September 2, 2025 • 14 mins
Discover the enchanting world of Day And Night Stories, featuring fifteen captivating short tales by Algernon Henry Blackwood, CBE (1869 ‚ì 1951). Renowned as one of the most prolific ghost story writers, Blackwoods work blends the supernatural with the ethereal, inviting readers into a realm of wonder and intrigue. A journalist and broadcasting narrator, he has been acclaimed for his consistently exceptional storytelling, with literary critic S. T. Joshi noting that his contributions stand among the finest in the genre. Immerse yourself in these timeless narratives that explore the mysteries of life and the unknown.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Story fourteen of Day and Night Stories by Algernon Blackwood.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Story fourteen transition.
John Mudbury was on his way home from the shops,
his arms full of Christmas presents. It was after six
o'clock and the streets were very crowded. He was an
(00:21):
ordinary man, lived in an ordinary suburban flat with an
ordinary wife and four ordinary children. He did not think
them ordinary, but everybody else did. He had ordinary presence
for each one, a cheap blotter for his wife, a
cheap air gun for the eldest boy, and so forth.
He was over fifty, bald in an office, decent in mind,
(00:45):
and habits of uncertain opinions, uncertain politics, and uncertain religion.
Yet he considered himself a decided positive gentleman, quite unaware
that the morning newspaper determined his opinions for the day.
He just lived from day to day. Physically, he was
fit enough except for a weak heart, which never troubled him,
(01:08):
and his summer holiday was bad golf while the children
bathed and his wife read Garvise on the sands. Like
the majority of men, he dreamed idly of the past,
muddled away the present and guessed vaguely, after imaginative reading
on occasions at the future. I'd like to survive, all right,
(01:29):
he said, provided it's better than this, surveying his wife
and children and thinking of his daily toil otherwise, and
he shrugged his shoulders as a brave man should. He
went to church regularly, but nothing in church convinced him
that he did survive, just as nothing in church enticed
him into hoping that he would. On the other hand,
(01:51):
nothing in life persuaded him that he didn't. Wouldn't, couldn't.
I'm an evolutionist, he loved, to say, two thoughtful cronies
over a glass, having never heard that Darwinism had been questioned.
And so he came home gaily, happily with his bunch
of Christmas presents for the wife and little ones, stroking
(02:13):
himself upon their keen enjoyment and excitement. The night before
he had taken the wife to see magic at a
select London theater where the intellectuals went, and had been
extraordinarily stirred. He had gone questioningly yet expecting something out
of the common. It's not musical, he warned her, nor farce,
(02:35):
nor comedy. So to speak, and in answer to her
questions as to what the critics had said, he had
wriggled side and put his gaudy necktie straight four times
in quick succession. For no man in the street with
any claim to self respect could be expected to understand
what the critics had said, even if he understood the play.
(02:57):
And John had answered truthfully, oh, they just said things.
But the theaters always full, and that's the only test.
And just now, as he crossed the crowded circus to
catch his bus, it chanced that his mind, having glimpsed
an advertisement, was full of this particular play, or rather
(03:18):
of the effect it had produced upon him at the time,
for it had thrilled him inexplicably with its marvelous speculative hint,
its big audacity, its alert and spiritual beauty. Thought plunged
to find something plunged after this bizarre suggestion of a
bigger universe, after this quasied jocular suggestion that man is
(03:41):
not the only then dashed full tilt against a sentence
that memory thrust beneath his nose. Science does not exhaust
the universe, and at the same time dashed full tilt
against destruction of another kind as well. How it happened,
he never exactly knew. He saw a monster glaring at
(04:01):
him with eyes of blazing fire. It was horrible. It
rushed upon him. He dodged. Another monster met him round
the corner. Both came at him simultaneously. He dodged again,
a leap that might have cleared a hurdle easily, but
was too late. Between the pair of them, his heart
literally in his gullet, he was mercilessly caught, bones crunched.
(04:25):
There was a soft sensation, icy cold and hot as fire.
Horns and voices roared, battering rams he saw, and a
carapace of iron, then dazzling light always faced the traffic.
He remembered with a frantic yell, and by some extraordinary luck,
escaped miraculously on to the opposite pavement. There was no
(04:47):
doubt about it. By the skin of his teeth, he
had dodged a rather ugly death. First he felt for
his presence all were safe, and then instead of congratulating
himself and taking breath, he hurried homewards on foot, which
proved that his mind had lost control of it, thinking
only how disappointed the wife and children would have been
(05:08):
if if anything had happened. Another thing he realized, oddly enough,
was that he no longer really loved his wife, but
only had great affection for her. What made him think
of that, Heaven only knows, but he did think of it.
