then, the supernatural is
possible,” but rather, “So, then, the apparition of a ghost is, contrary
to received opinion, within the laws of nature, namely, not
supernatural.”
Now, in all that I had hitherto witnessed, and indeed in all the wonders
which the amateurs of mystery in our age record as facts, a material
living agency is always required. On the Continent you will still find
magicians who assert that they can raise spirits. Assume for a moment
that they assert truly, still the living material form of the magician
is present; he is the material agency by which, from some constitutional
peculiarities, certain strange phenomena are represented to your natural
senses.
Accept, again, as truthful the tales of spirit manifestation in
America—musical or other sounds, writings on paper, produced by no
discernible hand, articles of furniture moved without apparent human
agency, or the actual sight and touch of hands, to which no bodies seem
to belong—still there must be found the medium, or living being, with
constitutional peculiarities capable of obtaining these signs.
In fine, in all such marvels, supposing even that there is no imposture,
there must be a human being like ourselves, by whom or through whom the
effects presented to human beings are produced. It is so with the now
familiar phenomena of mesmerism or electro-biology; the mind of the
person operated on is affected through a material living agent.
Nor, supposing it true that a mesmerized patient can respond to the will
or passes of a mesmerizer a hundred miles distant, is the response less
occasioned by a material being. It may be through a material fluid, call
it Electric, call it Odic, call it what you will, which has the power of
traversing space and passing obstacles, that the material effect is
communicated from one to the other.
Hence, all that I had hitherto witnessed, or expected to witness, in
this strange house, I believed to be occasioned through some agency or
medium as mortal as myself; and this idea necessarily prevented the awe
with which those who regard as supernatural things that are not within
the ordinary operations of nature might have been impressed by the
adventures of that memorable night.
As, then, it was my conjecture that all that was presented, or would be
presented, to my senses, must originate in some human being gifted by
constitution with the power so to present them, and having some motive
so to do, I felt an interest in my theory which, in its way, was rather
philosophical than superstitious. And I can sincerely say that I was in
as tranquil a temper for observation as any practical experimentalist
could be in awaiting the effects of some rare though perhaps perilous
chemical combination. Of course, the more I kept my mind detached from
fancy the more the temper fitted for observation would be obtained; and
I therefore riveted eye and thought on the strong daylight sense in the
page of my Macaulay.
I now became aware that something interposed between the page and the
light: the page was overshadowed. I looked up and saw what I shall find
it very difficult, perhaps impossible, to describe.
It was a darkness shaping itself out of the air in very undefined
outline. I cannot say it was of a human form, and yet it had more of a
resemblance to a human form, or rather shadow, than anything else. As it
stood, wholly apart and distinct from the air and the light around it,
its dimensions seemed gigantic; the summit nearly touched the ceiling.
While I gazed, a feeling of intense cold seized me. An iceberg before me
could not more have chilled me; nor could the cold of an iceberg have
been more purely physical. I feel convinced that it was not the cold
caused by fear. As I continued to gaze, I thought—but this I cannot say
with precision—that I distinguished two eyes looking down on me from the
height. One moment I seemed to distinguish them clearly, the next they
seemed gone; but two rays of a pale, blue light frequently shot through
the darkness, as from the height on which I half believed, half doubted,
that I had encountered the eyes.
I strove to speak; my voice utterly failed me. I could only think to
myself, “Is this fear? it is _not_ fear!” I strove to rise, in vain; I
felt as weighed down by an irresistible force. Indeed, my impression was
that of an immense and overwhelming power opposed to my volition; that
sense of utter inadequacy to cope with a force beyond men’s, which one
may feel _physically_ in a storm at sea, in a conflagration, or when
confronting some terrible wild beast, or rather, perhaps, the shark of
the ocean, I felt _morally_. Opposed to my will was another will, as far
superior to its strength as storm, fire, and shark are superior in
material force to the force of men.
And now, as this impression grew on me, now came, at last, horror—horror
to a degree that no words can convey. Still I retained pride, if not
courage; and in my own mind I said, “This is horror, but it is not fear;
unless I fear I cannot be harmed; my reason rejects this thing; it is an
illusion, I do not fear.”
With a violent effort I succeeded at last in stretching out my hand
toward the weapon on the table; as I did so, on the arm and shoulder I
received a strange shock, and my arm fell to my side powerless. And now,
to add to my horror, the light began slowly to wane from the candles;
they were not, as it were, extinguished, but their flame seemed very
gradually withdrawn; it was the same with the fire, the light was
extracted from the fuel; in a few minutes the room was in utter
darkness.
The dread that came over me to be thus in the dark with that dark thing,
whose power was so intensely felt, brought a reaction of nerve. In fact,
terror had reached that climax that either my senses must have deserted
me, or I must have burst through the spell.