01 - PD Goth by Various

Immerse yourself in a chilling collection of eerie tales carefully selected from the vast library of Project Gutenberg, brought to life through the captivating narration of BellonaTimes.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Section one of the p D goth Collection. This is
a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information of Volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
The Wood of the Dead by Algernon Blackwood. One summer
in my wanderings with a knapsack, I was at luncheon
in the room of a wayside inn in the Western Country,

(00:21):
when the door opened, and there entered an old rustic
who crossed close to my end of the table and
sat himself down very quietly in the seat by the
bow window. We exchanged glances or properly speaking nods, for
at the moment I did not actually raise my eyes
to his face, so concerned was I with the important
business of satisfying an appetite gained by tramping twelve miles

(00:44):
over a difficult country. The fine, warm rain of seven o'clock,
which had since risen in a kind of luminous mists
about the tree tops, now floated far overhead in a
deep blue sky, and the day was settling down into
a blaze of golden light. It was one of those
days peculiar to Somerset in North Devon, when the orchards shine,

(01:04):
and the meadows seemed to add a radiance of their own,
So brilliantly soft are the colorings of grass and foliage.
The innkeeper's daughter, a little maiden with a simple country loveliness,
presently entered with a foaming pewter mug, inquired after my welfare,
and went out again. Apparently she had not noticed the
old man sitting in the settle by the bow window,

(01:25):
nor had he, for his part, so much as once
turned his head in our direction. Under ordinary circumstances, I
should probably have given no thought to this other occupant
of the room, But the fact that it was supposed
to be reserved for my private use, and the singular
thing that he sat looking aimlessly out of the window,
with no attempt to engage me in conversation, drew my

(01:47):
eyes more than once somewhat curiously upon him, and I
soon caught myself wondering why he sat there so silently
and always with averted head. He was. I saw a
rather bent old man in rustic dress, and the skin
of his face was wrinkled like that of an apple.
Corduroy trousers were caught up with a string below the knee,

(02:08):
and he wore a sort of brown fustian jacket that
was very much faded. His thin hand rested upon a
stoutish stick. He wore no hat and carried none, And
I noticed that his head, covered with silvery hair, was
finely shaped and gave the impression of something noble. Though
rather piqued by his studied disregard of my presence, I

(02:28):
came to the conclusion that he probably had something to
do with the little hostile, and had a perfect right
to use this room with freedom. And I finished my
luncheon without breaking the silence, and then took the settle
opposite to smoke a pipe before going on my way.
Through the open window came the scents of the blossoming
fruit trees. The orchard was drenched in sunshine, and the

(02:48):
branches danced lazily in the breeze. The grass below fairly
shone with white and yellow daisies, and the red roses
climbing in profusion over the casement, mingled their perfume with
the sweetly penetrating odor of the sea. It was a
place to dawdelein, to lie and dream away a whole afternoon,
watching the sleepy butterflies and listening to the chorus of birds,

(03:10):
which seemed to fill every corner of the sky. Indeed,
I was already debating in my mind whether to linger
and enjoy it all instead of taking the strenuous pathway
over the hills, when the old rustic in the subtle
opposite suddenly turned his face towards me for the first
time and began to speak. His voice had a quiet,
dreamy note in it that was quite in harmony with

(03:31):
the day and the scene. But it sounded far away,
I thought, almost as though it came to me from outside,
where the shadows were weaving their eternal tissues of dreams
upon the garden floor. Moreover, there was no trace in
it of the rough quality one might naturally have expected.
And now that I saw the full face of the
speaker for the first time, I noted with something like

(03:52):
a start that the deep, gentle eyes seemed far more
in keeping with the timber of the voice than with
the rough and very countrified appearance of the clothes and
manner his voice sat pleasant waves of sound and motion
towards me, and the actual words, if I remember rightly,
were you are a stranger in these parts? Or is

(04:12):
not this part of the country strange to you. There
was no sir, nor any outward invisible sign of the
deference usually paid by real country folk to the town
bred visitor, but in its place a gentleness, almost a sweetness,
of polite sympathy that was far more of a compliment
than either. I answered that I was wandering on foot