He was an honest man without pretense. This came as
a discovery. Somehow. He turned a moment and saw the
(05:31):
crowd gathered about the entangled taxi cabs, policemen's helmets gleaming
in the lights of the shop windows, then hurried on again,
his thoughts full of the joy his presence would give
of the scampering children, and his wife bless her silly heart,
eyeing the mysterious parcels. And though he never could explain
(05:53):
how he presently stood at the door of the jail
like building that contained his flat, having walked the hole
three miles, his thoughts had been so busy and absorbed
that he had scarcely noticed the length of weary trudge. Besides,
he reflected, thinking of the narrow escape, I've had a
nasty shock. It was a damned near thing, now I
(06:15):
come to think of it. He did feel a bit
shaky and bewildered, yet at the same time he felt
extraordinarily jolly and light hearted. He counted his Christmas parcels,
hugged himself in anticipatory joy, and let himself in swiftly
with his latch key. I'm late, he realized, But when
(06:35):
she sees the brown paper parcels, she'll forget to say
a word. God bless the old faithful soul. And he
softly used the key a second time and entered his
flat on tiptoe. In his mind was the master impulse
of that afternoon, the pleasure these Christmas presents would give
his wife and children. He heard a noise. He hung
(06:57):
up hat and coat in the poky vestibule they never
called it hall, and moved softly towards the parlor door,
holding the packages behind him. Only of them, he thought,
not of himself, of his family, that is, not of
the packages. Pushing the door cunningly ajar, he peeped in slyly.
(07:18):
To his amazement, the room was full of people. He
withdrew quickly, wondering what it meant, a party, and without
his knowing about it, extraordinary keen disappointment came over him.
But as he stepped back the vestibule he saw was
full of people too, he was uncommonly surprised, yet somehow
(07:39):
not surprised at all. People were congratulating him. There was
a perfect mob of them. Moreover, he knew them all,
vaguely remembered them at least, and they knew him. Isn't
it a game? Laughed some one, patting him on the back.
They haven't the least idea, and the speaker it was
old John Palmer, the bookkeeper the office, emphasized the they
(08:03):
not the least idea, he answered with a smile, saying
something he didn't understand yet knew was right. His face
apparently showed the utter bewilderment. He felt the shock of
the collision had been greater than he realized. Evidently his
mind was wandering, possibly only The odd thing was he
had never felt so clear headed in his life. Ten
(08:26):
thousand things grew simple suddenly. But how thickly these people
pressed upon him, and how familiarly my parcels, he said, joyously,
pushing his way across the throng. These are Christmas presents
I've brought for them, he nodded, toward the room. I've
saved for weeks, stopped cigars and billiards, and several other
(08:48):
good things to buy them, good man, said Palmer with
a happy laugh. It's the heart that counts. Mudbury looked
at him. Palmer had said an amazing truth. Only people
would hardly understand and believe him, would they? Ah, he asked,
feeling stuffed and stupid, muddled somewhere between two meanings, one
(09:09):
of which was gorgeous and the other stupid beyond belief.
If you please, mister Mudberry, step inside. They are expecting you,
said a kindly pompous voice, and turning sharply, he met
the gentle foolish eyes of Sir James Epiffany, a director
of the bank where he worked. The effect of the
voice was instantaneous, from long habit. They are. He smiled
(09:34):
from his heart and advanced, as from the custom of
many years. Oh how happy and gay he felt. His
affection for his wife was real. Romance indeed had gone.
But he needed her and she needed him. And the children, Milly,
Bill and Jean. He deeply loved them. Life was worth living.
(09:54):
Indeed in the room was a crowd, but an astounding silence.
John Mudbury looked round him. He advanced towards his wife,
who sat in the corner arm chair, with Milly on
her knee, A lot of people talked and moved about.
Momentarily the crowd increased. He stood in front of them,
in front of Milly and his wife, and he spoke,
(10:17):
holding out his packages. It's Christmas Eve, he whispered, shyly,
and I've brought you something, something for everybody. Look. He
held the packages before their eyes. Of course, of course,
said a voice behind him. But you may hold them
out like that for a century. They'll never see them,
of course they won't. But I love to do the
(10:39):
old sweet thing, replied John Mudbury, then wondered, with a
gasp of stark amazement, why he said it, I think,
whispered Milly, staring round her Well, what do you think?
Her mother asked sharply, you're always thinking something queer. I think,
the child continued dreamily, that daddy's all already here. She paused,
(11:02):
then added, with a child's impossible conviction, I'm sure he is.
