




                            Dig Me No Grave

                          By ROBERT E. HOWARD

               _A shuddery tale of dark horror and evil
                 things, and the uncanny funeral rites
                 over the corpse of old John Grimlan._

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Weird Tales February 1937. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The thunder of my old-fashioned door-knocker, reverberating eerily
through the house, roused me from a restless and nightmare-haunted
sleep. I looked out the window. In the last light of the sinking moon,
the white face of my friend John Conrad looked up at me. "May I come up, Kirowan?" His voice was shaky and strained. "Certainly!" I sprang out of bed and pulled on a bath-robe as I heard
him enter the front door and ascend the stairs. A moment later he stood before me, and in the light which I had turned
on I saw his hands tremble and noticed the unnatural pallor of his face. "Old John Grimlan died an hour ago," he said abruptly. "Indeed? I had not known that he was ill."

"It was a sudden, virulent attack of peculiar nature, a sort of seizure
somewhat akin to epilepsy. He has been subject to such spells of late
years, you know." I nodded. I knew something of the old hermit-like man who had lived
in his great dark house on the hill; indeed, I had once witnessed one
of his strange seizures, and I had been appalled at the writhings,
howlings and yammerings of the wretch, who had groveled on the earth
like a wounded snake, gibbering terrible curses and black blasphemies
until his voice broke in a wordless screaming which spattered his lips
with foam. Seeing this, I understood why people in old times looked on
such victims as men possessed by demons.

" ----some hereditary taint," Conrad was saying. "Old John doubtless
fell heir to some ingrown weakness brought on by some loathsome
disease, which was his heritage from perhaps a remote ancestor--such
things occasionally happen. Or else--well, you know old John himself
pried about in the mysterious parts of the earth, and wandered all over
the East in his younger days. It is quite possible that he was infected
with some obscure malady in his wanderings. There are still many
unclassified diseases in Africa and the Orient." "But," said I, "you have not told me the reason for this sudden visit
at this unearthly hour--for I notice that it is past midnight." My friend seemed rather confused. "Well, the fact is that John Grimlan died alone, except for myself. He
refused to receive any medical aid of any sort, and in the last few
moments when it was evident that he was dying, and I was prepared to
go for some sort of help in spite of him, he set up such a howling and
screaming that I could not refuse his passionate pleas--which were that
he should not be left to die alone. "I have seen men die," added Conrad, wiping the perspiration from his
pale brow, "but the death of John Grimlan was the most fearful I have
ever seen." "He suffered a great deal?" "He appeared to be in much physical agony, but this was mostly
submerged by some monstrous mental or psychic suffering. The fear in
his distended eyes and his screams transcended any conceivable earthly
terror. I tell you, Kirowan, Grimlan's fright was greater and deeper
than the ordinary fear of the Beyond shown by a man of ordinarily evil
life." I shifted restlessly. The dark implications of this statement sent a
chill of nameless apprehension trickling down my spine. "I know the country people always claimed that in his youth he sold
his soul to the Devil, and that his sudden epileptic attacks were
merely a visible sign of the Fiend's power over him; but such talk is
foolish, of course, and belongs in the Dark Ages. We all know that John
Grimlan's life was a peculiarly evil and vicious one, even toward his
last days. With good reason he was universally detested and feared, for
I never heard of his doing a single good act. You were his only friend." "And that was a strange friendship," said Conrad. "I was attracted to
him by his unusual powers, for despite his bestial nature, John Grimlan
was a highly educated man, a deeply cultured man. He had dipped deep
into occult studies, and I first met him in this manner; for as you
know, I have always been strongly interested in these lines of research
myself. "But, in this as in all other things, Grimlan was evil and perverse. He
had ignored the white side of the occult and delved into the darker,
grimmer phases of it--into devil-worship, and voodoo and Shintoism. His
knowledge of these foul arts and sciences was immense and unholy. And
to hear him tell of his researches and experiments was to know such
horror and repulsion as a venomous reptile might inspire. For there had
been no depths to which he had not sunk, and some things he only hinted
at, even to me. I tell you, Kirowan, it is easy to laugh at tales of
the black world of the unknown, when one is in pleasant company under
the bright sunlight, but had you sat at ungodly hours in the silent
bizarre library of John Grimlan and looked on the ancient musty volumes
and listened to his grisly talk as I did, your tongue would have cloven
to your palate with sheer horror as mine did, and the supernatural
would have seemed very real and near to you--as it seemed to me!" "But in God's name, man!" I cried, for the tension was growing
unbearable; "come to the point and tell me what you want of me." "I want you to come with me to John Grimlan's house and help carry out
his outlandish instructions in regard to his body." *       *       *       *       *

I had no liking for the adventure, but I dressed hurriedly, an
occasional shudder of premonition shaking me. Once fully clad, I
followed Conrad out of the house and up the silent road which led to
the house of John Grimlan. The road wound uphill, and all the way,
looking upward and forward, I could see that great grim house perched
like a bird of evil on the crest of the hill, bulking black and stark
against the stars. In the west pulsed a single dull red smear where
the young moon had just sunk from view behind the low black hills. The
whole night seemed full of brooding evil, and the persistent swishing
of a bat's wings somewhere overhead caused my taut nerves to jerk and
thrum. To drown the quick pounding of my own heart, I said:

"Do you share the belief so many hold, that John Grimlan was mad?" We strode on several paces before Conrad answered, seemingly with a
strange reluctance, "But for one incident, I would say no man was ever
saner. But one night in his study, he seemed suddenly to break all
bonds of reason. "He had discoursed for hours on his favorite subject--black magic--when
suddenly he cried, as his face lit with a weird unholy glow: 'Why
should I sit here babbling such child's prattle to you?