December 5, 2025 • 29 mins
Listen Ad Free https://www.solgoodmedia.com - Listen to hundreds of audiobooks, thousands of short stories, and ambient sounds all ad free!
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Lost Hearts by m R James. It was, as far
as I can ascertain, in September of the year eighteen eleven,
that a post chairs drew up before the door of
Assowerbee Hall in the heart of Lincolnshire. The little boy,
(00:22):
who was the only passenger in the chaise, and who
jumped out as soon as it had stopped, looked about
him with the keenest curiosity. During the short interval that
elapsed between the ringing of the bell and the opening
of the hall door, he saw a tall, square, red
brick house built in the rain of Anne. A stone
(00:43):
pillared porch had been added in the purer classical style
of seventeen ninety. The windows of the house were many,
tall and narrow, with small panes and thick white woodwork.
A pediment pierced with a round window, crowned the front.
There were wings to right and left, connected by curious
(01:06):
glazed galleries supported by colonnades with the central block. These
wings plainly contained the stables and offices of the house.
Each was surmounted by an ornamental cupola with a gilded vein.
(01:26):
An evening light shone on the building, making the window
panes glow like so many fires away from the hall.
In front stretched a flat park studded with oaks and
fringed with firs, which stood out against the sky. The
clock in the church tower buried in trees on the
(01:49):
edge of the park, only its golden weathercock catching the
light was striking six, and the sand came gently beating
down the wind. It was altogether a pleasant impression, though
tinged with a sort of melancholy appropriate to an evening
in early autumn, that was conveyed to the mind of
(02:12):
the boy who was standing in the porch waiting for
the door to open to him. The post chairs had
brought him from Warwickshire, where some six months before he
had been left an orphan. Now, owing to the generous
offer of his elderly cousin, mister Abney, he had come
(02:34):
to live at Aswabi. The offer was unexpected, because all
he knew anything of mister Abney looked upon him as
a somewhat austere recluse into whose steady going household the
advent of a small boy would import a new and
it seemed incongruous element. The truth is that very little
(02:59):
was known of mister Abney's pursuits or temper. The professor
of Greek at Cambridge had been heard to say that
no one knew more of the religious beliefs of the
later Pagans than did the owner of Aswarbi. Certainly, his
library contained all the then available books bearing on the mysteries,
(03:21):
the Orphic poems, the worship of Mithras, and the neo Platonists.
In the marble paved hall stood a fine group of
Mithras slaying a bull, which had been imported from the
Levant at great expense by the owner. He had contributed
(03:44):
a description of it to the Gentleman's Magazine, and he
had written a remarkable series of articles in the Critical
Museum on the superstitions of the Romans of the Lower Empire.
He was looked upon in fine as a man wrapped
up in his books. And it was a matter of
(04:05):
great surprise among his neighbors that he should ever have
heard of his orphan cousin, Stephen Elliot, much more that
he should have volunteered to make him an inmate of
Aswarby Hall. Whatever may have been expected by his neighbors,
it is certain that mister Abney, the tall, the thin,
(04:27):
the austere, seemed inclined to give his young cousin a
kindly reception. The moment the front doors opened, he darted
out of his study, rubbing his hands with delight. How
are you, my boy? How are you? How old are you?
Said he? That is, you are not too much tired?
I hope by your journey to eat your supper? Now,
(04:49):
thank you, sir, said Master Elliot. I am pretty well. Well,
that's a good lad, said mister Abney. How old are you,
my boy? It seemed a little odd that he should
have asked the question twice in the first two minutes
of their acquaintance. I'm toll year's old. Next birthday, sir,
said Stephen. And when is your birthday, my dear boy,
eleventh of September. Well, that is well, that is very
(05:10):
well nearly a year. Hence, isn't it? I like, ha ha,
I like to get these things down in my book.
Sure it's twelve, certain, Yes, quite sure, sir. Well, well
take him to missus Bunch's room, Parks and let him
have his tea super whatever it is. Yes, sir, answered
the staid mister Parks, and conducted Stephen to the lower regions.
(05:35):
Missus Bunch was the most comfortable and human person whom
Stephen had as yet met at aswellby she made him
completely at home. They were great friends in a quarter
of an hour, and great friends they remained. Missus Bunch
had been born in the neighborhood some fifty five years
before the date of Stephen's arrival, and her residence at
(05:57):
the Hall was of twenty years. Consequently, if anyone knew
the ins and outs of the house and the district,
Missus Bunch knew them, and she was by no means
disinclined to communicate her information. Certainly, there were plenty of
things about the hall and the hall gardens which Stephen,
(06:19):
who was of an adventurous and inquiring turn, was anxious
to have explained to him. Who built the temple at
the end at the Laurel wall, Who was the old
man whose picture hung on the staircase sitting at the
table with a skull under his hand. These and many
similar points were cleared up by the resources of Missus
(06:42):
Bunch's powerful intellect. There were others, however, of which the
explanations furnished were less satisfactory. One November evening, Stephen was
sitting by the fire in the housekeeper's room, reflecting on
his surround. Is mister Abney a good man? And will
(07:04):
he go to heaven? He suddenly asked, with the peculiar
confidence which children possess in the ability of their elders
to settle those questions, the decision of which is believed
to be reserved for other tribunals. Good bless the child,
said Missus Bunch. Masters as kind a soul as ever
(07:28):
I see, didn't I never tell you of the little
boy as he took in out of the street, as
you may say, is seven years back, and the little
girl two years after I first come here. No, do
tell me all about the missus Bunch now this minute, well,
said missus Bunch. The little girl I don't seem to
(07:51):
recollect so much about I know. Master brought her back
with him from his walk one day and give orders
to missus Ellis as was housekeeper then as she should be,
took every care with And the poor child hadn't no
one belonging to her. She telled me so her own self.