I feel him. There was an extraordinary laugh. Sir James
Epiphany laughed. The others. The whole crowd of them also
turned their heads and smiled. But the mother, thrusting the
child away from her, rose up suddenly with a violent start.
Her face had turned to chalk. She stretched her arms
(11:25):
out into the air before her. She gasped and shivered.
There was an awful anguish in her eyes. Look repeated John,
these are the presents that I brought. But his voice
apparently was soundless, and with a spasm of icy pain,
he remembered that Palmer and Sir James, some years ago
(11:46):
had died. It's magic, he cried. But I love you, Jenny,
I love you, and and I have always been true
to you, as true as steel. We need each other. Oh,
can't you see we go on together, you and I
forever and ever. Think, interrupted an exquisitely tender voice. Don't shout,
(12:08):
they can't hear you now, and turning, John Mudbury met
the eyes of Everard Minturn, their president of the year
before Minturn had gone down with a Titanic. He dropped
his parcels. Then his heart gave an enormous leap of joy.
He saw her face, the face of his wife, look
through him, but the child gazed straight into his eyes.
(12:33):
She saw him. The next thing he knew was that
he heard something tinkling far far away. It sounded miles
below him. Inside him, he was sounding himself all utterly bewildering,
like a bell. It was a bell. Milly stooped down
and picked the parcels up, Her face shone with happiness
(12:55):
and laughter. But a man came in soon after, a
man with a ridiculous solemn face, a pencil and a
note book. He wore a dark blue helmet. Behind him
came a string of other men. They carried something, something
He could not see exactly what it was, But when
he pressed forward through the laughing throng to gaze upon it,
(13:19):
he dimly made out two eyes, a nose, a chin,
a deep red smear, and a pair of folded hands
upon an overcoat. A woman's form fell down upon them. Then,
and he heard soft sounds of children weeping strangely, and
other sounds, sounds as of familiar voices, laughing, laughing gaily.
(13:42):
They'll join us presently. It goes like a flash, and
turning with great happiness in his heart, he saw that
Sir James had said it, holding Palmer by the arm,
as with some natural yet unexpected love of sympathetic friendship.
Come on, said Palmer, smiling like a man who accepts
a gift in universal fellowship. Let's help him. They'll never understand. Still,
(14:06):
we can always try. The entire throng moved up with
laughter and amusement. It was a moment of hearty, genuine
life at last. Delight and joy and peace were everywhere.
Then John Mudbury realized the truth that he was dead.
(14:27):
End of story fourteen.
Story fourteen of Day and Night Stories by Algernon Blackwood.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Story fourteen transition.
John Mudbury was on his way home from the shops,
his arms full of Christmas presents. It was after six
o'clock and the streets were very crowded. He was an
(00:21):
ordinary man, lived in an ordinary suburban flat with an
ordinary wife and four ordinary children. He did not think
them ordinary, but everybody else did. He had ordinary presence
for each one, a cheap blotter for his wife, a
cheap air gun for the eldest boy, and so forth.
He was over fifty, bald in an office, decent in mind,
(00:45):
and habits of uncertain opinions, uncertain politics, and uncertain religion.
Yet he considered himself a decided positive gentleman, quite unaware
that the morning newspaper determined his opinions for the day.
He just lived from day to day. Physically, he was
fit enough except for a weak heart, which never troubled him,
(01:08):
and his summer holiday was bad golf while the children
bathed and his wife read Garvise on the sands. Like
the majority of men, he dreamed idly of the past,
muddled away the present and guessed vaguely, after imaginative reading
on occasions at the future. I'd like to survive, all right,
(01:29):
he said, provided it's better than this, surveying his wife
and children and thinking of his daily toil otherwise, and
he shrugged his shoulders as a brave man should. He
went to church regularly, but nothing in church convinced him
that he did survive, just as nothing in church enticed
him into hoping that he would. On the other hand,
(01:51):
nothing in life persuaded him that he didn't. Wouldn't, couldn't.
I'm an evolutionist, he loved, to say, two thoughtful cronies
over a glass, having never heard that Darwinism had been questioned.
And so he came home gaily, happily with his bunch
of Christmas presents for the wife and little ones, stroking
(02:13):
himself upon their keen enjoyment and excitement. The night before
he had taken the wife to see magic at a
select London theater where the intellectuals went, and had been
extraordinarily stirred. He had gone questioningly yet expecting something out
of the common. It's not musical, he warned her, nor farce,
(02:35):
nor comedy. So to speak, and in answer to her
questions as to what the critics had said, he had
wriggled side and put his gaudy necktie straight four times
in quick succession. For no man in the street with
any claim to self respect could be expected to understand
what the critics had said, even if he understood the play.
