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.