And here she lived with us a matter of three weeks,
(08:12):
it might be, And then whether she was something of
a gypsy in a blood or what not. But one
mornin' she out of her bed afore any of us
had opened night, neither track nor yet trace of her
have I set eyes on. Sense. Master was wonderful put
about and had all the ponds dragged. But it's my
belief she was had away by them gypsies, for they
(08:33):
were singing round the house for as much as an
hour the night she went. And Parkes he declare, as
he heard them a calling in the woods all that afternoon.
Dear dear, ohrd child, she was so silent in her ways,
and awe, but I was wonderful taken up with her,
so domesticated she was surprise him. And what about the
(08:54):
little boy, said stephen Ah, That poor boy sighed missus bunch,
he were a foreigner. Jevanny, he called hisself, and he
come a tweak in his iry gurdy round and about
the drive one went a day, And Master had him
in that minute and asked all about where he came from,
(09:15):
and how old he was, and how he made his way,
and where was his relatives, and all as kind as
art could wish. But it weren't the same way with them.
There unruly lot them foreign nations, I do suppose. And
he was off one fine morning, just the same as
the girl. Why he went and what he'd done was
(09:37):
our question for as much as a year after, for
he never took his dirty gurdy, and there it lays
on the shelf. The remainder of the evening I was
spent by Stephen in miscellaneous cross examination of Missus Bunch,
and in efforts to extract a tune from the hurdy Gurdy.
That night he had a curious dream. At the end
(10:01):
of the passage at the top of the house in
which his bedroom was situated, there was an old, disused bathroom.
It was kept locked, but the upper half of the
door was glazed, and since the muslin curtains which used
to hang there had long been gone, you could look
(10:21):
in and see the lead line bar the pixt of
the wall on the right hand, with its head toward
the window. On the night of which I am speaking,
Stephen Elliot found himself, as he thought, looking through the
glazed door. The moon was shining through the window, and
(10:43):
he was gazing at a figure which lay in the bar.
His description of what he saw reminds me of what
I once beheld myself in the famous vaults of Saint
Michain's Church. In Dublin, which possesses the horrid property of
preserving corpses from decay for centuries. A figure inexpressibly thin
(11:10):
and pathetic, of a dusty leaden color, enveloped in a
shroud like garment. The thin lips crooked into a faint
and dreadful smile. The hands pressed tightly over the region
of the heart. As he looked upon it, a distant,
(11:32):
almost inaudible moan seemed to issue from its lips, and
the arms began to stir. The terror of the sight
forced Stephen backwards, and he awoke to the fact that
he was indeed standing on the cold bordered floor of
the passage, in the full light of the moon, with
(11:54):
a courage which I do not think can becoming among
boys of his age. He went to the door of
the buve room to ascertain if the figure of his
dreams were really there. It was not, and he went
back to bed. Missus Bunch was much impressed next morning
by his story, and went so far as to replace
(12:15):
the muslin curtain over the glazed door of the bathroom.
Mister Abney, moreover, to whom he confided his experiences at breakfast,
was greatly interested and made notes of the matter in
what he called his book. The spring equinox was approaching,
(12:38):
as mister Abney frequently reminded his cousin, adding that this
had been always considered by the ancients to be a
critical time for the young, that Stephen would do well
to take care of himself and to shut his bedroom
window at night, and that Sensorinus had some valuable remark
(13:00):
on the subject. Two incidents that occurred about this time
made an impression upon Stephen's mind. The first was after
an unusually uneasy and oppressed night that he had passed,
though he could not recall any particular dream that he
had had. The following evening, missus Bunch was occupying herself
(13:24):
in mending his night gown. Gracious may Master Stephen, she
broke forth, rather irritably, how do you manage to tell
your night dress or to Flinders this way? Look here, sir,
what trouble you do you give to poor servant that
aptor darn and mend up to you? There was indeed
(13:45):
a most destructive and apparently wanting series of slits or
scorings in the garment, which would undoubtedly require a skillful
needle to make good They were confined to the left
side of the chest, long parallel slits about six inches
in length, some of them not quite piercing the texture
(14:08):
of the linen. Stephen could only express his entire ignorance
of their origin. He was sure they were not there
the night before, but he said, Missus Bunch, they are
just the same as the scratches on the outside of
my bedroom door, and I'm sure I never had anything
to do with making them. Missus Bunch gazed at him
(14:31):
open mouthed, then snatched up a candle, departed hastily from
the room, and was heard making her way upstairs. In
a few minutes she came down. Well, she said, Master Stephen,
it's a funny thing to me, and their marks and
scratches canna come there, two. I up for any cat
(14:52):
or dog to have made them much lesser rack for
all the world like a chinaman's finger nails. As my
uncle in the teacher age used to tell us of
when we was girls together, I wouldn't say nothing to Master,
not if I was you. Master Stephen, my dear, and
just turn the key of the door when you go
to your bed. I always do, Missus Bunch, as soon
(15:15):
as I've said my prayers. Ah, that's a good child.
