The Empty House by Algernon Blackwood. managed
somehow to proclaim at once their character for
evil. In the case of the latter, no particular
feature need betray them. They may boast an open
countenance and an ingenuous smile, and yet little
of their company leaves the unalterable conviction
that there is something radically amiss with
their being, that they are evil. Willy -nilly,
they seem to communicate an atmosphere of secret
and wicked thoughts, which makes those in their
immediate neighbourhood shrink from them as from
a thing diseased. And perhaps, with houses, the
same principle is operative. And it is the aroma
of evil deeds committed under a particular roof,
long after the actual doer has passed away, that
makes the goose -flesh cum and the hair rise.
Something of the original passion of the evil
doer, and of the horror felt by his victim, enters
the heart of the innocent watcher, and he becomes
suddenly conscious of tingling nerves, creeping
skin, and a chilling of the blood. He is terror
-stricken without apparent cause. There was manifestly
nothing in the external appearance of this particular
house to bear out the tales of horror that were
said to reign within. It was neither lonely nor
unkempt. It stood crowded into a corner of the
square, and looked exactly like the houses on
either side of it. It had the same number of
windows as its neighbor, the same balcony overlooking
the gardens, the same white steps leading up
to the heavy black front door, and in the rear
there was the same narrow strip of green, with
neat box -borders running up the wall that divided
it from the backs of the adjoining houses. Apparently,
too, the number of chimney -pots on the roof
was the same, and the breadth and angle of the
eaves, and even the height of the dirty area
railings. And yet this house in the square, that
seemed precisely similar to its fifty ugly neighbours,
was a matter of fact entirely different, horribly
different. Whereinly this marked invisible difference
is impossible to say. It cannot be ascribed wholly
to the imagination, because persons who had spent
some time in the house, knowing nothing of the
facts, had declared positively that certain rooms
were so disagreeable that they would rather die
than enter them again, and that the atmosphere
of the whole house produced in them symptoms
of a genuine terror. While the series of innocent
tenants who tried to live in it, and being forced
to decamp at the shortest possible notice, was
indeed little less than a scandal in the town.
When Shorthouse arrived to pay a weekend visit
to his Aunt Julia, in her little house on the
sea -front on the other end of town, he found
her charged to the brim with mystery and excitement.
He had only received her telegram that morning,
and he had come anticipating boredom. But the
moment he touched her hand, cursed her apple
-skin wrinkled cheek, He caught the first wave
of her electric condition. The impression deepened
when he learned that there were to be no other
visitors, and that he had been telegraphed for
a very special object. Something was in the wind,
and that something would doubtless bear fruit,
for this elderly spinster ant, with a mania for
psychical research, had brains as well as willpower.
And, by hook or by crook, she usually managed
to accomplish her ends. The revelation was made
soon after T. when she sided close up to him
as they paced slowly along the sea -front in
the dusk. "'I've got the keys,' she announced
with delight, yet half -awesome voice. "'Got
them till Monday.' "'The keys of the bathing
-machine, or?' he asked innocently. Looking from
the sea to town, nothing brought her so quickly
to the point as feigning stupidity. Neither,
she whispered. I've got the keys of the haunted
house in the square, and I'm going there to -night.
Shorthouse was conscious of the slightest possible
tremor down his back. He dropped his teasing
tone. Something in her voice and manner thrilled
him. She was in earnest. "'But you can't go alone,'
he began. "'That's why I'm wired for you,' she
said with decision. He turned to her. The ugly
-lined, enigmatical face was alive with excitement.
There was the glow of genuine enthusiasm rounded
like a halo. The eyes shone. He caught another
wave for excitement, and a second tremor, more
marked than the first, accompanied it. "'Thanks,
Aunt Julia,' he said politely. "'Thanks awfully.'
"'I should not dare to go quite alone,' she went
on, raising her voice. "'But with you I should
enjoy it immensely. You're afraid of nothing,
I know.' "'Thanks so much,' he began. "'Is anything
likely to happen?' "'A great deal has happened,'
she whispered. Though it's been most cleverly
hushed up. Three tenants have come and gone in
the last few months, and the house is said to
be empty for good now." In spite of himself,
Shorthouse became interested. His aunt was so
very much in earnest. The house is very old indeed,
she went on, and the story, an unpleasant one,
dates a long way back. It has to do with the
murder committed by a jealous stableman who had
some affair with a servant in the house. One
night he managed to secrete himself in the cellar,
and when everyone was asleep, he crept upstairs
to the servant's quarters, chased the girl down
to the next landing, and before anyone could
come to her rescue, threw her bodily over the
banisters into the hall below. And the stableman?
