The Damned Thing - Ambrose Bierce

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Damned Thing by Ambrose Bierce. By the light of
a tallow candle which had been placed on one end
of a rough table, a man was reading something written
in a book. It was an old account book, greatly worn,
as not apparently very legible, for the man sometimes held
the page close to the flame of the candle to

(00:21):
get a stronger light upon it. The shadow of the
book would then throw into obscurity a half of the room,
darkening a number of faces and figures. For besides the reader,
eight other men were present. Seven of them sat against
the rough log walls, silent and motionless, and the room,
being small, not very far from the table. By extending
an arm, any one of them could have touched the

(00:43):
eighth man, who lay on the table, face upward, partly
covered by a sheet, his arms at his sides. He
was dead. The man with the book was not reading aloud,
and no one spoke. All seemed to be waiting for
something to occur. The dead man only was without expectation
from the blank darkness outside came in through the aperture

(01:04):
that served for a window, all the ever unfamiliar noises
of night in the wilderness, The long, nameless note of
a distant coyote, the stilly, pulsing thrill of tireless insects
in trees, strange cries of night birds so different from
those of birds of day, the drone of great blundering beetles,
and all that mysterious chorus of small sounds that seem

(01:26):
always to have been but half heard when they have
suddenly ceased, as if conscious of an indiscretion. But nothing
of all this was noted in that company. Its members
were not over much addicted to idle interests in matters
of no practical importance. That was obvious in every line
of their rugged faces, obvious even in the dim light
of the single candle. They were evidently men of the vicinity,

(01:50):
farmers and woodman. The person reading was a trifle different.
One would have said of him that he was of
the world worldly, albeit there was that in his attire
which attested a certain fellowship with the organisms of his environment.
His coat would hardly have passed muster in San Francisco,
his foot gear was not of urban origin, and the
hat that lay by him on the floor he was

(02:12):
the only one uncovered, was such that, if one had
considered it as an article of mere personal adornment, he
would have missed its meaning. In countenance, the man was
rather prepossessing, with just a hint of sternness, though that
he may have assumed or cultivated as appropriate to one
in authority. For he was a coroner. It was by
virtue of his office that he had possession of the

(02:34):
book in which he was reading. It had been found
among the man's effects in his cabin, where the inquest
was now taking place. When the coroner had finished reading,
he put the book into his breast pocket. At that moment,
the door was pushed open and a young man entered.
He clearly was not of the mountain berth and breeding.
He was class those who dwell in cities. His clothing

(02:56):
was dusty. However, as from travel, he had in fact
been right hard to attend the inquest. The coroner nodded.
No one else greeted him. We have waited for you,
said the coroner. It is necessary to have done with
this business to night. The young man smiled. I am
sorry to have kept you, he said. I went away

(03:17):
not to evade your summons, but to post to my
newspaper an account of what I suppose. I am called
back to relate the coroner smiled. The account that you
posted to your newspaper, he said, differs probably from that
which you would give here under oath. That replied the other,
rather hotly and with a visible flush, is as you choose.

(03:39):
I used manifold paper and have a copy of what
I sent. It was not written as news, for it
is incredible, but as fiction it may go as part
of my testimony under oath. But you say it is incredible,
that is nothing to you, sir, if I also swear
that it is true. Coroner was apparently not greatly affected
by the young man man's manifest resentment. He was silent

(04:02):
for some moments, his eyes upon the floor. The men
about the sides of the cabin talked in whispers, but
seldom withdrew their gaze from the face of the corpse. Presently,
the coroner lifted his eyes and said, we will resume
the inquest. The men removed their hats. The witness was sworn.
What is your name, the coroner asked, William Harker, age

(04:25):
twenty seven. You know the deceased, you Morgan, Yes, you
were with him when he died near him? How did
that happen? Your your presence? I mean. I was visiting
him at this place to shoot and fish. A part
of my purpose, however, was to study him and his odd,
solitary way of life. He seemed a good model for

(04:46):
a character in fiction. I sometimes write stories. I sometimes
read them. Thank you stories in general, not yours. Some
of the jurors laughed against a somber back grown humor
shows high lights, soldiers in the intervals of battle laugh easily,
and a jest in the death chamber conquers by surprise.

(05:08):
Relate the circumstances of this man's death, said the coroner.
You may use any notes from memoranda that you please.
The witness understood, pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket,
he held it near the candle and turning the leaves
until he found the page that he wanted began to read.
The sun had hardly risen when we left the house.