Always say your prayers and then no one can't hurt you.
Herewith Missus Bunch addressed herself to mending the injured nightgown,
with intervals of meditation until bedtime. This was on a
(15:36):
Friday night in March eighteen twelve. On the following evening,
the usual duet of Stephen and Missus Bunch was augmented
by the sudden arrival of mister Parkes, the butler, who
as a rule kept himself rather to himself in his
(15:57):
own pantry. He did not see that Stephen was there.
He was more overflustered and less slow of speech than
was his wont master may get up his own wine
if he likes of an evening, was his first remark.
Either I'd do it in the daytime or not at all,
Missus Bunch, I don't know what it may be, very
like it's the rats or the wind getting to the cellars.
(16:19):
But I'm not so young as I was, and I
can't go through with it as I have done. Well.
Mister Parks, you know it is a surprising place for
the rats is the hall. I'm not denying that, Missus bunch.
And to be sure, many a time I've heard that
from the men in the shipyards about the rat that
could speak. I never laid no confidence in that before.
(16:41):
But tonight, if I demeaned myself to lay my ear
to the door with the further ben, I could pretty
much have heard what they were saying. Oh they're mister Parks.
I've no patience with your fancies rats talking in the
wine cellars. Indeed, well, missus bunch, I've no wish to
(17:02):
argue with you. All I say is, if you choose
to go to the far bend and lay your ear
to the door, you may prove my words this minute.
What nonsense you do talk, mister Parks, not fit for
children to listen to. Why you'll be frightening Master Stephen
dare out of his wits what Master Stephen said, Parks
(17:25):
awaking to the consciousness of the boy's presence. Master Stephen
knows well enough when I'm playing a joke with you,
missus bunch. In fact, Master Steben knew much too well
to suppose that mister Parks had, in the first instance
intended a joke. He was interested, not altogether pleasantly in
(17:48):
the situation but all his questions were unsuccessful in inducing
the butler to give any more detailed account of his
experiences the wine cellar. We have now arrived at March
twenty fourth, eighteen twelve. It was a day of curious
(18:12):
experiences for Stephen, a windy, noisy day which filled the
house and the gardens with a restless impression. As Stephen
stood by the fence of the grounds and looked out
into the park, he felt as if an endless procession
of unseen people were sweeping past him on the wind,
(18:33):
borne on resistlessly and aimlessly, vainly striving to stop themselves,
to catch at something that might arrest their flight and
bring them once again into contact with the living world
of which they had formed a part. After luncheon that day,
(18:53):
mister Apney said, Stephen, my boy, do you think you
could manage to come to me? Tonight is eleven o'clock
in my study. I shall be busy until that time,
and I wish to show you something connected with your
future life, which it is most important that you should know.
You are not to mention this matter to missus Bunch,
nor to any one else in the house, and you
(19:15):
had better go to your room at the usual time.
Here was a new excitement added to life. Stephen eagerly
grasped with the opportunity of sitting up till eleven o'clock.
He looked in at the library door on his way
upstairs that evening and saw a brazier which he had
(19:35):
often noticed in the corner of the room, moved out
before the fire. An old silber gilt cup stood on
the table filled with red wine, and some written sheets
of paper lay near it. Mister Abney was sprinkling some
incense on the braziere from a round sober box. Asked,
(20:00):
even passed, but did not seem to notice his step.
The wind had fallen and there was a still night
and a full moon. At about ten o'clock, Stephen was
standing at the open window of his bedroom, looking out
over the country. Still as the night was, the mysterious
(20:24):
population of the distant moonlit woods was not yet lulled
to rest. From time to time, strange cries, as of
lost and despairing wanderers sounded from across the mere. They
might be the notes of owls or water birds, yet
they did not quite resemble either. Sand were not they
(20:46):
coming nearer? Now? They sounded from the nearer side of
the water, and in a few moments they seemed to
be floating about among the shrubberies. Then they ceased. But
just as Stephen was thinking of shutting the window and
resuming his reading of Robinson Crusoe, he caught sight of
(21:07):
two figures standing on the gravel terrace that ran along
the garden side of the hall, the figures of a
boy and girl. As it seemed they stood side by side,
looking up at the windows. Something in the form of
the girl recalled irresistibly his dream of the figure in
(21:28):
the bar. The boy inspired him with more acute fear,
Whilst the girl stood still, half smiling, with her hands
clasped over her heart. The boy, a thin shape with
black hair and ragged clothing, raised his arms in the
(21:49):
air with an appearance of menace and of unappeaceable hunger
and longing. The moon shone upon his almost transparent hands,
and Stephen saw that the nails were fearfully long, and
that the light shone through them. As he stood with
(22:12):
his arms thus raised, he disclosed a terrifying spectacle. On
the left side of his chest. There opened a black
and gaping rent, and there fell upon Stephen's brain, rather
than upon his ear, the impression of one of those
(22:33):
hungry and desolate cries that he had heard resounding over
the woods of aswellby all that evening in another moment,
this dreadful pair had moved swiftly and noiselessly over the
dry gravel, and he saw them no more inexpressibly. Frightened
(22:54):
as he was, he determined to take his candle and
go down to mister Abner's study, for the hour appointed
for their meeting was near at hand. The study or
library opened out of the front hall on one side,
and Stephen, urged on by his terrors, did not take
long in getting there. To effect an entrance was not
(23:15):
so easy. It was not locked, he felt sure, for
the key was on the outside of the door. As usual,
his repeated knocks produced no answer. Mister Abney was engaged.