Was caught, I believe, and hanged for murder.
But it all happened a century ago, and I have
not been able to get more details of the story.
Shorthouse now felt his interest thoroughly aroused.
But though he was not particularly nervous for
himself, he hesitated a little on his aunt's
account. On one condition, he said at length.
Nothing will prevent my going, she said firmly.
But I may as well hear your condition That you
guarantee your power of self -control if anything
really horrible happens I mean that you are sure
you won't get too frightened Jim she said scornfully
I'm not young I know nor are my nerves But with
you I should be afraid of nothing in the world
This of course settled it for Shorthouse had
no pretensions to being other than a very ordinary
young man, and an appeal to his vanity was irresistible.
He agreed to go. Instinctively, by a sort of
subconscious preparation, he kept himself and
his forces well in hand the whole evening. compelling
an accumulative reserve of control by that nameless
inward process of gradually putting all the emotions
away and turning the key upon them. A process
difficult to describe, but wonderfully effective,
as all men who lived through severe trials of
the inner man well understood. Later it stood
him in good stead. But it was not until half
-past ten, when they stood in the hall, well
in the glare of friendly lamps and still surrounded
by comforting human influences, that he had to
make the first call upon the historic collected
strength. For once the door was closed, he saw
the deserted silent street stretching away white
in the moonlight before them. It came to him
clearly that the real test that night would be
in dealing with two fears instead of one. He
would have to carry his hands' fear as well as
his own. And as he glanced down at her sphinx
-like countenance and realized that it might
assume no pleasant aspect in the rush of real
terror, he felt satisfied with only one thing
in the whole adventure, that he had confidence
in his own will and power to stand against any
shock that might come. Slowly they walked along
the empty streets of the town. A bright autumn
moon silvered the roofs, casting deep shadows.
There was no breath of wind, and the trees in
the former garden by the sea -front watched them
silently as they passed along. To his aunt's
occasional remarks, Shorthouse made no reply,
realizing that she was simply surrounding herself
with mental buffers, saying ordinary things to
prevent herself from thinking of extraordinary
things. Few windows showed lights. And from scarcely
a single chimney came smoke or sparks. Shorthouse
had already begun to notice everything, even
in the slightest details. Presently they stopped
at the street -quarter, and looked up at the
name on the side of the house, full in the moonlight,
and with one accord, but without remark, turned
into the square, crossed over to the side of
it that lay in shadow. The number of the house
is thirteen. whispered a voice at his side, and
neither of them made the obvious reference, but
passed across the broad sheet of moonlight, and
began to march up the pavement in silence. It
was about halfway up the square that Shorthouse
felt an arm slip quietly but significantly into
his own, and knew then that their adventure had
begun in earnest, and that his companion was
already yielding imperceptibly to the influences
against them. She needed support. A few minutes
later they stopped before a tall, narrow house
that rose before them into the night, ugly in
shape, and painted a dingy white. Shutterless
windows without blinds stared down upon them,
shining here and there in the moonlight. There
were weather streaks in the wall and cracks in
the paint. and the balcony bulged out from the
first floor a little unnaturally. But beyond
this generally forlorn appearance of an occupied
house, there was nothing at first sight to single
out this particular mansion for the evil character
it had most certainly acquired. Taking a look
over his shoulders to make sure that they had
not been followed, they went boldly up the steps
and stood against the huge black door that fronted
them forbiddingly. But the first wave of nervousness
was now upon them, and Shorthouse fumbled a long
time with the key before he could fit it into
the lock at all. For a moment, if the truth be
told, they both hoped it would not open, for
they were prey to various unpleasant emotions,
as they stood there on the threshold of their
ghostly adventure. Shorthouse, shuffling with
the key, and hampered by the steady weight on
his arm, certainly felt the solemnity of the
moment. It was as if the whole world—for all
experience seemed at that instant concentrated
in his own consciousness—were listening to the
grating noise of the key. A stray puff of wind
wandered down the empty street, woke a momentary
rustling in the trees behind them. But otherwise
this rattling of the key was the only sound audible.
