The Vampire Maid and Other Dark Tales | Podcast - Nightshade Diary

Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Do you feel a sharer up your spine from fear? Yes,
it's another story from the Night's Shade Diary. You know
what that means. Check under the bed and make sure
no one or nothing is there. Is the closet door
securely shut. Then leave your disbelief behind, amp up your
imagination and hang on tight for another ride into terror

(00:22):
and mystery. And like all good horror stories, just imagine
it's a dark and stormy night, and remember screaming like
a little girl is permitted. The vampire made by Hume Nesbit.
It was the exact kind of a bode that I

(00:42):
had been looking after for weeks, For I was in
that condition of mine when absolute renunciation of society was
a necessity. I had become diffident of myself and wearied
of my kind. A strange unrest was in my blood,
a barren dearth in my brains. Familiar objects and face
had grown distasteful to me. I wanted to be alone.

(01:04):
This is the mood which comes upon every sensitive and
artistic mind when the possessor has been overworked or living
too long in one groove. It is nature's hint for
him to seek pastures new, the sign that a retreat
has become needful. If he does not yield, he breaks
down and becomes whimsical and hypochondrical, as well as hypercritical.

(01:27):
It is always a bad sign when a man becomes
overcritical and censorious about his own or other people's work,
for it means that he is losing the vital portions
of work, freshness and enthusiasm. Before I arrived at the
dismal stage of criticism, I hastily packed up my knapsack
and taking the train to Westmoreland. I began my tramp

(01:49):
in search of solitude, bracing air and romantic surroundings. Many
places I came upon during that early summer wandering that
appeared to have almost the required conditions, Yet some petty
drawback prevented me from deciding. Sometimes there was a scenery
that I did not take kindly to. At other places
I took sudden antipathies to the landlady or landlord. I

(02:12):
felt I would abhorre them before a week was spent
under their charge. Other places which might have suited me
I could not have, as they did not want a lodger.
Fate was driving me to this cottage on the moor,
and no one can resist destiny. One day I found
myself on a wide and pathless morn near the sea.
I had slept the night before at a small hamlet,

(02:32):
but that was already eight miles in my rear, and
since I had turned my back upon it, I had
not seen any sign of humanity. I was alone, with
a fierce sky above me, a balmy ozone filled wind
blowing over the stony and heather clad mounds, and nothing
to disturb my meditations. How far the more stretch I

(02:53):
had no knowledge. I only knew that by keeping in
a straight line, I would come to the ocean cliffs,
then perhaps after a time, arrive at some fishing village.
I had provisions in my knapsack, and being young, did
not fear a night under the stars. I was inhaling
the delicious summer air and once more getting back the

(03:13):
vigor and happiness I had lost my city. Dried brains
were again becoming juicy. Thus, hour after hours slid past
me with the paces, until I had covered about fifteen
miles since morning, when I saw before me in the
distance a solitary stone built cottage with roughly slated roof.
I'll camp there if possible, I said to myself as

(03:35):
I quickened my steps toward it to one in search
of a quiet, free life. Nothing could have possibly been
more suitable than this cottage. It stood on the edge
of lofty cliffs, with its front door facing the moor
and the back yard wall overlooking the ocean. The sound
of the dancing waves struck upon my ears like a
lullaby as I drew near. How they would thunder when

(03:58):
the autumn gales came on, and the sea birds fled
shrieking to the shelter of the sedges. A small garden
spread in front, surrounded by a dry stone wall, just
high enough for one to lean lazily upon when inclined.
This garden was a flame of color, scarlet, predominating with
those other soft shades that cultivated poppies take in their blooming.