(04:33):
through a part of the country that was wholly new
to me, and that I was surprised not to find
a place of such idyllic loveliness marked upon my map.
I have lived here all my life, he said, with
a sigh, and am never tired of coming back to
it again. Then you no longer live in the immediate
neighborhood I have moved, answered briefly, adding, after a pause
in which his eyes seemed to wander wistfully to the

(04:55):
wealth of blossoms beyond the window. But I am almost sorry,
for nowhere else have I found the sunshine lie so warmly,
the flowers smell so sweetly, or the winds and streams
make such tender music. His voice died away into a
thin stream of sound that lost itself in the rustle
of the rose leaves climbing in at the window. For
he turned his head away from me as he spoke

(05:16):
and looked out into the garden. But it was impossible
to conceal my surprise, and I raised my eyes in
frank astonishment on hearing so poetic an utterance from such
a figure of a man, though at the same time
realizing that it was not in the least inappropriate, and that,
in fact, no other sort of expression could have properly
been expected from him. I am sure you are right,

(05:37):
I answered at length, when it was clear he had
ceased speaking. Oh, there is something of enchantment here, of real,
fairylike enchantment that makes me think of the visions of
childhood days before one knew anything of of I had
been oddly drawn into his vein of speech, some inner
force compelling me. But here the spell passed, and I
could not catch the thoughts that had a moment before

(05:59):
open long vista before my inner vision. To tell you
the truth, I concluded lamely. The place fascinates me, and
I am in two minds about going further. Even at
this stage, I remember thinking it odd that I should
be talking like this with a stranger whom I met
in a country inn, For it has always been one
of my failings that to strangers, my manner is brief
to surliness. It was as though we were figures meeting

(06:22):
in a dream, speaking without sound, obeying law is not
operative in the everyday working world, and about to play
with a new scale of space and time. Perhaps, But
my astonishment passed quickly into an entirely different feeling when
I became aware that the old man opposite had turned
his head from the window again and was regarding me
with eyes so bright they seemed almost to shine with

(06:44):
an inner flame. His gaze was fixed upon my face
with an intense ardor, and his whole manner had suddenly
become alert and concentrated. There was something about him, I
now felt, for the first time, that made little thrills
of excitement run up and down my back. I met
his look squarely, but with an inward tremor. Stay then
a little while longer, he said, in a much lower

(07:07):
and deeper voice than before. Stay, and I will teach
you something of the purpose of my coming. He stopped abruptly.
I was conscious of a decided shiver. You have a
special purpose then in coming back, I asked, hardly knowing
what I was saying, to call away, some one, he
went on in the same thrilling voice, some one who

(07:27):
was not quite ready to come, but who is needed
elsewhere for a worthier purpose. There was a sadness in
his manner that mystified me more than ever you mean.
I began with an unaccountable access of trembling. I have
come for some one who must soon move. Even as
I have moved. He looked me through and through with

(07:48):
a dreadful, piercing gaze. But I met his eyes with
a full, straight stare. Trembling though I was, and I
was aware that something stirred within me that had never
stirred before. Though for the life of me I could
not have put an aim to it or have analyzed
its nature, something lifted and rolled away. For one single second,
I understood clearly that the past and the future exist,

(08:09):
actually side by side, in one immense present. That it
was I who moved to and fro among shifting protean appearances.
The old man dropped his eyes from my face, and
the momentary glimpse of a mightier universe passed utterly away.
Reason regained its sway over a dull, limited kingdom. Come

(08:30):
to night, I heard the old man say, come to
me to night, into the wood of the dead, come
at midnight. Involuntarily I clutched the arm of the settle
for support, for I then felt that I was speaking
with some one who knew more of the real things
that are and will be than I could ever know.
While in the body, working through the ordinary channels of sense,

(08:51):
and this curious half promise of a partial lifting of
the veil had its undeniable effect upon me. The breeze
from the sea had died away outside, and the blossoms
were still. A yellow butterfly floated lazily past the window.
The song of the birds hushed. I smelt the sea.
I smelt the perfume of heated summer air rising from
the fields and flowers, the ineffable sense of June and

