Fantasy fiction; Ghost stories; Horror tales; Paranormal fiction; Short stories; Storytelling -- Fiction
"Ah! well you may open your august eyes at the mention of a vice so
brutally preposterous. Thus it is to be sons of clay. We, who are more
finely organised beings, of an essence more ethereal, are content to
allow ages to pass before we indulge our appetites with a full meal; yet
we, too, my brethren, need sustenance sometimes.
"Again we are suffering from the pangs of hunger, and we must be
satisfied. Patience, my fellow sages and students of those sublime and
abstruse sciences ignored by the gross intellects of our reptile
neighbours, patience, for to-morrow I bring you a feast of blood. I have
brought you blood before, and I will do so again. It is for this that I
have taken upon me the base form of one of the vilest among their own
vile race.
"My own comely shape by which I am known here below is ill-suited to
brook the atmosphere of the surface world; therefore, partly to excite
compassion, and consequently disarm suspicion, I have adopted a
loathsome disguise, through which even ye, my friends, would fail to
recognise me. At this moment, while I am speaking, the filthy clay that
for your sakes I shall don to-morrow lies in the chamber of the victim.
"I am so far able to free myself from it as to speak with you in the
spirit, but I much fear that the sympathy which to some extent must
exist between my spirit and the fulsome mask that awaits me in the world
above, may so influence the organs of the foul body as to cause it to
correspond audibly to the voice of my spirit, and so alarm the victim in
whose chamber it sleeps, and scare him into flight.
"Therefore my discourse must be brief. There is no time to be lost. At
once ye must commence to stir up the internal fires in this earth's
centre, and cause a powerful earthquake. The external crust which these
mortals inhabit must crack and gape into chasms. I will lead him into
the mountains to-morrow when he will be your prey; till then, farewell."
No sooner had the orator concluded his harangue than I began to feel a
curious sensation. It was as if the floor on which I had been lying were
lifted up under me, and I felt myself rolling from side to side, much in
the same manner as if I were at sea. This motion continued and
increased, and was accompanied by a low rumbling sound. After a time
this grew louder, and I heard an explosion, and then a heavy crash, as
if the mountains were being riven asunder, and were now toppling
headlong into the valleys, sweeping away whole villages with a force
inconceivable.
The whole chalet rocked like an open boat in a storm. I was panic
struck, and trembled in every limb. It was then really true all that I
had seen and heard; it was no disordered dream. The gnomes were really
at work.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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