And at last it turned in the lock, and the heavy
door swung open. and revealed a yawning gulf
of darkness below. With a last glance at the
moonlit square they passed quickly in, and the
door slammed behind them with a roar that echoed
prodigiously through the empty halls and passages.
But instantly, with the echoes, another sound
made itself heard, and Aunt Julia leaned suddenly
so heavily upon him that he had to take a step
backwards to save himself from falling. so close
that it seemed they must have actually been by
his side in the darkness. With the possibility
of practical jokes in mind, Shorthouse had once
swung his heavy stick in the direction of the
sound, but had met nothing more solid than air.
He heard his aunt give a little gasp behind him.
"'There's someone here!' she whispered. I heard
him. "'Be quiet!' he said sternly. It was nothing
but the noise of the front door. "'Oh, get a
light, quick!' She added, as her nephew, fumbling
with the box of matches, opened it upside down
and let them all fall with a rattle on to the
stone floor. The sound, however, was not repeated.
There was no evidence of retreating footsteps.
In another minute they had a candle burning,
using an empty end of a cigar case as a holder,
and when the first flare had died down he held
the impromptu lamp aloft and surveyed the scene.
And it was dreary enough and all -conscious,
for there was nothing more desolate in all the
abodes of men than an unfurnished house dimly
lit, silent and forsaken, and yet tending it
by rumour with the memories of evil and violent
histories. They were standing in the wide hallway.
On their left was the open door of the spacious
dining -room. and in the front the hall ran ever
narrowing into a long dark passage that led apparently
to the top of the kitchen stairs. The broad,
uncooperative stairway rose in a sweep before
them, everywhere draped in shadows, except for
a single spot about half -way up, where the moonlight
came in through the window and fell into a bright
patch on the boards. The shaft of light shed
a faint radiance above and below it. lending
to the objects within its reach a misty outline
that was infinitely more suggestive and ghostly
than complete darkness. Filtered moonlight always
seems to paint faces on the surrounding gloom.
And as Shorthouse peered up into the well of
darkness, and the thought of countless empty
rooms and passages in the upper part of the old
house, he caught himself longing again for the
safety of the moonlit square, or the cosy, bright
drawing -room that they had left an hour before.
Then, realizing that these thoughts were dangerous,
he thrust them away again, and summoned all his
energy for concentration on the present. Aunt
Julia, he said aloud severely, we must now go
through the house from top to bottom and make
a thorough search. The echoes of his voice died
away slowly all over the building, and in the
intense silence that followed he looked at her.
In the candlelight He saw that her face was already
ghastly pale, but she dropped his arm for a moment
and said in a whisper, stepping close in front
of him, "'I agree. We must be sure there's no
one hiding. That's the first thing.' She spoke
with evident effort, and he looked at her with
admiration. "'You feel not quite sure of yourself?
It's not too late—' "'I think so,' she whispered.
her eyes shifting nervously toward the shadows
behind. Quite sure. Only one thing. What's that?
You must never leave me alone for an instant.
As long as you understand that any sound or appearance
must be investigated at once, for to hesitate
means to admit fear. That is fatal. Agreed, she
said a little shakily, after a moment's hesitation.
I'll try." Arm in arm, Shorthouse holding the
dripping candle and stick, while his aunt carried
the cloak over her shoulders, figures of utter
comedy to all but themselves, they began a systematic
search, stealthily walking on tiptoe and shading
the candle lest it should betray their presence
through the shutterless windows. They went first
into the big dining -room. There was not a stick
of furniture to be seen. Bare walls, ugly mantel
-pieces, empty grates stared at them. Everything,
they felt, resented their intrusion, watching
them, as it were, with veiled eyes. Whispers
followed them, shadows flitted noiselessly to
the right and left. Something seemed ever at
their back, watching, waiting for an opportunity
to do them injury. There was an inevitable sense
that operations which went on when the room was
empty had been temporarily suspended. till they
were well out of the way again. The whole dark
interior of the old building seemed to become
a malignant presence that rose up, warning them
to detest and mind their own business. Every
moment the strain on their nerves increased.