(09:13):
of the long days of the year. And with it,
from countless green meadows beyond came the hum of myriad
summer life, children's voices, sweet pipings, and the sound of
water falling. I knew myself to be on the threshold
of a new order of experience, of an ecstasy. Something
drew me forth with a sense of inexpressible yearning towards

(09:34):
the being of this strange old man in the window seat,
and for a moment I knew what it was to
taste a mighty and wonderful sensation and to touch the
highest pinnacle of joy I have ever known. It lasted
for less than a second and was gone. But in
that brief instant of time, the same terrible lucidity came
to me that had already shown me how the past
and future exist in the present. And I realized and

(09:57):
understood that pleasure and pain are one in the same force.
For the joy I had just experienced included all the
pain I ever had felt or ever could feel. The
sunshine grew to dazzling radiance, faded passed away. The shadows
paused in their dance upon the grass, deepened a moment,
and then melted into air. The flowers of the fruit

(10:18):
trees laughed with their little silvery laughter as the wind
sighed over their radiant eyes. The old old tale of
its personal love. Once or twice a voice called my name.
A wonderful sensation of lightness and power began to steal
over me. Suddenly the door opened and the innkeeper's daughter
came in. By all ordinary standards, hers was a charming

(10:38):
country loveliness born of the stars and wild flowers, of
moonlight shining through autumn mists upon the river and the fields.
Yet by contrast with the higher order of beauty I
had just momentarily been in touch with, she seemed almost ugly,
how dull her eyes, how thin her voice, how vapid
her smile, and insipid her whole presentment. For a moment

(10:59):
she stood between me and the occupant of the window
seat while I counted out the small change for my
meal and for her services. But when an instant later
she moved aside, I saw that the settle was empty,
and that there was no longer any one in the
room but our two selves. This discovery was no shock
to me, Indeed I had almost expected it, and the

(11:19):
man had gone, just as a figure goes out of
a dream, causing no surprise, and leaving me as part
and parcel of the same dream, without breaking of continuity.
But as soon as I had paid my bill, and
thus resumed, in very practical fashion, the thread of my
normal consciousness, I turned to the girl and asked her
if she knew the old man who had been sitting
in the window seat, and what he had meant by

(11:42):
the wood of the dead. The maiden started visibly, glancing
quickly round the room, but answering simply that she had
seen no one. I described him in great detail, and
then as the description grew clearer, she turned a little
pale under her pretty sun born and said, very gravely
that it must have been the ghost ghost. What ghost, Oh,

(12:02):
the village ghost, she said, quietly, coming closer to my chair,
with a little nervous movement of genuine alarm, and adding
in a lower voice, he comes before a death, they say.
It was not difficult to induce the girl to talk,
and the story she told me, shorn of the superstition
that had obviously gathered with the years round the memory
of a strangely picturesque figure, was an interesting and peculiar one.

(12:26):
The inn, she said, was originally a farm house occupied
by a yeoman farmer, evidently of a superior, if rather
eccentric character, who had been very poor until he reached
old age, when a son died suddenly in the colonies
and left him an unexpected amount of money, almost a fortune.
The old man thereupon altered no wit his simple manner

(12:47):
of living, but devoted his income entirely to the improvement
of the village and to the assistance of its inhabitants.
He did this quite regardless of his personal likes and dislikes,
as if one and all were absolutely alike to him,
objects of a genuine and impersonal benevolence. People had always
been a little afraid of the man, not understanding his eccentricities,

(13:08):
but the simple force of this love for humanity changed
all that in a very short space of time, and
before he died he came to be known as the
father of the village, and was held in great love
and veneration by all. After a short time before his end, however,
he began to act queerly. He spent his money just
as usefully and wisely, But the shock of sudden wealth

(13:30):
after a life of poverty, people said, had unsettled his mind.
He claimed to see things that others did not see,
to hear voices, and to have visions. Evidently he was
not of the harmless, foolish visionary order, but a man
of character and of great personal force. For the people
became divided in their opinions, and the Vicar good Man

(13:51):
regarded and treated him as a special case. For many
his name and atmosphere became charged almost with a spiritual
influence that was not of the best. People quoted texts
about him, kept when possible out of his way, and
avoided his house after dark. None understood him, but though
the majority loved him, an element of dread and mystery