(05:29):
We were looking for quail, each with a shotgun, but
we had only one dog. Morgan said that our best
ground was beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out,
and we crossed it by a trail through the chaparral.
On the other side was comparatively level ground, thickly covered
with wild oats. As we emerge from the chapparral. Morgan
was a few yards in advance. Suddenly we heard, at

(05:52):
a little distance to our right and partly in front,
a noise as of some animal thrashing about in the bushes,
which we could see were violently agitated. We've started a deer,
said I wish we had brought a rifle. Morgan, who
had stopped and was intently watching the agitated chapparal, said nothing,

(06:12):
but had cocked both barrels of his gun and was
holding it in readiness to aim. I thought him a
trifle excited, which surprised me, for he had a reputation
for exceptional coolness, even in moments of sudden and imminent peril. Oh, come,
I said, you are not going to fill up a
deer with a quail shot, are you still? He did

(06:33):
not reply, but catching a sight of his face as
he turned it slightly towards me, I was struck by
the pallor of it. Then I understood that we had
serious business on hand, and my first conjecture was that
we had jumped at grisly. I advanced to Morgan's side,
cocking my piece as I moved the bushes were now
quiet and the sounds had ceased, But Morgan was as

(06:55):
attentive to the place as before. What is it but
the devil? Is it? I asked, that damned thing? He replied,
without turning his head. His voice was husky and unnatural.
He trembled visibly. I was about to speak further when
I observed the wild oats near the place of the
disturbance moving in the most inexplicable way I can hardly

(07:19):
describe it. It seemed as if stirred by a streak
of wind, but not only bent, but pressed it down,
crushed it so that it did not rise. And this
movement was slowly prolonging itself directly toward us. Nothing that
I had ever seen had affected me so strangely as
this unfamiliar and unaccountable phenomenon. Yet I am unable to

(07:40):
recall any sense of fear. I remember and tell it here,
because singularly enough I recollected it then that once, soon,
looking carelessly out an open window, I momentarily mistook a
small tree close at hand for one of a group
of larger trees at a little distance way. It looked
the same size as the others, but being more distinct

(08:00):
and sharply defined in mass and detail, seemed out of
harmony with them. It was a mere falsification of the
law of aerial perspective. But it startled, almost terrified me.
We so rely upon the orderly operation of familiar natural
laws that any seeming suspension of them is noted as
a menace to our safety, a warning of unthinkable calamity.

(08:22):
So now the apparently causeless movement of the herbage and
the slow, undeviating approach of the line of disturbance was
distinctly disquieting. My companion appeared actually frightened, and I could
hardly credit my senses when I saw him suddenly throw
his gun to his shoulders and fire both barrels of
the agitated grass. Before the smoke of the discharge had

(08:43):
cleared away. I heard a loud, savage cry, a scream
like that of a wild animal, and flinging his gun
upon the ground, Morgan sprang away and ran swiftly from
the spot. The same instant, I was thrown violently to
the ground by the impact of something unseen in some soft,
heavy substance that seemed thrown against me with great force.

(09:06):
Before I could get upon my feet and recover my gun,
which seemed to have been struck from my hands. I
heard Morgan crying out as if in mortal agony, and
mingling with his cries were such hoarse, savage sounds as
one hears from fighting dogs. Inexpressibly terrified, I struggled to
my feet and looked in the direction of Morgan's retreat,

(09:26):
and may Heaven and Mercy spare me from another's fight.
Like that, at a distance of less than thirty yards,
was my friend down upon one knee, his head thrown
back at a frightful angle, hatless, his long hair and disorder,
and his whole body and violent movement from side to side,
backward and forward. His right arm was lifted and seemed
to lack the hand at least I could see none.

(09:49):
The other arm was invisible. At times, as my memory
now reports this extraordinary scene, I could discern but a
part of his body. It was as if he had
been partly blotted out. Not otherwise express it than a
shifting of his position would bring it all into view again.
All this must have occurred within a few seconds. Yet

(10:09):
in that time Morgan assumed all the postures of a
determined wrestler vanquished by a superior weight and strength. I
saw nothing but him, and him, not always distinctly. During
the entire incident, his shouts and curses were heard, as
if through an enveloping uproar of such sounds of rage
and fury as I had never heard from the throat

(10:30):
of man or brute. For a moment only I stood resolute. Then,
throwing down my gun, I ran forward to my friend's assistance.
I had a vague belief that he was suffering from
a fit or some form of convulsion. Before I could
reach his side, he was down and quiet. All sounds
had ceased, but with a feeling of such terror as
even these awful events had not inspired. I now saw

(10:53):
the same mysterious movement of wild oats prolonging itself from
the trampled area about the prostrate man, toward the edge
of a wood. It was only when it had reached
the wood that I was able to withdraw my eyes
and look at my companion. He was dead. The corner
rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man.

(11:15):
Lifting an edge of the sheet, he pulled it away,
exposing the entire body altogether naked and showing in the
candle light a clay like yellow. It had, however, broad
maculations of bluish black, obviously caused by extremissated blood from contusions.
The chest and sides looked as if they had been
beaten with a bludgeon. There were dreadful lacerations. The skin

(11:38):
was torn in strips and shreds. The corner moved round
to the end of the table and undid a silk
handkerchief which had been passed under the chin and knotted
on top of the head. When the handkerchief was drawn away,
it exposed what had been the throat. Some of the jurors,
who had risen to get a better view, repented their
curiosity and turned away their faces. Witness Harker went to

(12:01):
the open window and leaned out across the sill, faint
and sick, dropping the handkerchief upon the dead man's neck.
The coroner stepped to an angle of the room, and
from a pile of clothing produced one garment after another,
each of which he held up a moment for inspection.
All were torn and stiff with blood. The jurors did
not make a closer inspection. They seemed rather uninterested. They had,

(12:25):
in truth seen all this before the only thing that
was new for them being Harker's testimony. Gentlemen, the coroner said,
we have no more evidence. I think your duty has
been already explained to you. If there is nothing you
wish to ask, you may go outside and consider your verdict.
The foreman rose, a tall, bearded man of sixty coarsely clad.