Out of the gloomy dining -room they passed through
the large folding doors into a sort of library
or smoking -room, wrapped equally in silence,
darkness and dust. And from this They regained
the hall near the top of the back stairs. Here
a pitch -black tunnel opened before them into
the lower regions. And it must be confessed they
hesitated. But only for a moment. With the worst
of the night still to come, it was essential
to turn from nothing. And Julia stumbled at the
top of the step of the dark descent, ill -lit
by the flickering candle, and even Shorthouse
felt at least half -decision go out of his legs.
Come on," he said preemptively, and his voice
ran on and lost itself in the dark, empty spaces
below. I'm coming, she faltered, catching his
arms with unnecessary violence. They went a little
unsteadily down the stone steps, a cold, damp
air meeting them in the face, close and malodorous.
The kitchen into which the stairs led along the
narrow passage was large, with a lofty ceiling.
Several doors opened out of it, some into the
cupboards with the empty jars still standing
on the shelves, and others into horrible little
ghostly back offices, even colder and less inviting
than the last. Black beetles scurried all over
the floor, and once, when they knocked against
a deal -table standing in the corner, something
about the size of a cat jumped down with a rush
and fled, scampering across the stone floor into
the darkness. Everywhere. There was a sense of
recent occupation, an impression of sadness and
gloom. Leaving the main kitchen, they next went
toward the scullery. The door was standing ajar,
and as they pushed it open to its full extent
Aunt Julia uttered a piercing scream, when she
instantly tried to stifle by placing her hand
over her mouth. For a second Shorthouse stood
stock still, catching his breath. He felt as
if his spine had suddenly become hollow and someone
had filled it with particles of ice, facing them
directly in their way between the door -posts
to the figure of a woman. She had dishevelled
hair and wildly staring eyes, and her face was
terrified in white as death. She stood there
motionless for the space of a single second.
Then the candle flickered and she was gone, gone
utterly, and the door framed nothing but empty
darkness. Only the beastly jumping candlelight,"
he said quickly, in a voice that sounded like
someone else's and was only half under control.
Come on, Ant. There's nothing there. He dragged
her forward. With a clattering of feet and a
great appearance of boldness they went on. But
over his body the skin moved as if crawling ants
covered it, and he knew by the weight on his
arm that he was supplying the force of locomotion
for the two. The scullery was cold, bare and
empty, more like a large prison cell than anything
else. They went round it, tried the door into
the yard and the windows, but found them all
fastened securely. His aunt moved beside him
like a person in a dream. Her eyes were tightly
shut, and she seemed merely to follow the pressure
of his arm. Her courage filled him with amazement.
At the same time, he noticed that a certain odd
change had come over her face, which somehow
evaded his powers of analysis. "'There's nothing
here, Auntie,' he repeated aloud quickly. "'Let's
go upstairs and see the rest of the house. Then
we'll choose a room to wait up in.' She followed
him obediently, keeping close to his side. and
they locked the kitchen door behind them. It
was a great relief to get tip again. In the hall
there was more light than before, for the moon
had traveled a little further down the stairs.
Cautiously they began to go up in the dark vault
of the upper house, the boards creaking under
their weight. On the first floor they found a
large double drawing -room, a search of which
unveiled nothing. Here, also, there was no sign
of furniture or recent occupancy. Nothing but
dust and neglect and shadows. They opened the
big folding doors between front and back drawing
rooms, and they came out again to the landing
and went on upstairs. They had not gone more
than a dozen steps when they both simultaneously
stopped to listen, looking into each other's
eyes with new apprehension across the flickering
candle flame. From the room they had left hardly
ten seconds before came the sounds of doors quietly
closing. It was beyond all question. They heard
the booming noise that accompanies the shutting
of the heavy doors, followed by a sharp catching
of the latch. We must go back and see, said Shorthouse
briefly in a low tone, turning to go downstairs
again. Somehow she managed to drag after him,
her feet catching in her dress, her face livid.
When they entered the front drawing -room, it
was plain that the folding doors had been closed
half a minute before. Without hesitation, Shorthouse
opened them. He almost expected to see someone
facing him in the back -room. But only darkness
and cold air met him. They went through both
rooms, finding nothing unusual. They tried in
every way to make the doors close of themselves.
