The thing on the door-stepLovecraft, H. P. (Howard Phillips)
Science
The thing on the door-step
Lovecraft, H. P. (Howard Phillips)
Horror tales; Paranormal fiction
The next two months were full of rumors. People spoke of seeing Derby
more and more in his new energized state, and Asenath was scarcely
ever in to her callers. I had only one visit from Edward, when he
called briefly in Asenath's car--duly reclaimed from wherever he had
left it in Maine--to get some books he had lent me. He was in his new
state, and paused only long enough for some evasively polite remarks.
It was plain that he had nothing to discuss with me when in this
condition--and I noticed that he did not even trouble to give the old
three-and-two signal when ringing the door-bell. As on that evening
in the car, I felt a faint, infinitely deep horror which I could not
explain; so that his swift departure was a prodigious relief.
In mid-September Derby was away for a week, and some of the decadent
college set talked knowingly of the matter--hinting at a meeting
with a notorious cult-leader, lately expelled from England, who had
established head-quarters in New York. For my part I could not get
that strange ride from Maine out of my head. The transformation I had
witnessed had affected me profoundly, and I caught myself again and
again trying to account for the thing--and for the extreme horror it
had inspired in me.
But the oddest rumors were those about the sobbing in the old
Crowninshield house. The voice seemed to be a woman's, and some of the
younger people thought it sounded like Asenath's. It was heard only
at rare intervals, and would sometimes be choked off as if by force.
There was talk of an investigation, but this was dispelled one day when
Asenath appeared in the streets and chatted in a sprightly way with a
large number of acquaintances--apologizing for her recent absence and
speaking incidentally about the nervous breakdown and hysteria of a
guest from Boston. The guest was never seen, but Asenath's appearance
left nothing to be said. And then someone complicated matters by
whispering that the sobs had once or twice been in a man's voice.
One evening in mid-October I heard the familiar three-and-two ring at
the front door. Answering it myself, I found Edward on the steps, and
saw in a moment that his personality was the old one which I had not
encountered since the day of his ravings on that terrible ride from
Chesuncook. His face was twitching with a mixture of odd emotions
in which fear and triumph seemed to share dominion, and he looked
furtively over his shoulder as I closed the door behind him.
Following me clumsily to the study, he asked for some whisky to
steady his nerves. I forbore to question him, but waited till he felt
like beginning whatever he wanted to say. At length he ventured some
information in a choking voice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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