The fearsome touch of deathHoward, Robert E. (Robert Ervin)
General
The fearsome touch of death
Howard, Robert E. (Robert Ervin)
Horror tales; Short stories
The hour was approaching midnight, with its accompanying eery
domination over the human mind. Falred glanced again at the bed where
the body lay and found the sight of the sheeted object most repellent.
A fantastic idea had birth in his mind and grew, that beneath the
sheet, the mere lifeless body had become a strange, monstrous thing,
a hideous, conscious being, that watched him with eyes which burned
through the fabric of the cloth. This thought--a mere fantasy, of
course--he explained to himself by the legends of vampires, undead,
ghosts and such like--the fearsome attributes with which the living
have cloaked the dead for countless ages, since primitive man first
recognized in death something horrid and apart from life. Man feared
death, thought Falred, and some of his fear of death took hold on
the dead so that they, too, were feared. And the sight of the dead
engendered grisly thoughts, gave rise to dim fears of hereditary
memory, lurking back in the dark corners of the brain.
At any rate, that silent, hidden thing was getting on his nerves. He
thought of uncovering the face, on the principle that familiarity
breeds contempt. The sight of the features, calm and still in death,
would banish, he thought, all such wild conjectures as were haunting
him in spite of himself. But the thought of those dead eyes staring in
the lamplight was intolerable; so at last he blew out the light and lay
down. This fear had been stealing upon him so insidiously and gradually
that he had not been aware of its growth.
With the extinguishing of the light, however, and the blotting out
of the sight of the corpse, things assumed their true character and
proportions, and Falred fell asleep almost instantly, on his lips a
faint smile for his previous folly.
* * * * *
He awakened suddenly. How long he had been asleep he did not know.
He sat up, his pulse pounding frantically, the cold sweat beading
his forehead. He knew instantly where he was, remembered the other
occupant of the room. But what had awakened him? A dream--yes, now he
remembered--a hideous dream in which the dead man had risen from the
bed and stalked stiffly across the room with eyes of fire and a horrid
leer frozen on his gray lips. Falred had seemed to lie motionless,
helpless; then as the corpse reached a gnarled and horrible hand, he
had awakened.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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