But there was not enough wind even to set the
candle -flame flickering. The doors would not
move without strong pressure. All was silent
as the grave. Undeniably the rooms were utterly
empty, and the house utterly still. "'It's beginning,'
whispered a voice at his elbow, which be hardly
recognized as his aunt. He nodded acquiescence,
taking out his watch to know of the time. It
was fifteen minutes before midnight. setting
the candle in its case upon the floor in order
to do so. It took a moment or two to balance
it safely against the wall. And Julia always
declared that this was the moment she was not
actually watching him, but had turned her head
toward the inner room, where she fancied she
heard something moving. But at any rate, both
positively agreed that the sound of rushing feet,
heavy and swift, and the next instant the candle
was out. But the Shorthouse himself had come
more than this, and he had always thanked his
fortune and stars that it came to him alone and
not to his aunt too. For, as he rose from the
stooping position of the balancing the candle,
and before it was actually extinguished, a face
thrust itself forward so close to his own that
he could have almost touched it with his lips.
It was a face working with passion, a man's face,
dark with thick features, angry and savage eyes.
It belonged to a common man, and it was evil
in an extraordinary normal expression, no doubt
before he saw it, alive with intense, aggressive
emotion. It was malignant and terrible human
countenance. There was no movement in the air,
nothing but the sound of rushing feet, stocking
their muffled feet, the apparition of the face,
and the almost simultaneously extinguishing of
the candle. In spite of himself, Shorthouse uttered
a little cry. nearly losing his balance as his
aunt clung to him with her whole weight in one
moment of real uncontrollable terror. She made
no sound, but simply seized him bodily. Fortunately,
however, she had seen nothing, but had only heard
the rushing feet, for her control returned almost
at once, and he was able to disentangle himself
and strike a match. The shadows ran away on all
sides before the glare. And his aunt stooped
down, groping for the cigar -case with the precious
candle. Then they discovered the candle had not
been blown out at all. It had been crushed out.
The wick was now pressed down into the wax, which
was flattened by some smooth, heavy instrument.
How his companion so quickly overcame her terror!
Shorthouse neverly properly understood. But his
admiration for her self -control increased tenfold,
and at the same time served to feed his own dying
flame. for which he was undeniably grateful.
Equally inexplicable to him was the evidence
of physical force they had just witnessed. He
had once suppressed the memories of stories he
had heard of physical mediums and their dangerous
phenomena. For if these were true, neither his
aunt or himself was unwittingly in physical medium.
It meant that they were simply aiding to the
focus of the forces of the haunted house already
charged to the brim. It was like walking with
unprotected lamps among uncovered stores of gunpowder.
So with as little reflection as possible, he
simply relit the candle, went tipped to the next
floor. The arm in his trembled. It is true, and
his own tread was often uncertain. But they went
on with thoroughness, and after a search revealing
nothing, they climbed the last flight of stairs
to the top floor of all. Here they found a perfect
nest of small servants' rooms, with broken pieces
of furniture, dirty caned bottom chairs, chest
of drawers cracked mirrors, decrepit bedsteads.
The rooms had low sloping ceilings already hung
here and there with cobwebs, small windows, and
badly plastered walls, a depressing and dismal
region which they were glad to leave behind.
It was on the stroke of midnight when they entered
a small room on the third floor, close to the
top of the stairs, and arranged to make themselves
comfortable for the remainder of the adventure.
It was absolutely bare, and was said to be the
room they used as a clothes -closet, into which
the infuriated groom had chased his victim and
finally caught her. Outside, across from the
narrow landing, began the stairs leading up to
the floor above, and the servants' quarters where
they had just searched. In spite of the chilliness
of the night, there was something in the air
of this room that cried for an open window. But
there was more than this. Short House could only
describe it by saying he felt less master of
himself than in any other part of the house.
There was something that acted directly on his
nerves, tiring the resolution and fueling the
will. He was conscious of this result before
he had been in the room five minutes. And it
was in this short time they stayed there that
he suffered the wholesale depletion of his own
vital forces, which was, for himself, the chief
horror of the whole experience. They put the
candle on the floor of the cupboard, leaving
the door a few inches ajar so there was no glare
to confuse the eyes, no shadow to shift about
on the walls and ceiling. They spread the cloak
on the floor and sat down to wait, with their
backs against the wall. Shorthouse was within
two feet of the door on to the landing. His position
commanded a good view of the main staircase leading
down into the darkness, and also the beginning
of the servant's stairs going to the floor above.