He was speaking what Why did he try to cry out?
And why was the cry choked in his throat? Had
(23:36):
he too seen the mysterious children? But now everything was quiet,
and the door yielded to Stephen's terrified and frantic pushing
on the table in mister Abney's study, certain papers were
found which explained the situation to Stephen Elliot when he
was of an age to understand them. The most important
(23:58):
sentences were as follow It was a belief very strongly
and generally held by the ancients, of whose wisdom in
these matters I have had such experience as induces me
to place confidence in their assertions that by enacting certain
processes which to us moderns have something of a barbaric complexion,
(24:21):
a very remarkable enlightenment of the spiritual faculties in man
may be attained, that, for example, by absorbing the personalities
of a certain number of his fellow creatures, an individual
may gain a complete ascendency over those orders of spiritual
beings which control the elemental forces of our universe. It
(24:46):
is recorded of Simon Magus that he was able to
fly in the air, to become invisible, or to assume
any form he pleased, by the agency of the soul
of a boy whom to whose the libelous phrase employed
by the author of the Clementine recognitions he had murdered.
(25:10):
I find it sat down moreover, with considerable detail in
the writings of Hermes Trismegistus, that similar happy results may
be produced by the absorption of the hearts of not
less than three human beings below the age of twenty
(25:31):
one years. To the testing of the truth of this receipt,
I have devoted the greater part of the last twenty years,
selecting as the copper our bilia of my experiment such
persons as could conveniently be removed without occasioning a sensible
(25:54):
gap in society. The first step I effected by the
removal of one Phebe's family, a girl of gipsy extraction,
on March twenty fourth, seventeen ninety two. The second by
the removal of a wandering Italian lad named Giovanni Pauley
(26:16):
on the night of March twenty third, eighteen o five.
The final victim to employ a word repugnant in the
highest degree to my feelings must be my cousin, Stephen Elliot.
His day must be this March twenty fourth, eighteen twelve.
The best means of affecting the required absorption is to
(26:40):
remove the heart from the living subject, to reduce it
to ashes, and to mingle them with about a pint
of some red wine, preferably pot. The remains of the
first two subjects at least it will be well to
conceal a disused bathroom or wine cellar will be found
(27:04):
convenient for such a purpose. Some annoyance may be experienced
from the psychic portion of the subjects, which popular language
dignifies with the name of ghosts. But the man of
philosophic temperament, to whom alone the experiment is appropriate, will
(27:24):
be little prone to attach importance to the feeble efforts
of these beings to wreak their vengeance on him. I
contemplate with the liveliest satisfaction the enlarged, unemancipated existence which
the experiment, if successful, will confer on me, not only
(27:46):
placing me beyond the reach of human justice so called,
but eliminating to a great extent the prospect of death itself.
Mister Abney was found in his chair, his head thrown back,
(28:07):
his face stamped with an expression of rage, fright, and
mortal pain, in his left side with a terrible lacerated
wound exposing the heart. There was no blood on his hands,
and a long knife that lay on the table was
perfectly clean. A savage wildcat might have inflicted the injuries.
(28:30):
The window of the study was open, and it was
the opinion of the coroner that mister Abney had met
his death by the agency of some wild creature. But
Stephen Elliott's study of the papers I have quoted led
him to a very different conclusion. The End of Lost
(28:58):
Hearts I. N. R. James
Lost Hearts by m R James. It was, as far
as I can ascertain, in September of the year eighteen eleven,
that a post chairs drew up before the door of
Assowerbee Hall in the heart of Lincolnshire. The little boy,
(00:22):
who was the only passenger in the chaise, and who
jumped out as soon as it had stopped, looked about
him with the keenest curiosity. During the short interval that
elapsed between the ringing of the bell and the opening
of the hall door, he saw a tall, square, red
brick house built in the rain of Anne. A stone
(00:43):
pillared porch had been added in the purer classical style
of seventeen ninety. The windows of the house were many,
tall and narrow, with small panes and thick white woodwork.
A pediment pierced with a round window, crowned the front.
