Viewed under the searching rays of the sun, and cheered by
the voices of the visitors, the interior of the house, for artistic
taste and cheerfulness, would indeed be hard to beat; but, as Mrs.
Murphy's eyes wandered up the stairs and down the corridors, she was
filled with misgivings as to how the place would strike her at night. Though not nervous naturally, and by no means superstitious, at night,
when the house was dark and silent, and the moon called forth the
shadows, she was not without that feeling of uneasiness which most
people--even avowed sceptics, experience when passing the night in
strange and novel quarters. The room they engaged--I cannot say selected, as, the hotel being
full, they had "Hobson's choice"--was at the end of a very long
passage, at the back of the house, and overlooking the yard. It was a
large apartment, and in one of its several recesses stood the bed, a
gigantic, ebony four-poster, with spotlessly clean valance, and, what
was of even greater importance, well-aired sheets. The other furniture
in the room, being of the same sort as that in the majority of
old-fashioned hostels, needs no description; but a fixture in the
shape of a cupboard, a deep, dark cupboard, let into the wall facing
the bed, instantly attracted Mrs. Murphy's attention. There is always
something interesting in cupboards, particularly old and roomy
cupboards, when it is night-time and one is about to get into bed. It
is then that they suggest all manner of fascinating possibilities. It was to this cupboard, then, that Mrs. Murphy paid the greatest
attention, before commencing to undress prior to getting into bed. She
poked about in it for some moments, and then, apparently satisfied
that no one was hidden there, continued her investigation of the room. Mr. Murphy did not assist--he pleaded fatigue, and sat on the corner
of the bed munching a gingerbread and reading the _Dundee Advertiser_
till the operation was over. He then helped Mrs. Murphy unpack their
portmanteau, and, during the process, whiled away so much time in
conversation, that they were both startled when a clock from some
adjacent church solemnly boomed twelve. They were then seized with
something approaching a panic, and hastened to disrobe. "I wish we had a night-light, John," Mrs. Murphy said, as she got up
from her prayers. "I suppose it wouldn't do to keep one of the candles
burning. I am not exactly afraid, only I don't fancy being left in the
dark. I had a curious sensation when I was in the cupboard just now--I
can't exactly explain it--but I feel now that I would like the light
left burning." "It certainly is rather a gloomy room," Mr. Murphy remarked, raising
his eyes to the black oak ceiling, and then allowing them to dwell in
turn on each of the angles and recesses. "And I agree with you it
would be nice if we had a night-light, or, better still, gas. But as
we haven't, my dear, and we shall be on our feet a good deal
to-morrow, I think we ought to try and get to sleep as soon as
possible." He blew out the candle as he spoke, and quickly scrambled into bed. A
long hush followed, broken only by the sound of breathing, and an
occasional ticking as of some long-legged creature on the wall and
window-blind. Mrs. Murphy could never remember if she actually went to
sleep, but she is sure her husband did, as she distinctly heard him
snore--and the sound, so detestable to her as a rule, was so welcome
to her then. She was lying listening to it, and wishing with all her
soul she could get to sleep, when she suddenly became aware of a
smell--a most offensive, pungent odour, that blew across the room and
crept up her nostrils. The cold perspiration of fear at once broke out
on her forehead. Nasty as the smell was, it suggested something more
horrible, something she dared not attempt to analyse. She thought
several times of rousing her husband, but, remembering how tired he
had been, she desisted, and, with all her faculties abnormally on the
alert, she lay awake and listened. A deathlike hush hung over the
house, interrupted at intervals by the surreptitious noises peculiar
to the night--enigmatical creaks and footsteps, rustlings as of
drapery, sighs and whisperings--all very faint, all very subtle, and
all possibly, just possibly, attributable to natural causes. Mrs.
Murphy caught herself--why, she could not say--waiting for some
definite auditory manifestation of what she instinctively felt was
near at hand. At present, however, she could not locate it, she could
only speculate on its whereabouts--it was somewhere in the direction
of the cupboard. And each time the stench came to her, the conviction
that its origin was in the cupboard grew. At last, unable to sustain
the suspense any longer, and urged on by an irresistible fascination,
she got softly out of bed, and, creeping stealthily forward, found her
way with surprisingly little difficulty (considering it was pitch dark
and the room was unfamiliar to her) to the cupboard. With every step she took the stink increased, and by the time she had
reached the cupboard she was almost suffocated. For some seconds she
toyed irresolutely with the door handle, longing to be back again in
bed, but unable to tear herself away from the cupboard. At last,
yielding to the demands of some pitilessly exacting unknown influence,
she held her breath and swung open the door. The moment she did so the
room filled with the faint, phosphorescent glow of decay, and she
saw, exactly opposite her, a head--a human head--floating in mid-air. Petrified with terror, she lost every atom of strength, and, entirely
bereft of the power to move or articulate a sound, she stood
stock-still staring at it. That it was the head of a man, she could
only guess from the matted crop of short red hair that fell in a
disordered entanglement over the upper part of the forehead and ears. All else was lost in a loathsome, disgusting mass of detestable
decomposition, too utterly vile and foul to describe. On the abnormal
thing beginning to move forward, the spell that bound Mrs. Murphy to
the floor was broken, and, with a cry of horror, she fled to the bed
and awoke her husband. The head was by this time close to them, and had not Mrs. Murphy
dragged her husband forcibly out of its way, it would have touched
him. His terror was even greater than hers; but for the moment neither
could speak. They stood clutching one another in an awful silence. Mrs. Murphy at length gasped out, "Pray, John, pray! Command the thing
in the name of God to depart." Mr. Murphy made a desperate effort to
do so, but not a syllable would come. The head now veered round and
was moving swiftly towards them, its awful stench causing them both to
retch and vomit. Mr. Murphy, seizing his stick, lashed at it with all
his might. The result was one they might well have expected. The stick
met with no resistance, and the head continued to advance.