(14:12):
became associated with his name, chiefly owing to the ignorant
gossip of the few. A grove of pine trees behind
the farm. The girl pointed them out to me on
the slope of the hill. He said was the wood
of the dead, because just before anyone died in the village,
he saw them walk into that wood singing. No one
who went in ever came out again. He often mentioned

(14:34):
the names to his wife, who usually published them to
all the inhabitants within an hour of her husband's confidence,
and it was found that the people he had seen
enter the wood died on warm summer nights. He would
sometimes take an old stick and wander out hatless under
the pines, for he loved this wood, and used to
say he met all his old friends there, and one

(14:54):
day walk in there, never to return. His wife tried
to break him gently of this habit, but he always
had his own way, and once when she followed and
found him standing under a great pine in the thickest
portion of the grove, talking earnestly to some one she
could not see, he turned and rebuked her very gently,
but in such a way that she never repeated the experiment, saying,

(15:16):
you should never interrupt me, Mary, when I am talking
with the others, for they teach me remember wonderful things,
and I must learn all I can before I go
to join them. This story went like wildfire through the village,
increasing with every repetition, until at length every one was
able to give an accurate description of the great veiled figures.
The woman declared she had seen moving among the trees

(15:37):
where her husband stood. The innocent pine grove now became
positively haunted, and the title of wood of the Dead
clung naturally as if it had been applied to it
in the ordinary course of events by the compilers of
the Ordnance Survey. On the evening of his ninetieth birthday,
the old man went up to his wife and kissed her.
His manner was loving and very gentle, and there was

(15:59):
something about him besides, she declared afterwards, that made her
slightly in awe of him, and feel that he was
almost more of a spirit than a man. He kissed
her tenderly on both cheeks, but his eye seemed to
look right through her. As he spoke, dearest wife, he said,
I am saying good bye to you, for I am
now going into the wood of the dead, and I
shall not return. Do not follow me or send a search,

(16:22):
but be ready soon to come upon the same journey yourself.
The good woman burst into tears and tried to hold him,
but he easily slipped from her hands, and she was
afraid to follow him. Slowly, she saw him cross the
field in the sunshine, and then enter the cool shadows
of the grove, where he disappeared from her sight. That
same night, much later she woke to find him lying

(16:44):
peacefully by her side and bed with one arm stretched
out towards her dead. Her story was half believed, half
doubted at the time, but in a very few years
afterwards it evidently came to be accepted by all the
country side. A funeral service was held to which the
people flocked in great numbers, and every one approved of
the sentiment, which led the widow to add the words

(17:07):
the father of the village. After the usual texts which
appeared upon the stone over his grave. This, then, was
the story I pieced together of the village ghost, as
the little innkeeper's daughter told it to me that afternoon
in the parlor of the inn. But you're not the
first to say you've seen him, the girl concluded. And
your description is just what we've always heard. And that window,

(17:27):
they say was just where he used to sit and
think and think when he was alive, and sometimes they say,
to cry for hours together. And would you feel afraid
if you had seen him? I asked for The girl
seemed strangely moved and interested in the whole story. I
think so, she said, timidly. Surely, if he spoke to me,

(17:48):
he did speak to you, didn't he, she asked, after
a slight pause. He said he had come for some one,
Come for some one, she repeated, Did he say? She
went on falteringly. No, he did not, safe for whom,
I said, quickly, noticing the sudden shadow on her face
and the tremulous voice. Are you really sure, sir, Oh,
quite sure, I answered, cheerfully. I did not even ask him.