There were wings to right and left, connected by curious
(01:06):
glazed galleries supported by colonnades with the central block. These
wings plainly contained the stables and offices of the house.
Each was surmounted by an ornamental cupola with a gilded vein.
(01:26):
An evening light shone on the building, making the window
panes glow like so many fires away from the hall.
In front stretched a flat park studded with oaks and
fringed with firs, which stood out against the sky. The
clock in the church tower buried in trees on the
(01:49):
edge of the park, only its golden weathercock catching the
light was striking six, and the sand came gently beating
down the wind. It was altogether a pleasant impression, though
tinged with a sort of melancholy appropriate to an evening
in early autumn, that was conveyed to the mind of
(02:12):
the boy who was standing in the porch waiting for
the door to open to him. The post chairs had
brought him from Warwickshire, where some six months before he
had been left an orphan. Now, owing to the generous
offer of his elderly cousin, mister Abney, he had come
(02:34):
to live at Aswabi. The offer was unexpected, because all
he knew anything of mister Abney looked upon him as
a somewhat austere recluse into whose steady going household the
advent of a small boy would import a new and
it seemed incongruous element. The truth is that very little
(02:59):
was known of mister Abney's pursuits or temper. The professor
of Greek at Cambridge had been heard to say that
no one knew more of the religious beliefs of the
later Pagans than did the owner of Aswarbi. Certainly, his
library contained all the then available books bearing on the mysteries,
(03:21):
the Orphic poems, the worship of Mithras, and the neo Platonists.
In the marble paved hall stood a fine group of
Mithras slaying a bull, which had been imported from the
Levant at great expense by the owner. He had contributed
(03:44):
a description of it to the Gentleman's Magazine, and he
had written a remarkable series of articles in the Critical
Museum on the superstitions of the Romans of the Lower Empire.
He was looked upon in fine as a man wrapped
up in his books. And it was a matter of
(04:05):
great surprise among his neighbors that he should ever have
heard of his orphan cousin, Stephen Elliot, much more that
he should have volunteered to make him an inmate of
Aswarby Hall. Whatever may have been expected by his neighbors,
it is certain that mister Abney, the tall, the thin,
(04:27):
the austere, seemed inclined to give his young cousin a
kindly reception. The moment the front doors opened, he darted
out of his study, rubbing his hands with delight. How
are you, my boy? How are you? How old are you?
Said he? That is, you are not too much tired?
I hope by your journey to eat your supper? Now,
(04:49):
thank you, sir, said Master Elliot. I am pretty well. Well,
that's a good lad, said mister Abney. How old are you,
my boy? It seemed a little odd that he should
have asked the question twice in the first two minutes
of their acquaintance. I'm toll year's old. Next birthday, sir,
said Stephen. And when is your birthday, my dear boy,
eleventh of September. Well, that is well, that is very
(05:10):
well nearly a year. Hence, isn't it? I like, ha ha,
I like to get these things down in my book.
Sure it's twelve, certain, Yes, quite sure, sir. Well, well
take him to missus Bunch's room, Parks and let him
have his tea super whatever it is. Yes, sir, answered
the staid mister Parks, and conducted Stephen to the lower regions.
(05:35):
Missus Bunch was the most comfortable and human person whom
Stephen had as yet met at aswellby she made him
completely at home. They were great friends in a quarter
of an hour, and great friends they remained. Missus Bunch
had been born in the neighborhood some fifty five years
before the date of Stephen's arrival, and her residence at
(05:57):
the Hall was of twenty years. Consequently, if anyone knew
the ins and outs of the house and the district,
Missus Bunch knew them, and she was by no means
disinclined to communicate her information. Certainly, there were plenty of
things about the hall and the hall gardens which Stephen,
(06:19):
who was of an adventurous and inquiring turn, was anxious
to have explained to him. Who built the temple at
the end at the Laurel wall, Who was the old
man whose picture hung on the staircase sitting at the
table with a skull under his hand. These and many
similar points were cleared up by the resources of Missus
(06:42):
Bunch's powerful intellect. There were others, however, of which the
explanations furnished were less satisfactory. One November evening, Stephen was
sitting by the fire in the housekeeper's room, reflecting on
his surround. Is mister Abney a good man? And will
(07:04):
he go to heaven? He suddenly asked, with the peculiar
confidence which children possess in the ability of their elders
to settle those questions, the decision of which is believed
to be reserved for other tribunals. Good bless the child,
said Missus Bunch. Masters as kind a soul as ever
(07:28):
I see, didn't I never tell you of the little
boy as he took in out of the street, as
you may say, is seven years back, and the little
girl two years after I first come here. No, do
tell me all about the missus Bunch now this minute, well,
said missus Bunch. The little girl I don't seem to
(07:51):
recollect so much about I know. Master brought her back
with him from his walk one day and give orders
to missus Ellis as was housekeeper then as she should be,
took every care with And the poor child hadn't no
one belonging to her. She telled me so her own self.