(04:21):
For this was all that the garden grew. As I approached,
taking notice of the singular assortment of poppies and the
orderly cleanliness of the windows. The front door opened and
a woman appeared, who impressed me at once favorably as
she leisurely came along the pathway to the gate and
drew it back as if to welcome me. She was

(04:41):
of middle age and when young must have been remarkably
good looking. She was tall and still shapely, with smooth,
clear skin, regular features, and a calm expression that at
once gave me a sensation of rust. To my inquiry,
she said that she could give me both a sitting
and bedroom, and lighted me inside to see them. As

(05:02):
I looked at her smooth black hair and cool brown eyes,
I felt that I should not be too particular about
the accommodation. With such a landlady, I was sure to
find what I was after here. The room surpassed my expectation,
dainty white curtains and bedding with a perfume of lavender
about them, a sitting room, homely yet cozy without being crowded.

(05:25):
With a sire of infinite relief, I flung down my
knapsack and clinched the bargain. She was a widow with
one daughter, whom I did not see the first day,
as she was unwell and confined to her own room.
But on the next day she was somewhat better, and
then we met. The fair was simple, yet it suited
me exactly for the time. Delicious milk and butter with

(05:46):
homemade scones, fresh eggs and bacon. After a hearty tea,
I went early to bed in a condition of perfect
content with my quarters. Yet happy and tired out as
I was, I had by no means a comfortable night.
This I put down to the strange bed. I slept certainly,
but my sleep was filled with dreams, so that I

(06:06):
woke late and unrefreshed. A good walk on the moor, however,
restored me, and I returned with a fine appetite for breakfast.
Certain conditions of mind, with aggravating circumstances, are required before
even a young man can fall in love at first sight,
As Shakespeare has shown in his Romeo and Juliet. In
the city where many fair faces passed me every hour,

(06:29):
I had remained like a stoic. Yet no sooner did
I enter the cottage after that morning walk than I
succumbed instantly before the weird charms of my landlady's daughter,
arid and Bruno. She was somewhat better this morning, and
able to meet me at breakfast, for we had our
meals together while I was their lodger. Eridin was not
beautiful in the strictly classical sense, her complexion being too

(06:52):
lividly white, and her expression too said to be quite
pleasant at first sight. Yet as a mother at informed me,
she had ill for some time, which accounted for that
of defect. Her features were not regular, her hair and
eyes seemed too black with that strangely white skin, and
their lips too red for any except the decadent harmonies

(07:12):
of an Aubrey Beardsley. Yet my fantastic dreams of the
preceding night, why my morning walk, had prepared me to
be enthralled by this modern posterlike invalid. The loneliness of
the moor, with the singing of the ocean I gripped
my heart with a wistful longing, the incongruity of those
flaunting and evanescent poppy flowers dashing, the giddy tints in

(07:34):
the face of that sober heath touched me with a
shiver as I approached the cottage. And lastly, that weird
embodiment of startling contrast completed my subjugation. She rose from
her chair as her mother introduced her, and smiled while
she held out her hand. I clasped that soft snowflake,
and as I did so, a faint thrill tingled over

(07:56):
me and rested on my heart, stopping for the moment
its beating. This contact seemed also to have affected her,
as it did me. A clear flush like a white flame,
lighted up her face. Sight It glowed as if an
alabaster lamp had been lit. Her black eyes became softer
and more humid as our glances crossed, and her scarlet

(08:17):
lips grew moist. She was a living woman now, while
before she had seen half a corpse. She permitted her wide,
slender hand to remain in my longer than most people
do at an introduction, and then she slowly withdrew it,
still regarding me with steadfast eyes for a second or
two afterwards. Fathomless, velvety eyes these were, Yet before they

(08:39):
were shifted from mine, they appeared to have absorbed all
my will power and made me her abject slave. They
looked like deep, dark pools of clear water. Yet they
filled me with fire and deprived me of strength. I
sank into my chair, almost as languidly as I had
risen from my bed that morning. Yet I made a
good breakfast, and although she heartily tasted anything, the strange