The heavy stick lay beside him within easy reach.
The moon was now high over the house. Through
the open window they could see the accompanying
stars, like friendly eyes watching in the sky.
One by one the clocks of the town struck midnight.
And when the sounds died away, the deep silence
of a windless night fell again over everything.
Only the boom of the sea, far away and lugubrious,
filled the air with hollow murmurs. Inside the
house the silence became awful. Awful, he thought,
because any minute now it might be broken by
the sounds of portending terror. The strain of
waiting told more and more severely on the nerves.
They talked in whispers when they talked it all.
for their voices sounded queer and unnatural.
A chilliness not altogether due to the night
air invaded the room and made them cold. The
influences against them, whatever they might
be, were slowly robbing them of self -confidence
and the power of decisive action. Their forces
were on the wane, and the possibility of real
fear took on a new and terrible meaning. He began
to tremble for the elderly woman by his side.
whose pluck could hardly save her beyond a certain
extent. He heard the blood singing in his veins.
It sometimes seemed so loud that he fancied it
prevented his hearing properly certain other
sounds that were beginning to very faintly make
themselves audible into depths of the house.
Every time he fastened his attention on these
sounds, they instantly ceased. They certainly
came no near. Yet he could not rid himself of
the idea the movement was going on somewhere
in the lower regions of the house. The drawing
-room floor, where the doors had been so strangely
closed, seemed too near. The sounds were further
off than that. He thought of the great kitchen,
with the scurrying black beetles, and the dismal
little scullery. But somehow or other they did
not seem to come from there either. Surely they
were not outside the house! Then suddenly the
truth flashed in his mind, and for the space
of a minute he felt as if his blood had stopped
flowing and turned to ice. The sounds were not
downstairs at all. They were upstairs, upstairs,
somewhere among those gloomy little servants'
rooms with bits of broken furniture, low ceilings
and cramped windows, upstairs where the victim
had first been disturbed and stalked to her death.
And the moment he discovered where the sounds
were— He began to hear them more clearly, it
was the sound of feet, moving stealthily along
the passage overhead, in and out among the rooms
and past the furniture. He turned quickly to
steal a glance at the motionless figure seated
beside him to note whether she had shared his
discovery. The faint candlelight coming through
the crack in the cupboard door threw her strongly
marked face into vivid relief against the white
of the wall. But it was something else that made
him catch his breath and stare again. An extraordinary
something that had come into her face and seemed
to spread over her features like a mask. It smoothed
out the deep lines, drew the skin everywhere
a little tighter, so the wrinkles disappeared.
It brought into her face, with the sole exception
of her old eyes, an appearance of youth, almost
childhood. He stared in speechless amazement,
amazement that was dangerously near to horror.
It was his aunt's face, indeed. But it was her
face of forty years ago, the vacant, innocent
face of a girl. He had heard stories of that
strange effect of terror which could wipe a human
countenance clean of other emotions, obliterating
all previous expressions. But he had never realized
that it could be literally true, or could mean
anything so simply horrible as what he now saw.
For the dreadful signature of over -mastering
fear was plainly written in that utter vacancy
of the girlish face beside him. And when, feeling
his intense gaze, she turned to look at him.
He instinctively closed his eyes tightly to shut
out the sight. Yet when he turned a minute later,
his feelings well in hand, he saw to his intense
relief another expression. His ant was smiling.
And though the face was deathly white, the awful
veil had lifted, and the normal look was returning.
Anything wrong? was all he could think of to
say at the moment, and the answer was eloquent,
coming from such a woman. I felt cold and a little
frightened, she whispered. He offered to close
the door, but she seized hold of him and begged
him not to leave her side for an instant. It's
upstairs, I know, she whispered with an odd half
-laugh. But I can't possibly go up. But Shorthouse
thought otherwise. knowing that inaction lay
their best hope of self -control. He took the
brandy flask and poured out a glass of neat spirit,
stiff enough to help anybody over anything. She
swallowed it with a little shiver. His only idea
now was to get out of the house before her collapse
became inevitable. But this could not be safely
done by turning tail and running from the enemy.
