The long slender fingers held him like a steel trap. “There is no such
thing as death. The soul does not die. It goes away from the body, but
it does not go far. It comes back.”
“Why should he want to get at me?” Grif quavered uncertainly.
The organist cast a quick glance over his shoulder and laughed again.
“He wants you. You must have put yourself in touch with him in some
way. He wants you to go away and play with him――where he is now. He
finds it hard to come to you, and perhaps he can only do so at certain
times. For that matter, the dead are always trying to reach the living.
Sometimes they make use of dreams, sometimes they find other ways. He
is trying to lure you to him by the sound of his flute, and the more
you listen to him the closer he will come to you and the more power he
will get over you.”
“But――what does he want?” poor Grif asked again.
“I have told you what he wants,” said Mr. Bradley, impatiently. “He
wants you to be his playmate: he wants to take you into his country.
It is not anything dreadful. His country is really here, all around
us. Probably he feels lonely.... If you are frightened to go with him
you must be careful. There is danger everywhere. There is danger in
mirrors; there is danger in still water; there is danger at this moment
in sitting talking about him. Do you see how your shadow is lying just
across his grave?” (Grif drew back hastily.) “The soul and the shadow
are united very closely――far more closely than most people think. The
shadow is not really the image of the body at all. I will tell you some
day all about it, for I know――yes, I know.”
Grif was silent. He felt all at once quite weak and helpless, and he
no longer tried to draw away his arm. He wished now that he had not
promised to keep this unwelcome secret, but when he begged the organist
to let him off his promise he refused to do so.
“It wouldn’t do any good if you _did_ tell,” he repeated. “I have tried
to help you, but nobody can really help you. All depends upon yourself.”
“But I don’t want to die,” said Grif, tremulously.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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