(09:02):
girl rose much refreshed and with a slight glow of
color on her cheeks, which improved her so greatly that
she appeared younger and almost beautiful. I had come here
seeking solitude, but since I had seen Ridin, it seemed
as if I had come for her only. She was
not very lively. Indeed, thinking back, I cannot recall any
spontaneous remark of hers. She answered my questions by monosyllables

(09:26):
and left me to lead in words. Yet she was
insinuating and appeared to lead my thoughts in her direction
and speak to me with her eyes. I cannot describe
her minutely. I only know that from the first glance
in touch she gave me, I was bewitched and couldn't
think of nothing else. It was a rapid, distracting and
devouring infatuation that possessed me all day long. I followed

(09:50):
her about like a dog. Every night I dreamed of
that white, glowing face, those dead fast black eyes, those
moist scarlet lips, and each morning I rose more languid
than I had been the day before. Sometimes I dreamt
that she was kissing me with those red lips, while
I shivered at the contact of her silky black tresses
as it covered my throat. Sometimes that we were floating

(10:13):
in the air, her arms about me and her long
hair enveloping us both like an inky cloud, where I
lay supine and helpless. She went with me after breakfast
on that first day to the moor, and before we
came back, I had spoken my love and received her assent.
I held her my arms and had taken her kisses
and answered to mine no that I think it strange

(10:35):
that all this had happened so quickly. She was mine,
or rather I was hers. Without a pause, I told
her it was fate that had sent me to her,
for I had no doubts about my love, and she
replied that I had restored her to life, acting upon
Riuden's advice, and also from unnatural shyness. I did not
inform her mother how quickly matters her progress between us. Yet,

(10:58):
although we both acted as circumspectully as possible, I had
no doubt Missus Brundell could see how gross we were
in each other. Lovers are not unlike ostriches in their
modes of concealment. I was not afraid of asking Missus
Brundell for her daughter, for she already showed her partiality
towards me. Abbe bestood upon me some confidences regarding her
own position in life, and I therefore knew that so

(11:21):
far as social position was concerned, there could be no
real objection to our marriage. They lived in this lonely
spot for the sake of their health, and kept no
servant because they could not get any to take service
so far away from other humanity. My coming had been
an opportune and welcomed both mother and daughter. For the
sake of decorum. However, I resolved to delay my confession

(11:43):
for a week, or to untrust to some favorable opportunity
of doing it discreetly. Meantime, Everydn and I passed our
time in a thoroughly idol and lotus eating style. Each
night I retired to bed, meditating, starting work next day.
Each morning I rose languid from those disturbing dreams, with
no thought for anything outside my love. She grew stronger

(12:05):
every day while I appeared to be taking her place
as the invalid. Yet I was more frantically in love
than ever, and only happy when with her. She was
my lone star, my only joy my life. We did
not go great distances, for I like best to lie
in the dry heath and watch her glowing face and
intense eyes. I listened to the surging of the distant waves.

(12:29):
It was love made me lazy, I thought, for unless
a man has all he longs for beside him, he
is apt to copy the domestic cat and bask in
the sunshine. I've been enchanted quickly. My disenchantment came as rapidly,
although it was long before the poison left my blood.
One night, about a couple of weeks after my coming

(12:51):
to the cottage, I had returned after a delicious moonlight
walk with Ridin. The night was warm and the moon
at the full. Therefore left my bedroom when open to
let in what little air there was, I was more
than usually fagged out, so that I had only strength
enough to remove my boots and coat before I flung
myself wearily on the coverlet and fell almost instantly asleep,

(13:13):
without tasting the night cap draft that was constantly placed
on the table, and which I had always drained thirstily.
At a ghastly dream this night, I thought I saw
a monster bat with a face and tresses of Ridin,
fly into the open window and fasten its white teeth
and scarlet lips on my arm. I tried to beat

(13:34):
the horror away, but could not, for I seemed chained down,
enthralled also with drowsy delight. As the beast suck my
blood with a gruesome rapture. I looked out dreamily and
saw a line of dead bodies of young men lying
on the floor, each with a red mark on their arms,
on the same part where the vampire was then sucking me,

