The Lock and Key Library: Classic Mystery and Detective Stories: Old Time English
General
The Lock and Key Library: Classic Mystery and Detective Stories: Old Time English
Detective and mystery stories; Fiction; Ghost stories
Fearing, however, that the train of thought into which I fell might
unsteady my nerves, I fully determined to keep my mind in a fit
state to cope with whatever of marvelous the advancing night might
bring forth. I roused myself; laid the letters on the table;
stirred up the fire, which was still bright and cheering; and
opened my volume of Macaulay. I read quietly enough till about
half past eleven. I then threw myself dressed upon the bed, and
told my servant he might retire to his own room, but must keep
himself awake. I bade him leave open the door between the two
rooms. Thus alone, I kept two candles burning on the table by my
bed head. I placed my watch beside the weapons, and calmly resumed
my Macaulay. Opposite to me the fire burned clear; and on the
hearth rug, seemingly asleep, lay the dog. In about twenty minutes
I felt an exceedingly cold air pass by my cheek, like a sudden
draught. I fancied the door to my right, communicating with the
landing place, must have got open; but no,--it was closed. I then
turned my glance to my left, and saw the flame of the candles
violently swayed as by a wind. At the same moment the watch beside
the revolver softly slid from the table,--softly, softly; no
visible hand,--it was gone. I sprang up, seizing the revolver with
the one hand, the dagger with the other; I was not willing that my
weapons should share the fate of the watch. Thus armed, I looked
round the floor,--no sign of the watch. Three slow, loud, distinct
knocks were now heard at the bed head; my servant called out, "Is
that you, sir?"
"No; be on your guard."
The dog now roused himself and sat on his haunches, his ears moving
quickly backward and forward. He kept his eyes fixed on me with a
look so strange that he concentered all my attention on himself.
Slowly he rose up, all his hair bristling, and stood perfectly
rigid, and with the same wild stare. I had no time, however, to
examine the dog. Presently my servant emerged from his room; and
if ever I saw horror in the human face, it was then. I should not
have recognized him had we met in the street, so altered was every
lineament. He passed by me quickly, saying, in a whisper that
seemed scarcely to come from his lips, "Run, run! it is after me!"
He gained the door to the landing, pulled it open, and rushed
forth. I followed him into the landing involuntarily, calling him
to stop; but, without heeding me, he bounded down the stairs,
clinging to the balusters, and taking several steps at a time. I
heard, where I stood, the street door open,--heard it again clap
to. I was left alone in the haunted house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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