(12:47):
I should like to ask one question, mister coroner. He said,
what a s island did this year last witness escape from?
Mister Harker said the coroner, gravely and tranquility. From What
a side did you last escape? Harker flushed Crimson again,
but said nothing, and the seven jurors rose and solemnly
filed out of the cabin. If you have done insulting me, sir,

(13:11):
said Harker, as soon as he and the officer were
left alone with the dead men, I suppose I am
at liberty to go. Yes. Harker started to leave, but
paused with his hand on the door latch. The habit
of his profession was strong in him, stronger than his
sense of personal dignity. He turned about and said, the
book that you have there, I recognize it is Morgan's diary.

(13:34):
You seem greatly interested in it. You read it while
I was testifying. May I see it? The public would
like the book? Will cut no figure in this matter,
replied the official, slipping into his coat pocket. All the
entries in it were made before the writer's death. As
Harker passed out of the house, the jury re entered
and stood about the table on which the now covered

(13:56):
corpse showed under the sheet was sharp finish. The foreman
seated himself near the candle, produced from his breast pocket
a pencil on a scrap of paper, and wrote rather
laboriously the following verdict, which, with various degrees of effort,
all signed. We the jury, do find that the remains

(14:17):
come to their death at the hands of a mountain lion.
But some of us thinks all the same they had fits.
In the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are certain
interesting entries, having possibly a scientific value, as suggestions. At
the inquest upon his body, the book was not in evidence.
Possibly the coroner thought it not worth while to confuse

(14:40):
the jury. The date of the first of the entries
mentioned cannot be ascertained. The upper part of the leaf
is torn away. The part of the entry remaining is
as follows would run on a half circle, keeping his
head torned away toward the center, and again he would
stand still, barking fury. At last he ran away into

(15:01):
the brush as fast as he could go. I thought
at first that he had gone mad, but on returning
to the house, found no other alteration in his manner
than what was obviously due to fear of punishment. Can
a dog see with his nose do odors impress some
olfactory center with images that the things emitted them? September two.

(15:22):
Looking at the stars last night, as they rose above
the crest of the ridge ees to the house, I
observed them successfully disappear from left to right. Each was eclipse,
but an instant, and only a few at the same time.
But along the entire length of the ridge, all that
were within a degree or two of the crest were
blotted out. It was as if something had passed along

(15:42):
between me and them, but I could not see it,
and the stars were not thick enough to define its outline. Oh,
I don't like this. Several weeks entries are missing, three
leaves being torn from the book. September twenty seven, there's
been about here again. I find evidence of its presence

(16:03):
every day. I watched again all of last night in
the same cover, gun in hand, double charged with buckshot.
In the morning, the fresh footprints were there as before.
Yet I have sworn that I did not sleep. Indeed,
I hardly sleep at all. It's terrible, insupportable. These amazing
experiences are real. I shall go mad if they are fanciful.

(16:27):
I am mad already. October third. I shall not go.
It shall not drive me away. No, this is my house,
my land. God hates a coward. October five. I can
stand it no longer. I've invited Harker to pass a
few weeks with me. He has a level head. I

(16:48):
can judge from his manner if he thinks me mad.
October seventh. I have the solution of the problem. It
came to me last night, suddenly, as by revelation. How simple,
how terribly simple. There are sounds that we cannot hear.
At either end of the scale are notes that stir

(17:10):
no chord of that imperfect instrument, the human ear. They
are too high or too grave. I have observed a
flock of blackbirds occupying an entire tree top tops of
several trees, and all in full song. Suddenly in a moment,
at absolutely the same instant, all spring into the air
and fly away. How they could not all see one another,

(17:31):
whole tree tops intervened. At no point could a leader
have been visible to all. There must have been a
signal of warning or command, high and shrill above the din.
But by me, unhurt, I have observed too the same
simultaneous flight when all were still among not only blackbirds,
but other birds, quail, for example, widely separated by bushes,

(17:54):
even on opposite sides of a hill. It is known
to seamen that a school of whales basket or sporting
on the surface of the ocean, miles apart, with the
convexity of the earth between them, will sometimes die at
the same instant, all gone out of sight in a
moment the signal has been sounded too grave for the
ear of the sailor at the mast head or his

(18:15):
comrades on the deck, who nevertheless feel its vibrations in
the ship. As the stones of a cathedral are stirred
by the base of the organ, as with sounds, so
with colors at each end of the solar spectrum. The
chemists can detect the presence of what are known as
actinic rays. They represent colors, integral colors in the composition

(18:38):
of light, which we are unable to discern. The human
eye is in a perfect instrument. Its range is but
a few octaves of the real chromatic scale. I am
not mad. There are colors that we cannot see, and
God help me, the damned thing is of such a color.

(19:02):
End of the Damned Thing by Ambrose Bierce