(13:56):
and I remembered having seen and wondered at such a
mark on my own arm the past fortnight. In a flash,
I understood the reason for my strange weakness, and at
the same moment, a sudden prick of pain roused me
from my dreamy pleasure. The vampire, in her eagerness, had
bitten a little too deeply that night, unaware that I

(14:16):
had not tasted the drug draft. As I awoke, I
sorrowfully revealed in the midnight moon, with the black tresses
flowing loosely, and with her red lips glued to my arm.
With a shriek of horror, I dashed her backwards, getting
one last glimpse of her savage eyes, glowing white face,
and blood stained red lips. Then I rushed out to

(14:36):
the night, moved on by my fear and hatred. Nor
did I pause in my mad flight until I had
left miles between me and that a cursed cottage on
the moor. The old portrait by Humed Nesbit. Old fashioned
frames are a hobby of mine. I'm always on the
prowl amongst the framers and dealers in curiosities for something

(15:00):
quaint and unique in picture frames. I don't care much
for what is inside them. For being a painter, it
is my fancy to get the frames first and then
paint a picture which I think suits their probable history
and design. And this way I get some curious and
I think also some original ideas. One day in December,
about a week before Christmas, I picked up a fine

(15:23):
but dilapidated specimen of wood carving and a shop near Soho.
The guilding had been worn nearly away and three of
the corners broken off. Yet as there was one of
the corners still left, I hoped to be able to
repair the others from it. As for the canvas inside
this frame, it was so smothered with dirt and time
stains that I can only distinguish had been a very

(15:45):
badly painted likeness of some sort a some uncommonplace person
daubed in by a poor pop boiling painter to fill
the second hand frame, which his patron may have picked
up cheaply, as I had done after him. But as
the frame was all right, I took the spoiled canvas
along with it, thinking it might come in handy. For

(16:07):
the next few days my hands were full of work
of one kind or another, so it was only on
Christmas Eve that I found myself at Liberty to examine
my purchase, which had been lying with its face to
the wall since I had brought it to my studio.
Having nothing to do on this night and not in
the mood to go out, I got my picture and
frame from the corner, and laying them upon the table

(16:28):
with a sponge basin of water and some soap, I
began to wash so I might see them the better.
They were in a terrible mess, and I think I
used the best part of a packet of soap powder
and had to change the water about a dozen times
before the pattern began to show up on the frame,
and the portrait within it asserted its awful crudeness while

(16:49):
drawing in intense vulgarrity. It was a bloated, piggish visage
of a publican, clearly with a plentiful supply of jewelry displayed,
as is usual with such masterpieces, where the features are
not considered so much importance as a strict fidelity in
the depicting of such articles as water guards and seals,
finger rings and breast pins, these were all there, as

(17:12):
natural and hard as fealty. The frame delighted me, and
the pictures satisfied me that I had not cheated the
dealer with my price. And I was looking at the
monstrosity as a gaslight beat full upon it, and wondering
how the owner could be pleased with himself as thus depicted,
when something about the background attracted my attention, a slight

(17:35):
marking underneath the thin coating, as if the portrait had
been painted over some other subject. It was not much, certainly,
yet enough to make me rush over to my cupboard,
where I kept my spirits of wine and turpentine, with
which in a plentiful supply of rags, I began to
demolish the public and ruthlessly, and the vague hope that

(17:56):
I might find something worth looking at underneath a slow
process was as well as a delicate one. So it
was close upon midnight before the gold cable rings and
vermilion visage disappeared, and another picture loomed up before me. Then,
giving it the final wash over, I wiped it dry
and set in a good light on my easel while
I filled and lit my pipe, and then sat down

(18:18):
to look at it. What I had I liberated from
that volt prison of crude paint, For I did not
require to set it up to know that this bungler
of the brush had covered and defiled a work as
far beyond its comprehension as the clouds are from the caterpillar.
The bust and head of a young woman of uncertain age,

