I am at the door, and, in a mechanical way, I watch my hand go forward,
to undo the topmost bolt. It does so, entirely without my volition. Even
as I reach up toward the bolt, the door is violently shaken, and I get a
sickly whiff of mouldy air, which seems to drive in through the
interstices of the doorway. I draw the bolt back, slowly, fighting,
dumbly, the while. It comes out of its socket, with a click, and I begin
to shake, aguishly. There are two more; one at the bottom of the door;
the other, a massive affair, is placed about the middle. For, perhaps a minute, I stand, with my arms hanging slackly, by my
sides. The influence to meddle with the fastenings of the door, seems to
have gone. All at once, there comes the sudden rattle of iron, at my
feet. I glance down, quickly, and realize, with an unspeakable terror,
that my foot is pushing back the lower bolt. An awful sense of
helplessness assails me.... The bolt comes out of its hold, with a
slight, ringing sound and I stagger on my feet, grasping at the great,
central bolt, for support. A minute passes, an eternity; then
another----My God, help me! I am being forced to work upon the last
fastening. _I will not!_ Better to die, than open to the Terror, that is
on the other side of the door. Is there no escape ...? God help me, I
have jerked the bolt half out of its socket! My lips emit a hoarse
scream of terror, the bolt is three parts drawn, now, and still my
unconscious hands work toward my doom. Only a fraction of steel, between
my soul and That. Twice, I scream out in the supreme agony of my fear;
then, with a mad effort, I tear my hands away. My eyes seem blinded. A
great blackness is falling upon me. Nature has come to my rescue. I feel
my knees giving. There is a loud, quick thudding upon the door, and I am
falling, falling.... I must have lain there, at least a couple of hours. As I recover, I am
aware that the other candle has burnt out, and the room is in an almost
total darkness. I cannot rise to my feet, for I am cold, and filled with
a terrible cramp. Yet my brain is clear, and there is no longer the
strain of that unholy influence. Cautiously, I get upon my knees, and feel for the central bolt. I find
it, and push it securely back into its socket; then the one at the
bottom of the door. By this time, I am able to rise to my feet, and so
manage to secure the fastening at the top. After that, I go down upon my
knees, again, and creep away among the furniture, in the direction of
the stairs. By doing this, I am safe from observation from the window. I reach the opposite door, and, as I leave the study, cast one nervous
glance over my shoulder, toward the window. Out in the night, I seem to
catch a glimpse of something impalpable; but it may be only a fancy. Then, I am in the passage, and on the stairs. Reaching my bedroom, I clamber into bed, all clothed as I am, and pull
the bedclothes over me. There, after awhile, I begin to regain a little
confidence. It is impossible to sleep; but I am grateful for the added
warmth of the bedclothes. Presently, I try to think over the happenings
of the past night; but, though I cannot sleep, I find that it is
useless, to attempt consecutive thought. My brain seems curiously blank. Toward morning, I begin to toss, uneasily. I cannot rest, and, after
awhile, I get out of bed, and pace the floor. The wintry dawn is
beginning to creep through the windows, and shows the bare discomfort of
the old room. Strange, that, through all these years, it has never
occurred to me how dismal the place really is. And so a time passes. From somewhere down stairs, a sound comes up to me. I go to the bedroom
door, and listen. It is Mary, bustling about the great, old kitchen,
getting the breakfast ready. I feel little interest. I am not hungry. My
thoughts, however; continue to dwell upon her. How little the weird
happenings in this house seem to trouble her. Except in the incident of
the Pit creatures, she has seemed unconscious of anything unusual
occurring. She is old, like myself; yet how little we have to do with
one another. Is it because we have nothing in common; or only that,
being old, we care less for society, than quietness? These and other
matters pass through my mind, as I meditate; and help to distract my
attention, for a while, from the oppressive thoughts of the night. After a time, I go to the window, and, opening it, look out. The sun is
now above the horizon, and the air, though cold, is sweet and crisp. Gradually, my brain clears, and a sense of security, for the time being,
comes to me. Somewhat happier, I go down stairs, and out into the
garden, to have a look at the dog. As I approach the kennel, I am greeted by the same mouldy stench that
assailed me at the door last night. Shaking off a momentary sense of
fear, I call to the dog; but he takes no heed, and, after calling once
more, I throw a small stone into the kennel. At this, he moves,
uneasily, and I shout his name, again; but do not go closer. Presently,
my sister comes out, and joins me, in trying to coax him from
the kennel. In a little the poor beast rises, and shambles out lurching queerly. In
the daylight he stands swaying from side to side, and blinking stupidly. I look and note that the horrid wound is larger, much larger, and seems
to have a whitish, fungoid appearance. My sister moves to fondle him;
but I detain her, and explain that I think it will be better not to go
too near him for a few days; as it is impossible to tell what may be the
matter with him; and it is well to be cautious. A minute later, she leaves me; coming back with a basin of odd scraps
of food. This she places on the ground, near the dog, and I push it into
his reach, with the aid of a branch, broken from one of the shrubs. Yet,
though the meat should be tempting, he takes no notice of it; but
retires to his kennel. There is still water in his drinking vessel, so,
after a few moments' talk, we go back to the house. I can see that my
sister is much puzzled as to what is the matter with the animal; yet it
would be madness, even to hint the truth to her. The day slips away, uneventfully; and night comes on. I have determined
to repeat my experiment of last night. I cannot say that it is wisdom;
yet my mind is made up. Still, however, I have taken precautions; for I
have driven stout nails in at the back of each of the three bolts, that
secure the door, opening from the study into the gardens. This will, at
least, prevent a recurrence of the danger I ran last night. From ten to about two-thirty, I watch; but nothing occurs; and,
finally, I stumble off to bed, where I am soon asleep. _XXVI_

THE LUMINOUS SPECK

I awake suddenly. It is still dark. I turn over, once or twice, in my
endeavors to sleep again; but I cannot sleep. My head is aching,
slightly; and, by turns I am hot and cold. In a little, I give up the
attempt, and stretch out my hand, for the matches.