(02:57):
And John had answered truthfully, oh, they just said things.
But the theaters always full, and that's the only test.
And just now, as he crossed the crowded circus to
catch his bus, it chanced that his mind, having glimpsed
an advertisement, was full of this particular play, or rather
(03:18):
of the effect it had produced upon him at the time,
for it had thrilled him inexplicably with its marvelous speculative hint,
its big audacity, its alert and spiritual beauty. Thought plunged
to find something plunged after this bizarre suggestion of a
bigger universe, after this quasied jocular suggestion that man is
(03:41):
not the only then dashed full tilt against a sentence
that memory thrust beneath his nose. Science does not exhaust
the universe, and at the same time dashed full tilt
against destruction of another kind as well. How it happened,
he never exactly knew. He saw a monster glaring at
(04:01):
him with eyes of blazing fire. It was horrible. It
rushed upon him. He dodged. Another monster met him round
the corner. Both came at him simultaneously. He dodged again,
a leap that might have cleared a hurdle easily, but
was too late. Between the pair of them, his heart
literally in his gullet, he was mercilessly caught, bones crunched.
(04:25):
There was a soft sensation, icy cold and hot as fire.
Horns and voices roared, battering rams he saw, and a
carapace of iron, then dazzling light always faced the traffic.
He remembered with a frantic yell, and by some extraordinary luck,
escaped miraculously on to the opposite pavement. There was no
(04:47):
doubt about it. By the skin of his teeth, he
had dodged a rather ugly death. First he felt for
his presence all were safe, and then instead of congratulating
himself and taking breath, he hurried homewards on foot, which
proved that his mind had lost control of it, thinking
only how disappointed the wife and children would have been
(05:08):
if if anything had happened. Another thing he realized, oddly enough,
was that he no longer really loved his wife, but
only had great affection for her. What made him think
of that, Heaven only knows, but he did think of it.
He was an honest man without pretense. This came as
a discovery. Somehow. He turned a moment and saw the
(05:31):
crowd gathered about the entangled taxi cabs, policemen's helmets gleaming
in the lights of the shop windows, then hurried on again,
his thoughts full of the joy his presence would give
of the scampering children, and his wife bless her silly heart,
eyeing the mysterious parcels. And though he never could explain
(05:53):
how he presently stood at the door of the jail
like building that contained his flat, having walked the hole
three miles, his thoughts had been so busy and absorbed
that he had scarcely noticed the length of weary trudge. Besides,
he reflected, thinking of the narrow escape, I've had a
nasty shock. It was a damned near thing, now I
(06:15):
come to think of it. He did feel a bit
shaky and bewildered, yet at the same time he felt
extraordinarily jolly and light hearted. He counted his Christmas parcels,
hugged himself in anticipatory joy, and let himself in swiftly
with his latch key. I'm late, he realized, But when
(06:35):
she sees the brown paper parcels, she'll forget to say
a word. God bless the old faithful soul. And he
softly used the key a second time and entered his
flat on tiptoe. In his mind was the master impulse
of that afternoon, the pleasure these Christmas presents would give
his wife and children. He heard a noise. He hung
(06:57):
up hat and coat in the poky vestibule they never
called it hall, and moved softly towards the parlor door,
holding the packages behind him. Only of them, he thought,
not of himself, of his family, that is, not of
the packages. Pushing the door cunningly ajar, he peeped in slyly.
(07:18):
To his amazement, the room was full of people. He
withdrew quickly, wondering what it meant, a party, and without
his knowing about it, extraordinary keen disappointment came over him.
But as he stepped back the vestibule he saw was
full of people too, he was uncommonly surprised, yet somehow
(07:39):
not surprised at all. People were congratulating him. There was
a perfect mob of them. Moreover, he knew them all,
vaguely remembered them at least, and they knew him. Isn't
it a game? Laughed some one, patting him on the back.
