Then even as I looked it faded, and from somewhere close at hand there
sounded another of those shattering knocks. For a moment after there was silence between us, and horror was thick as
snow in the air. But, somehow neither Louis or I were frightened for
more than one moment. The whole thing was so absorbingly interesting. ‘That’s what I mean by its being outside my control,’ he said. ‘I said I
was ready for any--any visitor to come in, and by God, we’ve got a
beauty.’

       *       *       *       *       *

Now I was still, even in spite of the appearance of this shadow, quite
convinced that I was only taking observations of a most curious case of
disordered brain accompanied by the most vivid and remarkable
thought-transference. I believed that I had not seen a slug-like shadow
at all, but that Louis had visualised this dreadful creature so
intensely that I saw what he saw. I found also that his spiritualistic
trash-books which I thought a truer nomenclature than text-books,
mentioned this as a common form for Elementals to take. He on the other
hand was more firmly convinced than ever that we were dealing not with a
subjective but an objective phenomenon. *       *       *       *       *

For the next six months or so we sat constantly, but made no further
progress, nor did the Thing or its shadow appear again, and I began to
feel that we were really wasting time. Then it occurred to me, to get in
a so-called medium, induce hypnotic sleep, and see if we could learn
anything further. This we did, sitting as before round the dining-room
table. The room was not quite dark, and I could see sufficiently clearly
what happened. The medium, a young man, sat between Louis and myself, and without the
slightest difficulty I put him into a light hypnotic sleep. Instantly
there came a series of the most terrific raps, and across the table
there slid something more palpable than a shadow, with a faint luminance
about it, as if the surface of it was smouldering. At the moment the
medium’s face became contorted to a mask of hellish terror; mouth and
eyes were both open, and the eyes were focussed on something close to
him. The Thing waving its head came closer and closer to him, and
reached out towards his throat. Then with a yell of panic, and warding
off this horror with his hands, the medium sprang up, but It had already
caught hold, and for the moment he could not get free. Then
simultaneously Louis and I went to his aid, and my hands touched
something cold and slimy. But pull as we could we could not get it away. There was no firm hand-hold to be taken; it was as if one tried to grasp
slimy fur, and the touch of it was horrible, unclean, like a leper. Then, in a sort of despair, though I still could not believe that the
horror was real, for it must be a vision of diseased imagination, I
remembered that the switch of the four electric lights was close to my
hand. I turned them all on. There on the floor lay the medium, Louis was
kneeling by him with a face of wet paper, but there was nothing else
there. Only the collar of the medium was crumpled and torn, and on his
throat were two scratches that bled. The medium was still in hypnotic sleep, and I woke him. He felt at his
collar, put his hand to his throat and found it bleeding, but, as I
expected, knew nothing whatever of what had passed. We told him that
there had been an unusual manifestation, and he had, while in sleep,
wrestled with something. We had got the result we wished for, and were
much obliged to him. I never saw him again. A week after that he died of blood-poisoning. *       *       *       *       *

From that evening dates the second stage of this adventure. The Thing
had materialised (I use again spiritualistic language which I still did
not use at the time). The huge slug, the Elemental, manifested itself
no longer by knocks and waltzing tables, nor yet by shadows. It was
there in a form that could be seen and felt. But it still--this was my
strong point--was only a thing of twilight; the sudden kindling of the
electric light had shown us that there was nothing there. In this
struggle perhaps the medium had clutched his own throat, perhaps I had
grasped Louis’ sleeve, he mine. But though I said these things to
myself, I am not sure that I believed them in the same way that I
believe the sun will rise to-morrow. Now as a student of brain-functions and a student in hypnotic affairs, I
ought perhaps to have steadily and unremittingly pursued this
extraordinary series of phenomena. But I had my practice to attend to,
and I found that with the best will in the world, I could think of
nothing else except the occurrence in the hall next door. So I refused
to take part in any further séance with Louis. I had another reason
also. For the last four or five months he was becoming depraved. I have
been no prude or Puritan in my own life, and I hope I have not turned a
Pharisaical shoulder on sinners. But in all branches of life and morals,
Louis had become infamous. He was turned out of a club for cheating at
cards, and narrated the event to me with gusto. He had become cruel; he
tortured his cat to death; he had become bestial. I used to shudder as I
passed his house, expecting I knew not what fiendish thing to be
looking at me from the window. Then came a night only a week ago, when I was awakened by an awful cry,
swelling and falling and rising again. It came from next door. I ran
downstairs in my pyjamas, and out into the street. The policeman on the
beat had heard it too, and it came from the hall of Louis’ house, the
window of which was open. Together we burst the door in. You know what
we found. The screaming had ceased but a moment before, but he was dead
already. Both jugulars were severed, torn open. *       *       *       *       *

It was dawn, early and dusky when I got back to my house next door. Even
as I went in something seemed to push by me, something soft and slimy. It could not be Louis’ imagination this time. Since then I have seen
glimpses of it every evening. I am awakened at night by tappings, and in
the shadows in the corner of my room there sits something more
substantial than a shadow.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Within an hour of my leaving Dr Assheton, the quiet street was once more
aroused by cries of terror and agony. He was already dead, and in no
other manner than his friend, when they got into the house. THE HOUSE WITH THE BRICK-KILN


The hamlet of Trevor Major lies very lonely and sequestered in a hollow
below the north side of the south downs that stretch westward from
Lewes, and run parallel with the coast. It is a hamlet of some three or
four dozen inconsiderable houses and cottages much girt about with
trees, but the big Norman church and the manor house which stands a
little outside the village are evidence of a more conspicuous past.