And here she lived with us a matter of three weeks,
(08:12):
it might be, And then whether she was something of
a gypsy in a blood or what not. But one
mornin' she out of her bed afore any of us
had opened night, neither track nor yet trace of her
have I set eyes on. Sense. Master was wonderful put
about and had all the ponds dragged. But it's my
belief she was had away by them gypsies, for they
(08:33):
were singing round the house for as much as an
hour the night she went. And Parkes he declare, as
he heard them a calling in the woods all that afternoon.
Dear dear, ohrd child, she was so silent in her ways,
and awe, but I was wonderful taken up with her,
so domesticated she was surprise him. And what about the
(08:54):
little boy, said stephen Ah, That poor boy sighed missus bunch,
he were a foreigner. Jevanny, he called hisself, and he
come a tweak in his iry gurdy round and about
the drive one went a day, And Master had him
in that minute and asked all about where he came from,
(09:15):
and how old he was, and how he made his way,
and where was his relatives, and all as kind as
art could wish. But it weren't the same way with them.
There unruly lot them foreign nations, I do suppose. And
he was off one fine morning, just the same as
the girl. Why he went and what he'd done was
(09:37):
our question for as much as a year after, for
he never took his dirty gurdy, and there it lays
on the shelf. The remainder of the evening I was
spent by Stephen in miscellaneous cross examination of Missus Bunch,
and in efforts to extract a tune from the hurdy Gurdy.
That night he had a curious dream. At the end
(10:01):
of the passage at the top of the house in
which his bedroom was situated, there was an old, disused bathroom.
It was kept locked, but the upper half of the
door was glazed, and since the muslin curtains which used
to hang there had long been gone, you could look
(10:21):
in and see the lead line bar the pixt of
the wall on the right hand, with its head toward
the window. On the night of which I am speaking,
Stephen Elliot found himself, as he thought, looking through the
glazed door. The moon was shining through the window, and
(10:43):
he was gazing at a figure which lay in the bar.
His description of what he saw reminds me of what
I once beheld myself in the famous vaults of Saint
Michain's Church. In Dublin, which possesses the horrid property of
preserving corpses from decay for centuries. A figure inexpressibly thin
(11:10):
and pathetic, of a dusty leaden color, enveloped in a
shroud like garment. The thin lips crooked into a faint
and dreadful smile. The hands pressed tightly over the region
of the heart. As he looked upon it, a distant,
(11:32):
almost inaudible moan seemed to issue from its lips, and
the arms began to stir. The terror of the sight
forced Stephen backwards, and he awoke to the fact that
he was indeed standing on the cold bordered floor of
the passage, in the full light of the moon, with
(11:54):
a courage which I do not think can becoming among
boys of his age. He went to the door of
the buve room to ascertain if the figure of his
dreams were really there. It was not, and he went
back to bed. Missus Bunch was much impressed next morning
by his story, and went so far as to replace
(12:15):
the muslin curtain over the glazed door of the bathroom.
Mister Abney, moreover, to whom he confided his experiences at breakfast,
was greatly interested and made notes of the matter in
what he called his book. The spring equinox was approaching,
(12:38):
as mister Abney frequently reminded his cousin, adding that this
had been always considered by the ancients to be a
critical time for the young, that Stephen would do well
to take care of himself and to shut his bedroom
window at night, and that Sensorinus had some valuable remark
(13:00):
on the subject. Two incidents that occurred about this time
made an impression upon Stephen's mind. The first was after
an unusually uneasy and oppressed night that he had passed,
though he could not recall any particular dream that he
had had. The following evening, missus Bunch was occupying herself
(13:24):
in mending his night gown. Gracious may Master Stephen, she
broke forth, rather irritably, how do you manage to tell
your night dress or to Flinders this way? Look here, sir,
what trouble you do you give to poor servant that
aptor darn and mend up to you? There was indeed
(13:45):
a most destructive and apparently wanting series of slits or
scorings in the garment, which would undoubtedly require a skillful
needle to make good They were confined to the left
side of the chest, long parallel slits about six inches
in length, some of them not quite piercing the texture
(14:08):
of the linen. Stephen could only express his entire ignorance
of their origin. He was sure they were not there
the night before, but he said, Missus Bunch, they are
just the same as the scratches on the outside of
my bedroom door, and I'm sure I never had anything
to do with making them. Missus Bunch gazed at him
(14:31):
open mouthed, then snatched up a candle, departed hastily from
the room, and was heard making her way upstairs. In
a few minutes she came down. Well, she said, Master Stephen,
it's a funny thing to me, and their marks and
scratches canna come there, two. I up for any cat
(14:52):
or dog to have made them much lesser rack for
all the world like a chinaman's finger nails. As my
uncle in the teacher age used to tell us of
when we was girls together, I wouldn't say nothing to Master,
not if I was you. Master Stephen, my dear, and
just turn the key of the door when you go
to your bed. I always do, Missus Bunch, as soon
(15:15):
as I've said my prayers. Ah, that's a good child.
Always say your prayers and then no one can't hurt you.
Herewith Missus Bunch addressed herself to mending the injured nightgown,
with intervals of meditation until bedtime. This was on a
(15:36):
Friday night in March eighteen twelve. On the following evening,
the usual duet of Stephen and Missus Bunch was augmented
by the sudden arrival of mister Parkes, the butler, who
as a rule kept himself rather to himself in his
(15:57):
own pantry. He did not see that Stephen was there.