(18:38):
merged within a gloom of rich accessories, painted as only
a master hand can paint, who is above asserting his knowledge,
and who was learned to cover his technique. It was
as perfect and natural in its somber yet quiet dignity
as if it had come from the brush of Moroney.
A face and neck perfectly colorless in their pallid whiteness,

(19:00):
shadows so artfully managed that they could not be seen.
And for this quality what it delighted to strong minded
Queen Bess at first I looked, and in the center
of the vague darkness a dim patch of gray gloom
that drifted into the shadows, and the grayness appeared to
grow lighter as I sat from it and leaned back

(19:21):
in my chair, until the features stole out softly and
became clear and definite. A figure stood out from the
background as if tangible, although having washed it, I knew
that it had been smoothly painted. An intent face with
delicate nose, well shaped, all the bloodless lips and eyes

(19:41):
like dark caverns without a spark of light in them.
The hair loosely about the head and oval cheeks, massive
silky textured jet black and lustreless, which hid the upper
portion of her brow with the ears, and fell in straight,
indefinite waves over the left breast, leaving the ripe portion

(20:01):
of the transparent neck exposed. The dress and background were
symphonies of ebony, yet full of subtle coloring and masterly feeling.
A dress of rich brocaded velvet with a background that
represented vast receding space, wondrously suggestive and aspiring. I noticed
that the pallid lips were parted slightly and showed a

(20:24):
glimpse of the upper front teeth, which added to the
intent expression of the face. A short upper tip which
curled upward, with the underlip full and sensuous, or rather
of color, had been in it would have been so.
It was an eerie looking face that had resurrected on
this midnight hour of Christmas Eve, and its passive polidity,

(20:45):
it looked as if the blood had been drained from
the body, and that I was gazing upon an open
eyed corpse. The frame, also I noticed for the first time,
and its details appeared to have been designed with the
intention of carrying out the idea of life in death.
What had been before looked like scrollwork of flowers and
fruit were low, some snakelike worms twined amongst Charnel housebones,

(21:10):
which they have covered in a decorative fashion, a hideous design,
in spite of his exquisite workmanship, that made me shudder
and wish that I had left the cleaning to be
done by daylight. I am not at all a nervous temperament,
and would have laughed at anyone told me that I
was afraid. And yet as I sat here alone with
that portrait opposite to me, in this solitary studio away

(21:33):
from all human contact, for none of the other studios
were tenanted on this night, and the janitor had gone
on his holiday. I wished that I had spent my
evening in a more congenial manner, for in spite of
a good fire in the stove and a brilliant gas,
that intent face and those haunting eyes were exercising a
strange influence upon me. I heard the clocks, will the

(21:56):
different steeples chime out the last hour of the day,
one after the other, like echoes, taking up the refrain
and dying away in the distance. And still I sat spellbound,
looking at that weird picture, with my neglected pipe in
my hand, and a strange lassitude creeping over me. It
was the eyes which fixed me now, with the unfathomable

(22:18):
depths and absorbing intensity. They gave out no light, but
seemed to draw my soul into them, and with it
my life and strength. As I lay inert before them
until overpowered, I lost consciousness and dreamt. I thought that
the frame was still on the easel with the canvas,
but the woman had to step down from them and
was approaching me with a floating motion, leaving behind your

(22:41):
vault filled with coffins, some of them shut tight, while
others lay or stood upright and open, showing the grisly
contents and their decaying and stained sermons. I could only
see her head and shoulders, the somber drapery of the
upper portion, and the inky wealth of hair hanging around.
She was with me now, now, that pallid face touching

(23:02):
my face, and those cold, bloodless lips glued to mine
with a close, lingering kiss, while the soft black hair
covered me like a cloud and thrilled me through and
through with a delicious thrill that, while it made me
grow faint, intoxicated me with delight. As I breathed, she
seemed to absorb it quickly into herself, giving me back nothing,

