I will
write it down now, and, if anything more happens, endeavor to make a
note of it, at once. I have a feeling, that there is more in this last
affair, than in all those others. I am shaky and nervous, even now, as I
write. Somehow, I think death is not very far away. Not that I fear
death--as death is understood. Yet, there is that in the air, which bids
me fear--an intangible, cold horror. I felt it last night. It
was thus:--

Last night, I was sitting here in my study, writing. The door, leading
into the garden, was half open. At times, the metallic rattle of a dog's
chain, sounded faintly. It belongs to the dog I have bought, since
Pepper's death. I will not have him in the house--not after Pepper. Still, I have felt it better to have a dog about the place. They are
wonderful creatures. I was much engrossed in my work, and the time passed, quickly. Suddenly, I heard a soft noise on the path, outside in the garden--pad,
pad, pad, it went, with a stealthy, curious sound. I sat upright, with a
quick movement, and looked out through the opened door. Again the noise
came--pad, pad, pad. It appeared to be approaching. With a slight
feeling of nervousness, I stared into the gardens; but the night hid
everything. Then the dog gave a long howl, and I started. For a minute, perhaps, I
peered, intently; but could hear nothing. After a little, I picked up
the pen, which I had laid down, and recommenced my work. The nervous
feeling had gone; for I imagined that the sound I had heard, was nothing
more than the dog walking 'round his kennel, at the length of his chain. A quarter of an hour may have passed; then, all at once, the dog howled
again, and with such a plaintively sorrowful note, that I jumped to my
feet, dropping my pen, and inking the page on which I was at work. 'Curse that dog!' I muttered, noting what I had done. Then, even as I
said the words, there sounded again that queer--pad, pad, pad. It was
horribly close--almost by the door, I thought. I knew, now, that it
could not be the dog; his chain would not allow him to come so near. The dog's growl came again, and I noted, subconsciously, the taint of
fear in it. Outside, on the windowsill, I could see Tip, my sister's pet cat. As I
looked, it sprang to its feet, its tail swelling, visibly. For an
instant it stood thus; seeming to stare, fixedly, at something, in the
direction of the door. Then, quickly, it began to back along the sill;
until, reaching the wall at the end, it could go no further. There it
stood, rigid, as though frozen in an attitude of extraordinary terror. Frightened, and puzzled, I seized a stick from the corner, and went
toward the door, silently; taking one of the candles with me. I had come
to within a few paces of it, when, suddenly, a peculiar sense of fear
thrilled through me--a fear, palpitant and real; whence, I knew not, nor
why. So great was the feeling of terror, that I wasted no time; but
retreated straight-way--walking backward, and keeping my gaze,
fearfully, on the door. I would have given much, to rush at it, fling it
to, and shoot the bolts; for I have had it repaired and strengthened,
so that, now, it is far stronger than ever it has been. Like Tip, I
continued my, almost unconscious, progress backward, until the wall
brought me up. At that, I started, nervously, and glanced 'round,
apprehensively. As I did so, my eyes dwelt, momentarily, on the rack of
firearms, and I took a step toward them; but stopped, with a curious
feeling that they would be needless. Outside, in the gardens, the dog
moaned, strangely. Suddenly, from the cat, there came a fierce, long screech. I glanced,
jerkily, in its direction--Something, luminous and ghostly, encircled
it, and grew upon my vision. It resolved into a glowing hand,
transparent, with a lambent, greenish flame flickering over it. The cat
gave a last, awful caterwaul, and I saw it smoke and blaze. My breath
came with a gasp, and I leant against the wall. Over that part of the
window there spread a smudge, green and fantastic. It hid the thing from
me, though the glare of fire shone through, dully. A stench of burning,
stole into the room. Pad, pad, pad--Something passed down the garden path, and a faint,
mouldy odor seemed to come in through the open door, and mingle with the
burnt smell. The dog had been silent for a few moments. Now, I heard him yowl,
sharply, as though in pain. Then, he was quiet, save for an occasional,
subdued whimper of fear. A minute went by; then the gate on the West side of the gardens,
slammed, distantly. After that, nothing; not even the dog's whine. I must have stood there some minutes. Then a fragment of courage stole
into my heart, and I made a frightened rush at the door, dashed it to,
and bolted it. After that, for a full half-hour, I sat,
helpless--staring before me, rigidly. Slowly, my life came back into me, and I made my way, shakily,
up-stairs to bed. That is all. _XXV_

THE THING FROM THE ARENA

This morning, early, I went through the gardens; but found everything
as usual. Near the door, I examined the path, for footprints; yet, here
again, there was nothing to tell me whether, or not, I dreamed
last night. It was only when I came to speak to the dog, that I discovered tangible
proof, that something did happen. When I went to his kennel, he kept
inside, crouching up in one corner, and I had to coax him, to get him
out. When, finally, he consented to come, it was in a strangely cowed
and subdued manner. As I patted him, my attention was attracted to a
greenish patch, on his left flank. On examining it, I found, that the
fur and skin had been apparently, burnt off; for the flesh showed, raw
and scorched. The shape of the mark was curious, reminding me of the
imprint of a large talon or hand. I stood up, thoughtful. My gaze wandered toward the study window. The
rays of the rising sun, shimmered on the smoky patch in the lower
corner, causing it to fluctuate from green to red, oddly. Ah! that was
undoubtedly another proof; and, suddenly, the horrible Thing I saw last
night, rose in my mind. I looked at the dog, again. I knew the cause,
now, of that hateful looking wound on his side--I knew, also, that, what
I had seen last night, had been a real happening. And a great discomfort
filled me. Pepper! Tip! And now this poor animal ...! I glanced at the
dog again, and noticed that he was licking at his wound. 'Poor brute!' I muttered, and bent to pat his head. At that, he got
upon his feet, nosing and licking my hand, wistfully. Presently, I left him, having other matters to which to attend. After dinner, I went to see him, again. He seemed quiet, and
disinclined to leave his kennel. From my sister, I have learnt that he
has refused all food today. She appeared a little puzzled, when she told
me; though quite unsuspicious of anything of which to be afraid. The day has passed, uneventfully enough. After tea, I went, again, to
have a look at the dog.