They haven't the least idea, and the speaker it was
old John Palmer, the bookkeeper the office, emphasized the they
(08:03):
not the least idea, he answered with a smile, saying
something he didn't understand yet knew was right. His face
apparently showed the utter bewilderment. He felt the shock of
the collision had been greater than he realized. Evidently his
mind was wandering, possibly only The odd thing was he
had never felt so clear headed in his life. Ten
(08:26):
thousand things grew simple suddenly. But how thickly these people
pressed upon him, and how familiarly my parcels, he said, joyously,
pushing his way across the throng. These are Christmas presents
I've brought for them, he nodded, toward the room. I've
saved for weeks, stopped cigars and billiards, and several other
(08:48):
good things to buy them, good man, said Palmer with
a happy laugh. It's the heart that counts. Mudbury looked
at him. Palmer had said an amazing truth. Only people
would hardly understand and believe him, would they? Ah, he asked,
feeling stuffed and stupid, muddled somewhere between two meanings, one
(09:09):
of which was gorgeous and the other stupid beyond belief.
If you please, mister Mudberry, step inside. They are expecting you,
said a kindly pompous voice, and turning sharply, he met
the gentle foolish eyes of Sir James Epiffany, a director
of the bank where he worked. The effect of the
voice was instantaneous, from long habit. They are. He smiled
(09:34):
from his heart and advanced, as from the custom of
many years. Oh how happy and gay he felt. His
affection for his wife was real. Romance indeed had gone.
But he needed her and she needed him. And the children, Milly,
Bill and Jean. He deeply loved them. Life was worth living.
(09:54):
Indeed in the room was a crowd, but an astounding silence.
John Mudbury looked round him. He advanced towards his wife,
who sat in the corner arm chair, with Milly on
her knee, A lot of people talked and moved about.
Momentarily the crowd increased. He stood in front of them,
in front of Milly and his wife, and he spoke,
(10:17):
holding out his packages. It's Christmas Eve, he whispered, shyly,
and I've brought you something, something for everybody. Look. He
held the packages before their eyes. Of course, of course,
said a voice behind him. But you may hold them
out like that for a century. They'll never see them,
of course they won't. But I love to do the
(10:39):
old sweet thing, replied John Mudbury, then wondered, with a
gasp of stark amazement, why he said it, I think,
whispered Milly, staring round her Well, what do you think?
Her mother asked sharply, you're always thinking something queer. I think,
the child continued dreamily, that daddy's all already here. She paused,
(11:02):
then added, with a child's impossible conviction, I'm sure he is.
I feel him. There was an extraordinary laugh. Sir James
Epiphany laughed. The others. The whole crowd of them also
turned their heads and smiled. But the mother, thrusting the
child away from her, rose up suddenly with a violent start.
Her face had turned to chalk. She stretched her arms
(11:25):
out into the air before her. She gasped and shivered.
There was an awful anguish in her eyes. Look repeated John,
these are the presents that I brought. But his voice
apparently was soundless, and with a spasm of icy pain,
he remembered that Palmer and Sir James, some years ago
(11:46):
had died. It's magic, he cried. But I love you, Jenny,
I love you, and and I have always been true
to you, as true as steel. We need each other. Oh,
can't you see we go on together, you and I
forever and ever. Think, interrupted an exquisitely tender voice. Don't shout,
(12:08):
they can't hear you now, and turning, John Mudbury met
the eyes of Everard Minturn, their president of the year
before Minturn had gone down with a Titanic. He dropped
his parcels. Then his heart gave an enormous leap of joy.
He saw her face, the face of his wife, look
through him, but the child gazed straight into his eyes.
(12:33):
She saw him. The next thing he knew was that
he heard something tinkling far far away. It sounded miles
below him. Inside him, he was sounding himself all utterly bewildering,
like a bell. It was a bell. Milly stooped down
and picked the parcels up, Her face shone with happiness
(12:55):
and laughter. But a man came in soon after, a
man with a ridiculous solemn face, a pencil and a
note book. He wore a dark blue helmet. Behind him
came a string of other men. They carried something, something
He could not see exactly what it was, But when
he pressed forward through the laughing throng to gaze upon it,
(13:19):
he dimly made out two eyes, a nose, a chin,
a deep red smear, and a pair of folded hands
upon an overcoat. A woman's form fell down upon them. Then,
and he heard soft sounds of children weeping strangely, and
other sounds, sounds as of familiar voices, laughing, laughing gaily.
(13:42):
They'll join us presently. It goes like a flash, and
turning with great happiness in his heart, he saw that
Sir James had said it, holding Palmer by the arm,
as with some natural yet unexpected love of sympathetic friendship.
Come on, said Palmer, smiling like a man who accepts
a gift in universal fellowship. Let's help him. They'll never understand. Still,
(14:06):
we can always try. The entire throng moved up with
laughter and amusement. It was a moment of hearty, genuine
life at last. Delight and joy and peace were everywhere.
Then John Mudbury realized the truth that he was dead.
(14:27):
End of story fourteen.
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