(23:24):
getting stronger as I was becoming weaker, all the warmth
of my contact passed into her. I made her palpitate
with vitality, and all at once the horror approaching death
seized upon me, and with a frantic effort, I flung
her from me and started up from my chair, dazed
for a moment and uncertain where I was. Then consciousness
returned and I looked around wildly. The gas was still

(23:47):
blazing brightly all the fire burned ruddy in the stove.
By the time piece on the mantel, I could see
that it was half past twelve. The picture and framer
stole the easel. Only as I looked that them the
portrait had changed. A hectic flush was on the cheeks,
while the I glittered with life, and the sensuous lips

(24:07):
were ripe and red looking, with a drop of blood
still upon the nether one. In the frenzy of horror,
I seized my scraping knife and slashed out the vampire's picture. Then,
tearing the mutilated fragments out, I crammed them into my
stove and watched them frizzle with savage delight. I have
that frame still, but I have not yet encouraged to

(24:30):
paint a suitable subject for it. The Demon's Spell a
Christmas Eve's experience by Human Nesbit. It was about the
time when spiritualism was well the crazy in England, and
no party was reckoned complete without a spirit rapping seance
being included amongst the other entertainments. One night, I had

(24:52):
been invited to the house of a friend who was
a great believer in the manifestations from the unseen world,
and who had asked for my special edification A well
known trance medium, a pretty as well as heaven gifted
girl whom you will be sure to like. I know,
he said, as he'd asked me. I did not believe
much in the return of spirits, yet, thinking to be amused,

(25:14):
consented to attend at the hour appointed. At that time,
I had just returned from a long sojourn abroad and
was in a very delicate state of health, easily expressed
by outward influences, and nervous to a most extraordinary extent.
To the hour pointed, I found myself at my friend's
house and was then introduced to the sitters who had

(25:35):
assembled to witness the phenomena. Some were strangers, like myself,
to the rules of the table. Others, who were adepts,
took their place at once in the order to which
they had informer meeting attended. The trance medium had not
yet arrived, and while waiting upon her coming, we sat
down and opened the seance with a hymn. We had
just furnished a second verse when the door opened and

(25:58):
the medium glided in and took her place on a
vacant seat by my side, joining with the others in
the last verse, after which we all sat motionless with
our hands resting upon the table, waiting upon the first
manifestation from the unseen world. Now, although I thought all
this performance very ridiculous, there was something in the silence

(26:20):
and the dim light, for the gas had been turned
down low, and the room seemed filled with shadows, something
about the fragile figure at my side, with her drooping head,
which thrilled me with a curious sense of fear and
icy horror, such as had never felt before. I am
not by nature imaginative or inclined to superstition, but from

(26:42):
the moment that young girl had entered the room, I
felt as if a hand had been laid upon my heart,
a cold iron hand that was compressing it and causing
it to stop throbbing. My sense of hearing also had
grown more acute and sensitive, so that the beating of
the watch in my vest pocket sounded like the thumping

(27:02):
of a quartz crushing machine, and the measured breathing of
those around me as loud a nerve, disturbing as the
snorting of a steam engine. Only when I turned to
look upon the trance medium that I become soothed. Then
it seemed as if a cold air wave had passed
through my brain, subduing for the time being those awful sounds.

