Types of Prose Narratives: A Text-Book for the Story WriterFansler, Harriott Ely
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Types of Prose Narratives: A Text-Book for the Story Writer
Fansler, Harriott Ely
English prose literature; Storytelling
I resumed my downward way and, stepping out upon the level of the
railroad and drawing nearer to him, saw that he was a dark, sallow
man with a dark beard and rather heavy eyebrows. His post was in
as solitary and dismal a place as ever I saw. On either side a
dripping-wet wall of jagged stone, excluding all view but a strip of
sky; the perspective one way only a crooked prolongation of this great
dungeon; the shorter perspective in the other direction terminating
in a gloomy red light, and the gloomier entrance to a black tunnel,
in whose massive architecture there was a barbarous, depressing and
forbidding air. So little sunlight ever found its way to this spot that
it had an earthy, deadly smell; and so much cold wind rushed through it
that it struck chill to me, as if I had left the natural world.
Before he stirred I was near enough to him to have touched him. Not
even then removing his eyes from mine, he stepped back one step and
lifted his hand.
This was a lonesome post to occupy (I said), and it had riveted my
attention when I looked down from up yonder. A visitor was a rarity,
I should suppose; not an unwelcome rarity, I hoped! In me he merely
saw a man who had been shut up within narrow limits all his life, and
who, being at last set free, had a newly awakened interest in these
great works. To such purpose I spoke to him; but I am far from sure
of the terms I used, for besides that I am not happy in opening any
conversation, there was something in the man that daunted me.
He directed a most curious look towards the red light near the tunnel's
mouth and looked all about it, as if something were missing from it,
and then looked at me.
That light was part of his charge--was it not?
He answered in a low voice, "Don't you know it is?"
The monstrous thought came into my mind as I perused the fixed eyes and
the saturnine face that this was a spirit, not a man. I have speculated
since whether there may have been infection in his mind.
In my turn I stepped back. But in making the action I detected in his
eyes some latent fear of me. This put the monstrous thought to flight.
"You look at me," I said, forcing a smile, "as if you had a dread of
me."
"I was doubtful," he returned, "whether I had seen you before."
"Where?"
He pointed to the red light he had looked at.
"There?" I said.
Intently watchful of me, he replied (but without sound), "Yes."
"My good fellow, what should I do there? However, be that as it may, I
never was there, you may swear."
"I think I may," he rejoined. "Yes. I am sure I may."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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