He was more overflustered and less slow of speech than
was his wont master may get up his own wine
if he likes of an evening, was his first remark.
Either I'd do it in the daytime or not at all,
Missus Bunch, I don't know what it may be, very
like it's the rats or the wind getting to the cellars.
(16:19):
But I'm not so young as I was, and I
can't go through with it as I have done. Well.
Mister Parks, you know it is a surprising place for
the rats is the hall. I'm not denying that, Missus bunch.
And to be sure, many a time I've heard that
from the men in the shipyards about the rat that
could speak. I never laid no confidence in that before.
(16:41):
But tonight, if I demeaned myself to lay my ear
to the door with the further ben, I could pretty
much have heard what they were saying. Oh they're mister Parks.
I've no patience with your fancies rats talking in the
wine cellars. Indeed, well, missus bunch, I've no wish to
(17:02):
argue with you. All I say is, if you choose
to go to the far bend and lay your ear
to the door, you may prove my words this minute.
What nonsense you do talk, mister Parks, not fit for
children to listen to. Why you'll be frightening Master Stephen
dare out of his wits what Master Stephen said, Parks
(17:25):
awaking to the consciousness of the boy's presence. Master Stephen
knows well enough when I'm playing a joke with you,
missus bunch. In fact, Master Steben knew much too well
to suppose that mister Parks had, in the first instance
intended a joke. He was interested, not altogether pleasantly in
(17:48):
the situation but all his questions were unsuccessful in inducing
the butler to give any more detailed account of his
experiences the wine cellar. We have now arrived at March
twenty fourth, eighteen twelve. It was a day of curious
(18:12):
experiences for Stephen, a windy, noisy day which filled the
house and the gardens with a restless impression. As Stephen
stood by the fence of the grounds and looked out
into the park, he felt as if an endless procession
of unseen people were sweeping past him on the wind,
(18:33):
borne on resistlessly and aimlessly, vainly striving to stop themselves,
to catch at something that might arrest their flight and
bring them once again into contact with the living world
of which they had formed a part. After luncheon that day,
(18:53):
mister Apney said, Stephen, my boy, do you think you
could manage to come to me? Tonight is eleven o'clock
in my study. I shall be busy until that time,
and I wish to show you something connected with your
future life, which it is most important that you should know.
You are not to mention this matter to missus Bunch,
nor to any one else in the house, and you
(19:15):
had better go to your room at the usual time.
Here was a new excitement added to life. Stephen eagerly
grasped with the opportunity of sitting up till eleven o'clock.
He looked in at the library door on his way
upstairs that evening and saw a brazier which he had
(19:35):
often noticed in the corner of the room, moved out
before the fire. An old silber gilt cup stood on
the table filled with red wine, and some written sheets
of paper lay near it. Mister Abney was sprinkling some
incense on the braziere from a round sober box. Asked,
(20:00):
even passed, but did not seem to notice his step.
The wind had fallen and there was a still night
and a full moon. At about ten o'clock, Stephen was
standing at the open window of his bedroom, looking out
over the country. Still as the night was, the mysterious
(20:24):
population of the distant moonlit woods was not yet lulled
to rest. From time to time, strange cries, as of
lost and despairing wanderers sounded from across the mere. They
might be the notes of owls or water birds, yet
they did not quite resemble either. Sand were not they
(20:46):
coming nearer? Now? They sounded from the nearer side of
the water, and in a few moments they seemed to
be floating about among the shrubberies. Then they ceased. But
just as Stephen was thinking of shutting the window and
resuming his reading of Robinson Crusoe, he caught sight of
(21:07):
two figures standing on the gravel terrace that ran along
the garden side of the hall, the figures of a
boy and girl. As it seemed they stood side by side,
looking up at the windows. Something in the form of
the girl recalled irresistibly his dream of the figure in
(21:28):
the bar. The boy inspired him with more acute fear,
Whilst the girl stood still, half smiling, with her hands
clasped over her heart. The boy, a thin shape with
black hair and ragged clothing, raised his arms in the
(21:49):
air with an appearance of menace and of unappeaceable hunger
and longing. The moon shone upon his almost transparent hands,
and Stephen saw that the nails were fearfully long, and
that the light shone through them. As he stood with
(22:12):
his arms thus raised, he disclosed a terrifying spectacle. On
the left side of his chest. There opened a black
and gaping rent, and there fell upon Stephen's brain, rather
than upon his ear, the impression of one of those
(22:33):
hungry and desolate cries that he had heard resounding over
the woods of aswellby all that evening in another moment,
this dreadful pair had moved swiftly and noiselessly over the
dry gravel, and he saw them no more inexpressibly. Frightened
(22:54):
as he was, he determined to take his candle and
go down to mister Abner's study, for the hour appointed
for their meeting was near at hand. The study or
library opened out of the front hall on one side,
and Stephen, urged on by his terrors, did not take
long in getting there. To effect an entrance was not
(23:15):
so easy. It was not locked, he felt sure, for
the key was on the outside of the door. As usual,
his repeated knocks produced no answer. Mister Abney was engaged.
