The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2Poe, Edgar Allan
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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American; Short stories
One night, about the close of my fifth year at the school, and
immediately after the altercation just mentioned, finding every
one wrapped in sleep, I arose from bed, and, lamp in hand, stole
through a wilderness of narrow passages from my own bedroom to
that of my rival. I had long been plotting one of those
ill-natured pieces of practical wit at his expense in which I had
hitherto been so uniformly unsuccessful. It was my intention,
now, to put my scheme in operation, and I resolved to make him
feel the whole extent of the malice with which I was imbued.
Having reached his closet, I noiselessly entered, leaving the
lamp, with a shade over it, on the outside. I advanced a step,
and listened to the sound of his tranquil breathing. Assured of
his being asleep, I returned, took the light, and with it again
approached the bed. Close curtains were around it, which, in the
prosecution of my plan, I slowly and quietly withdrew, when the
bright rays fell vividly upon the sleeper, and my eyes, at the
same moment, upon his countenance. I looked;—and a numbness, an
iciness of feeling instantly pervaded my frame. My breast heaved,
my knees tottered, my whole spirit became possessed with an
objectless yet intolerable horror. Gasping for breath, I lowered
the lamp in still nearer proximity to the face. Were these—these
the lineaments of William Wilson? I saw, indeed, that they were
his, but I shook as if with a fit of the ague in fancying they
were not. What was there about them to confound me in this
manner? I gazed;—while my brain reeled with a multitude of
incoherent thoughts. Not thus he appeared—assuredly not thus—in
the vivacity of his waking hours. The same name! the same contour
of person! the same day of arrival at the academy! And then his
dogged and meaningless imitation of my gait, my voice, my habits,
and my manner! Was it, in truth, within the bounds of human
possibility, that what I now saw was the result, merely, of the
habitual practice of this sarcastic imitation? Awe-stricken, and
with a creeping shudder, I extinguished the lamp, passed silently
from the chamber, and left, at once, the halls of that old
academy, never to enter them again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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