(18:11):
The girl looked at me steadily for nearly a whole minute,
as though there were many things she wished to tell
me or to ask, but she said nothing, and presently
picked up her tray from the table and walked slowly
out of the room. Instead of keeping to my original
purpose and pushing on to the next village over the hills,
I ordered a room to be prepared for me at
the inn, and that afternoon I spent wandering about the

(18:32):
fields and lying under the fruit trees, watching the white
clouds sailing out over the sea. The wood of the
dead I surveyed from a distance, But in the village
I visited the stone erected to the memory of the
father of the village, who was thus evidently no mythical personage,
and saw also the monuments of his fine, unselfish spirit,
the schoolhouse he had built, the library, the home for

(18:55):
the aged poor, and the tiny hospital. That night, as
the clock in the church tower was striking half past eleven,
I stealthily left the inn and crept through the dark
orchard and over the hay field in the direction of
the hill, whose southern slope was clothed with the wood
of the dead. A genuine interest impelled me to the adventure,
but I also was obliged to confess of a certain

(19:17):
sinking in my heart as I stumbled along over the
field in the darkness. For I was approaching what might
prove to be the birthplace of a real country myth,
and a spot already lifted by the imaginative thoughts of
a considerable number of people into the region of the
haunted and ill omened. The inn lay below me and
all around it in the village, clustered in a soft

(19:37):
black shadow, unrelieved by a single light. The night was moonless,
yet distinctly luminous, for the stars crowded the sky. The
silence of deep slumber was everywhere, so still, indeed, that
every time my foot kicked against a stone, I thought
the sound must be heard below in the village and
waken the sleepers. I climbed the hill slowly, thinking chiefly

(19:58):
of the strange story of the noble old man who
had seized the opportunity to do good to his fellows
the moment it came his way, and wondering why the
causes that operate ceaselessly behind human life did not always
select such admirable instruments. Once or twice a night bird
circled slowly over my head, but the bats had long
since gone to rest, and there was no other sign

(20:20):
of life stirring. Then suddenly, with a singular thrill of emotion,
I saw the first trees of the Wood of the
Dead rise in front of me in a high black wall.
Their crests stood up like giant spears against the starry sky,
And though there was no perceptible movement of the air
on my cheek, I heard a faint rushing sound among
their branches as the night breeze passed to and fro

(20:42):
over their countless little needles. Our remote hushed murmur rose
overhead and died away again almost immediately, For in these
trees the wind seemed to be never absolutely at rest,
and on the calmest day there was always a sort
of whispering music among their branches. For a moment, I
hesitated on the edge of this dark wood and listened intently.

(21:04):
Delicate perfumes of earth and bark stole out to meet me.
Impenetrable darkness faced me. Only the consciousness that I was
obeying an order strangely given and including a mighty privilege,
enabled me to find the courage to go forward and
step in boldly under the trees. Instantly the shadows closed
in upon me, and something came forward to meet me

(21:26):
from the center of the darkness. It would be easy
enough to meet my imagination half way with fact, and
say that a cold hand grasped my own and led
me by invisible paths into the unknown depths of the grove.
But at any rate, without stumbling, and always with the
positive knowledge that I was going straight towards the desired object,
I pressed unconfidently and securely into the wood. So dark

(21:50):
was it that at first not a single star beam
pierced the roof of branches overhead. And as we moved forward,
side by side, the tree shifted silently past us in
long lines, row upon row, squadron upon squadron, like the
units of a vast, soundless army. And at length we
came to a comparatively open space, where the trees halted

(22:10):
upon us for a while, and looking up, I saw
the white river of the sky beginning to yield to
the influence of a new light that now seemed spreading
swiftly across the heavens. It is the dawn coming, said
the voice at my side, that I certainly recognized, but
which seemed almost like a whispering from the trees, and
we are now in the heart of the wood of

(22:31):
the dead. We seated ourselves on a moss covered boulder
and waited the coming of the sun. With marvelous swiftness.
It seemed to me the light in the east passed
into the radiance of early morning, and when the wind
awoke and began to whisper in the tree tops, the
first rays of the risen sun fell between the trunks
and rested in a circle of gold at our feet. Now,

(22:52):
come with me, whispered my companion in the same deep voice,
For time has no existence here, and that which I
would show you was already there. We trotted gently and
silently over the soft pine needles. Already the sun was
high over our heads, and the shadows of the trees
coiled closely about their feet. The wood became denser again,
but occasionally we passed through little open bits where we

(23:14):
could smell the hot sunshine and the dry baked pine needles.
Then presently we came to the edge of the grove,
and I saw a hay field lying in the blaze
of day, and two horses basking lazily with switching tails,
and the shafts of a laden hay wagon. So complete
and vivid was the sense of reality that I remember
the grateful realization of the cool shade where we sat