(27:23):
She is possessed, whispered my host on the other side
of me. Wait and she will speak presently and tell
us whom we have got beside us. As we sat
and waited, the table had moved several times under our hands,
while knockings at intervals took place in the table and
all round the room, a most weird and blood curdling
yet ridiculous performance which made me feel half inclined to

(27:46):
run out with fear, and half inclined to sit still
and laugh. On the whole I think, however, that horror
had the more complete possession of me. Presently, she raised
her head and laid her hand upon mine. I need
to speak, in a strange, monotonous, far away voice. This
is my first visit since I passed from earth life,

(28:07):
and you have called me here. I shivered as her
hand touched mine, but had no strength would drive it
from her light soft grasp. I am what you would
call a lost soul. That is, I am in the
lowest sphere. Last week I was in the body, but
met my death down Whitechapelway, I was what you call

(28:27):
an unfortunate I unfortunate enough. Shall I tell you how
it happened? The medium's eyes were closed, and whether it
was my distorted imagination or not, she appeared to have
grown older and decidedly debauched looking since she sat down,
or rather as if a light filmy mask of degrading

(28:47):
and sodden vice had replaced the former delicate features. No
one spoke, and the trance medium continued. I have been
out all that day, and without any luck or food,
so that I was dragging my wearied body along through
the slush and mud. For it had been wet all day,
and I was drenched to the skin and miserable. Oh

(29:08):
ten thousand times more wretched than I am now, For
the earth is a far worse hell for such as
I than our hell here. I had, in importune several
passerbys as I went along that night, but none of
them spoke to me, for work had been scarce all
this winter, and I suppose I did not look so

(29:29):
tempting as I have been. Only once a man answered me,
a dark faced, middle sized man with a soft voice
and much better dressed than my usual companions. He asked
me where I was going, and then left me, putting
a coin into my hand, for which I thanked him.
Being just in time for the last public house, I
hurried up put on going to the bar, and looking

(29:52):
at my hand, I found it to be a curious
foreign coin without landish figures on it, which the landlord
would not. So I went out again to the dark
fog and rain without my drink. After all, there was
no use going any further. That night, I turned up
the court where my lodgings were, intending to go home

(30:13):
and get asleep since I could get no food. When
I felt something touch me softly from behind, like as
if someone had caught hold of my shawl. Then I
stopped and turned about to see who it was. I
was alone and with no one near me, nothing but
fog and a half light from the court lamp. Yet
I felt as if something had got hold of me,

(30:34):
though I could not see what it was, and that
it was gathering about me. I tried to scream out
but could not, as this unseen grasp closed upon my
throat and choked me. And then I fell down and
for a moment forgot everything. Next moment I woke up
outside my own poor mutilated body and stood watching the

(30:56):
fell work going on. As you see it now, Yes,
I saw it all as a medium ceased speaking, a
mangled corpse lying on a muddy pavement, and the demoniac, dark,
pocked marked face bending over it, with the lean claws outspread,
and the dense fog instead of a body like the
half formed incarnation of muscles. This is what did it,

(31:22):
and you will know it again, she said, I've come
for you to find it? Is he an Englishman? I
gasped as a vision faded away in the room once
more became definite. It is neither man nor woman, but
it lives as I do. It is with me now
and may be with you to night still. If you
will have me instead of it, I can keep it back.

(31:46):
Only you must wish for me with all your might.
The sands was now becoming too horrible, and my general consent,
our host turned up the gas, and then I saw
for the first time the medium, not relieved from her
evil possession, a beautiful girl of about nineteen with I
think the most glorious brown eyes I had ever before

(32:06):
looked into. Do you believe what you have been speaking?
About I asked her, as we were sitting talking together,
what was that about the murdered woman. I don't know
anything at all, only that I've been sitting at the table.
I never know what my trances are. Was she speaking
the truth? Her dark eyes looked truth, so that I

(32:29):
could not doubt her. That night, when I went to
my lodgings, I must confess that it was some time
before I could make up my mind to go to bed.
I was excitedly, upset and nervous, and wished that I
had never gone to the spirit meeting, making a mental
val as I threw off my clothes and hastily got
into bed, that it was the last unholy gathering I
would ever attend. For the first time in my life,

(32:52):
I could not put out the gas. I felt as
if the room was filled with ghosts, or as if
this pair of ghastly specters, the murderer and his victim,
had accompanied me home and were at that moment disputing
the possession of me. So instead I pulled the bedclothes
over my head, it being a cold night, and went
that fashion off to sleep. Twelve o'clock and the anniversary