He was speaking what Why did he try to cry out?
And why was the cry choked in his throat? Had
(23:36):
he too seen the mysterious children? But now everything was quiet,
and the door yielded to Stephen's terrified and frantic pushing
on the table in mister Abney's study, certain papers were
found which explained the situation to Stephen Elliot when he
was of an age to understand them. The most important
(23:58):
sentences were as follow It was a belief very strongly
and generally held by the ancients, of whose wisdom in
these matters I have had such experience as induces me
to place confidence in their assertions that by enacting certain
processes which to us moderns have something of a barbaric complexion,
(24:21):
a very remarkable enlightenment of the spiritual faculties in man
may be attained, that, for example, by absorbing the personalities
of a certain number of his fellow creatures, an individual
may gain a complete ascendency over those orders of spiritual
beings which control the elemental forces of our universe. It
(24:46):
is recorded of Simon Magus that he was able to
fly in the air, to become invisible, or to assume
any form he pleased, by the agency of the soul
of a boy whom to whose the libelous phrase employed
by the author of the Clementine recognitions he had murdered.
(25:10):
I find it sat down moreover, with considerable detail in
the writings of Hermes Trismegistus, that similar happy results may
be produced by the absorption of the hearts of not
less than three human beings below the age of twenty
(25:31):
one years. To the testing of the truth of this receipt,
I have devoted the greater part of the last twenty years,
selecting as the copper our bilia of my experiment such
persons as could conveniently be removed without occasioning a sensible
(25:54):
gap in society. The first step I effected by the
removal of one Phebe's family, a girl of gipsy extraction,
on March twenty fourth, seventeen ninety two. The second by
the removal of a wandering Italian lad named Giovanni Pauley
(26:16):
on the night of March twenty third, eighteen o five.
The final victim to employ a word repugnant in the
highest degree to my feelings must be my cousin, Stephen Elliot.
His day must be this March twenty fourth, eighteen twelve.
The best means of affecting the required absorption is to
(26:40):
remove the heart from the living subject, to reduce it
to ashes, and to mingle them with about a pint
of some red wine, preferably pot. The remains of the
first two subjects at least it will be well to
conceal a disused bathroom or wine cellar will be found
(27:04):
convenient for such a purpose. Some annoyance may be experienced
from the psychic portion of the subjects, which popular language
dignifies with the name of ghosts. But the man of
philosophic temperament, to whom alone the experiment is appropriate, will
(27:24):
be little prone to attach importance to the feeble efforts
of these beings to wreak their vengeance on him. I
contemplate with the liveliest satisfaction the enlarged, unemancipated existence which
the experiment, if successful, will confer on me, not only
(27:46):
placing me beyond the reach of human justice so called,
but eliminating to a great extent the prospect of death itself.
Mister Abney was found in his chair, his head thrown back,
(28:07):
his face stamped with an expression of rage, fright, and
mortal pain, in his left side with a terrible lacerated
wound exposing the heart. There was no blood on his hands,
and a long knife that lay on the table was
perfectly clean. A savage wildcat might have inflicted the injuries.
(28:30):
The window of the study was open, and it was
the opinion of the coroner that mister Abney had met
his death by the agency of some wild creature. But
Stephen Elliott's study of the papers I have quoted led
him to a very different conclusion. The End of Lost
(28:58):
Hearts I. N. R. James
Popular Podcasts
Las Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang
Ding dong! Join your culture consultants, Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang, on an unforgettable journey into the beating heart of CULTURE. Alongside sizzling special guests, they GET INTO the hottest pop-culture moments of the day and the formative cultural experiences that turned them into Culturistas. Produced by the Big Money Players Network and iHeartRadio.
Crime Junkie
Does hearing about a true crime case always leave you scouring the internet for the truth behind the story? Dive into your next mystery with Crime Junkie. Every Monday, join your host Ashley Flowers as she unravels all the details of infamous and underreported true crime cases with her best friend Brit Prawat. From cold cases to missing persons and heroes in our community who seek justice, Crime Junkie is your destination for theories and stories you won’t hear anywhere else. Whether you're a seasoned true crime enthusiast or new to the genre, you'll find yourself on the edge of your seat awaiting a new episode every Monday. If you can never get enough true crime... Congratulations, you’ve found your people. Follow to join a community of Crime Junkies! Crime Junkie is presented by Audiochuck Media Company.
The Brothers Ortiz
The Brothers Ortiz is the story of two brothers–both successful, but in very different ways. Gabe Ortiz becomes a third-highest ranking officer in all of Texas while his younger brother Larry climbs the ranks in Puro Tango Blast, a notorious Texas Prison gang. Gabe doesn’t know all the details of his brother’s nefarious dealings, and he’s made a point not to ask, to protect their relationship. But when Larry is murdered during a home invasion in a rented beach house, Gabe has no choice but to look into what happened that night. To solve Larry’s murder, Gabe, and the whole Ortiz family, must ask each other tough questions.