Inaction was no longer possible. Every minute
he was growing less master of himself, and desperate
aggressive measures were imperative without further
delay. Moreover, the actions to be taken toward
the enemy, not away from it, the climax, if necessary
and unavoidable, would have to be faced boldly.
He could do it now, but in ten minutes he might
not have the force left to act for himself, much
less for both. Upstairs the sounds were meanwhile
becoming louder and closer. accompanied by the
occasional creaking of the boards. Someone was
moving stealthily about, stumbling now, and then
awkwardly against the furniture, waiting a few
moments to allow for the tremendous dose of spirit
to produce its effect, and knowing this would
last but a short time under the circumstances.
Shorthouse then quietly got on his feet, and
saying in a determined voice, "'Now Aunt Julia,
we'll go upstairs and find out what this noise
is all about. You must come, too. It is what
we agreed.' He picked up his stick and went to
the cupboard for the candle. A limp four rose
shakily beside him, breathing hard, and he heard
a voice say very faintly something about being
ready to come. The woman's courage amazed him.
It was so much greater than his own. Holding
aloft the dripping candle, some subtle force
exhaled from this trembling, white -faced old
woman at his side that was the true source of
his inspiration. It held something really great
that shamed him and gave him the support without
which he would have proved far less equal to
the occasion. They crossed the dark landing,
avoiding with their eyes the deep black space
over the banisters. Then they began to mount
the narrow staircase to meet the sounds which
minute by minute grew louder and nearer. About
halfway up the stairs Aunt Julia stumbled, and
Shorthouse turned to catch her by the arm. And
just at that moment there came a terrific crash
in the servants' quarters overhead. It was instantly
followed by a shrill, agonizing scream. There
was a cry of terror, a cry of help melted into
one. Before they could move aside or go down
a single step, someone came rushing along the
passage overhead, blundering horribly, racing
madly at full speed, three steps at a time, down
the very staircase which they stood. The steps
were light and uncertain. But close behind them
sounded the heavier tread of another person.
The staircase seemed to shake. Shorthouse and
his companion just had time to flatten themselves
against the wall when the jumble of flying steps
was upon them, and two persons, with the slightest
possible interval between them, dashed past at
full speed. It was a perfect whirlwind of sound
breaking in upon the midnight silence of the
empty building. The two runners, pursuer and
pursued, had passed clean through them where
they stood. and already with a thud the boards
below received the first one, then the other.
Yet they had seen absolutely nothing, not a hand,
an arm, or a face, or even a shred of flying
clothing. Then came a second's pause. Then the
first one, the lighter of the two, obviously
the pursued one, ran with uncertain footsteps
into the little room which Shorthouse and his
aunt just left. The heavier ones followed. There
was a sound of scuffling, gasping, and smothered
screaming, and then out onto the landing came
the step of a single person treading weightily.
A dead silence followed for the space of a half
a minute, and then was heard a rushing sound
through the air. It was followed by a dull, crashing
thud in the depths of the house below, on the
stone floor of the hall. Utter silence reigned
after. Nothing moved. The flame of the candle
was steady. It had been steady the whole time.
And the air had been undisturbed by any movement
whatsoever. Palsied with terror, Aunt Julia,
without waiting for her companion, began fumbling
her way downstairs. She was crying to herself.
When Shorthouse put his arm around her and half
carried her, He felt she was trembling like a
leaf. He went into the little room, picked up
the cloak from the floor, and arm in arm walked
very slowly, without speaking a word or looking
once behind them. They marched down the three
flights of stairs into the hall. In the hall
they saw nothing. But the whole way down the
stairs they were conscious that someone followed
them. Step by step. When they went faster IT
was left behind. When they went more slowly IT
caught up. Never once did they look behind to
see, and at each turning of the staircase they
lowered their eyes with the fear of the following
horror they might see on the stairs above. With
trembling hands, Shorthouse opened the front
door, and they walked out into the moonlight
and drew a deep breath of the cool night air
blowing in from the sea. This is the end of the
empty house. by Algernon Blackwood Recording
by Scott W. Fields Globersville, New York, USA
www .scottwfields .com