(33:15):
of the day that Christ was born Yes, I had
heard it striking from the street spire, and counted the
stroke slowly told out, listening to the echoes from other steeples.
After this one had ceased as I lay awake in
that gas lit room, feeding as if I was not
alone this Christmas morn. Thus, while I was trying to
think what had made me wake, so suddenly I seemed

(33:37):
to hear a far off echo cry, come to me.
At the same time, the bedclothes were slowly pulled from
the bed and left in a confused mass on the floor.
Is that you, Polly? I cried, remembering the spirit seance
and the name by which the spirit had announced itself
when she took possession. Three distinct knocks resounded on the

(34:00):
bedpost at my ear, the signal for yes, can you
speak to me? Yes, an echo rather than a voice, replied,
while I felt my flesh creeping, yet strove to be brave.
Can I see you? No? Feel you? Instantly, the feeling
of a light cold hand touched my brown past over

(34:21):
my face. God's name, what do you want to save
the girl I was in to night? It is after
her and will kill her if you do not come quickly.
In an instant, I was out of the bed and
tumbling my clothes on any way, horrified threat all you,
feeling as if Polly were helping me to dress. There

(34:43):
was a candy and dagger on my table, which I
brought from Ceylon, an old dagger which I had Bofford's
antiquity and design, and this I snatched up as I
left a room, with that light unseen hand leading me
out of the house and along the deserted, snow covered streets.
I did not know where the trance medium lived, but
I followed where that light grasp led me through the wild,

(35:06):
blinding snow drift round corners and through short cuts, with
my head down in the flakes falling thickly about me,
until at last I raved at a silent square and
in front of a house which by some instinct I
knew that I must enter. Over By the other side
of the street, I saw a man standing looking up

(35:27):
to a dimly lighted window, but I could not see
him very distinctly, and I did not pay much attention
to him at the time, but rushed and said up
the front steps and into the house, that unseen hand
still pulling me forward. How that door opened or if
it did open, I could not say. I only know
that I got in as we get into places in

(35:48):
a dream. And up the inner stairs I passed into
a bedroom where the light was burning dimly. It was
her bedroom, and she was struggling in the thug like
grasp of those same demon claws, with that same demonic
face close to hers, and the rest of it drifting
away to nothingness. I saw it all at a glance,

(36:08):
her half naked form with the disarranged bedclothes, as the
unformed demon of muscle clutched that delicate throat, And then
I was at it like a fury, with my candy
and dagger, slashing crossways at those cruel claws and that
evil face, while blood streaks followed the course of my knife,
making ugly stains, until at last it ceased struggling and

(36:31):
disappeared like a horrid nightmare, as the half strangled girl,
now released from that fell grip, woke up the house
with her screams, while from her relaxing hand dropped a
strange coin, which I took possession of. Thus I left
her feeling that my work was done. Going downstairs, I
had come up without impediment or even seemingly in the

(36:52):
slightest degree, attracting the attention of the other inmates of
the house, who rushed in their night dresses towards the
bedroom from once the screams were issuing into the street again.
With that coin and one hand and my dagger in
the other, I rushed, And then I remembered the man
whom I had seen looking up at the window. Was
he still there, yes, but on the ground, and a

(37:15):
confused black mass amongst the white snow, as if he
had been struck down. I went over to where he
lay and looked at him. Was he dead? Yes? I
turned him round and saw that his throat was scashed
from ear to ear, and all over his face the
same dark, pallid, pock marked evil face and claw like hands.

(37:38):
I saw the dark slashes of my candy and dagger,
while the soft white snow around him was stained with
crimson life pools. And as I looked, I heard the
clock strike one, while from the distance sounded the chant
of the coming weights. Then I turned and fled blindly
into the darkness.

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