(23:36):
and looked upon the hot world beyond. The last pitchfork
had tossed up its fragrant burden, and the great horses
were already straining in the shafts after the driver as
he walked slowly in front with one hand upon their bridles.
He was a stalwart fellow with sunburned neck and hands. Then,
for the first time I noticed, perched aloft upon the

(23:58):
trembling throne of the hay the figure of a slim
young girl. I could not see her face, but her
brown hair escaped in disorder from a white sun bonnet,
and her still browner hands held a well worn hay ache.
She was laughing and talking with the driver, and he,
from time to time cast up at her ardent glances
of admiration, glances that one instant smiles and soft blushes

(24:20):
and response. The cart presently turned into the roadway that
skirted the edge of the wood where we were sitting.
I watched the scene with intense interest, and became so
much absorbed in it that I quite forgot the manifold
strange steps by which I was permitted to become a spectator.
Come down and walk with me, cried the young fellow,
stopping a moment in front of the horses and opening

(24:40):
wide his arms. Jump and I'll catch you. Oh oh,
she laughed, and her voice sounded to me as the
happiest mary's laughter I had ever heard from a girl's throat.
Oh oh, that's all very well, But remember I'm queen
of the hay, and I must ride. Then I must
come and ride beside you, he cried, and began at
once to climb up by the way of the driver's seat,
But with a peal of silvery laughter, she slipped down

(25:02):
easily over the back of the hay to escape him,
and ran a little way along the road. I could
see her quite clearly, and notice the charming natural grace
of her movements and the loving expression in her eyes
as she looked over her shoulder to make sure he
was following. Evidently she did not wish to escape for long,
certainly not forever. In two strides, the big brown swain

(25:24):
was after her, leaving the horses to do as they pleased.
Another second in his arms would have caught the slender
waist and pressed the little body to his heart. But
just at that instant, the old man beside me uttered
a peculiar cry. It was low and thrilling, and it
went through me like a sharp sword. He had called
her by her own name, and she had heard for

(25:44):
a second. She halted, glancing back with frightened eyes. Then
with a brief cry of despair, the girl swerved aside
and dived in swiftly among the shadows of the trees.
But the young man saw the sudden movement and cried
out to her passionately, Not that way, my love, but
that way it's the wood of the dead. She threw
a laughing glance over her shoulder at him, and the

(26:05):
wind caught her hair and drew it out in a
brown cloud under the sun. But the next minute she
was close beside me, lying on the breast of my companion,
and I was certain I heard the words repeatedly, uttered
with many sighs. Father, you called, and I have come,
And I come willingly, for I am very, very tired
at any rate. So the words sounded to me, and
mingled with them, I seemed to catch the answer in

(26:26):
that deep thrilling whisper. I already knew, and you shall sleep,
my child, sleep for a long long time, until it
is time for you to begin the journey again. In
that brief second of time, I had recognized the face
and voice of the innkeeper's daughter. But the next minute,
a dreadful wail broke from the lips of the young man,
and the sky grew suddenly as dark as night. The

(26:46):
wind rose and began to toss the branches about us,
and the whole scene was swallowed up in a wave
of utter blackness. Again, the chill fingers seemed to seize
my hand, and I was guided by the way I
had come to the edge of the wood, and crossing
the hayfield. Still slumbering in the starlight, I crept back
to the inn and went to bed. A year later,
I happened to be in the same part of the country,

(27:08):
and the memory of the strange summer vision returned to
me with the added softness of distance. I went to
the old village and had tea under the same orchard
trees at the same inn, But the little maid of
the inn did not show her face, and I took
occasion to inquire of her father as to her welfare
and her whereabouts, married, no doubt, I laughed, but with

(27:29):
a strange feeling that clutched at my heart. No, sir,
replied the innkeeper, sadly not married, though she was just
going to be but dead. She got a sunstroke in
the hay fields just a few days after you were here,
if I remember rightly, and she was gone from us
in less than a week. End of the Wood of

(27:49):
the Dead by Algernon Blackwood