The Three Impostors; or, The TransmutationsMachen, Arthur
Science
The Three Impostors; or, The Transmutations
Machen, Arthur
Fiction; Horror tales, English
They took me out into the sunlight, and then I understood the meaning of
a dull murmur that had vaguely perplexed me while I was dressing. There
were about two hundred men waiting outside, and some women too, and when
they saw me there was a low muttering growl. I did not know what I had
done, but that noise made my heart beat and the sweat come out on my
face. I saw confusedly, as through a veil, the tumult and tossing of the
crowd, discordant voices were speaking, and amongst all those faces
there was not one glance of mercy, but a fury of lust that I did not
understand. I found myself presently walking in a sort of procession up
the slope of the valley, and on every side of me there were men with
revolvers in their hands. Now and then a voice struck me, and I heard
words and sentences of which I could form no connected story. But I
understood that there was one sentence of execration; I heard scraps of
stories that seemed strange and improbable. Some one was talking of men,
lured by cunning devices from their homes and murdered with hideous
tortures, found writhing like wounded snakes in dark and lonely places,
only crying for some one to stab them to the heart, and so end their
torments; and I heard another voice speaking of innocent girls who had
vanished for a day or two, and then had come back and died, blushing red
with shame even in the agonies of death. I wondered what it all meant,
and what was to happen, but I was so weary that I walked on in a dream,
scarcely longing for anything but sleep. At last we stopped. We had
reached the summit of the hill, overlooking Blue Rock Valley, and I saw
that I was standing beneath a clump of trees where I had often sat. I
was in the midst of a ring of armed men, and I saw that two or three men
were very busy with piles of wood, while others were fingering a rope.
Then there was a stir in the crowd, and a man was pushed forward. His
hands and feet were tightly bound with cord, and though his face was
unutterably villainous I pitied him for the agony that worked his
features and twisted his lips. I knew him; he was amongst those that had
gathered round Smith in Black Gulf Cañon. In an instant he was unbound,
and stripped naked; and borne beneath one of the trees, and his neck
encircled by a noose that went around the trunk. A hoarse voice gave
some kind of order; there was a rush of feet, and the rope tightened;
and there before me I saw the blackened face and the writhing limbs and
the shameful agony of death. One after another, half a dozen men, all of
whom I had seen in the cañon the night before, were strangled before me,
and their bodies were flung forth on the ground. Then there was a pause,
and the man who had roused me a short while before, came up to me and
said:--
"Now, mister, it's your turn. We give you five minutes to cast up your
accounts, and when that's clocked, by the living God we will burn you
alive at that tree."
It was then I awoke and understood. I cried out:--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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