“Eight-and-twenty years,” said I, “I have lived, and never a ghost have I seen as yet.”
The old woman sat staring hard into the fire, her pale eyes wide open. “Ay,” she broke in; “and eight-and-twenty years you have lived and never seen the likes of this house, I reckon. There’s a many things to see, when one’s still but eight-and-twenty.” She swayed her head slowly from side to side. “A many things to see and sorrow for.”
I half-suspected the old people were trying to enhance the spiritual terrors of their house by their droning insistence3. I put down my empty glass on the table and looked about the room, and caught a glimpse of myself, abbreviated4 and broadened to an impossible sturdiness, in the queer old mirror at the end of the room. “Well,” I said, “if I see anything to-night, I shall be so much the 126wiser. For I come to the business with an open mind.”
“It’s your own choosing,” said the man with the withered arm once more.
I heard the sound of a stick and a shambling step on the flags in the passage outside, and the door creaked on its hinges as a second old man entered, more bent5, more wrinkled, more aged6 even than the first. He supported himself by a single crutch7, his eyes were covered by a shade, and his lower lip, half-averted, hung pale and pink from his decaying yellow teeth. He made straight for an arm-chair on the opposite side of the table, sat down clumsily, and began to cough. The man with the withered arm gave this new-comer a short glance of positive dislike; the old woman took no notice of his arrival, but remained with her eyes fixed8 steadily9 on the fire.
“I said—it’s your own choosing,” said the man with the withered arm, when the coughing had ceased for awhile.
“It’s my own choosing,” I answered.
The man with the shade became aware of my presence for the first time, and threw his head back for a moment and sideways, to see me. I caught a momentary10 glimpse of his eyes, small and bright and inflamed11. Then he began to cough and splutter again.
“Why don’t you drink?” said the man with the withered arm, pushing the beer towards him. The 127man with the shade poured out a glassful with a shaky arm that splashed half as much again on the deal table. A monstrous12 shadow of him crouched13 upon the wall and mocked his action as he poured and drank. I must confess I had scarce expected these grotesque14 custodians15. There is to my mind something inhuman16 in senility, something crouching17 and atavistic; the human qualities seem to drop from old people insensibly day by day. The three of them made me feel uncomfortable, with their gaunt silences, their bent carriage, their evident unfriendliness to me and to one another.
“If,” said I, “you will show me to this haunted room of yours, I will make myself comfortable there.”
The old man with the cough jerked his head back so suddenly that it startled me, and shot another glance of his red eyes at me from under the shade; but no one answered me. I waited a minute, glancing from one to the other.
“If,” I said a little louder, “if you will show me to this haunted room of yours, I will relieve you from the task of entertaining me.”
“There’s a candle on the slab18 outside the door,” said the man with the withered arm, looking at my feet as he addressed me. “But if you go to the red room to-night—”
(“This night of all nights!” said the old woman.)
“You go alone.”
128“Very well,” I answered. “And which way do I go?”
“You go along the passage for a bit,” said he, “until you come to a door, and through that is a spiral staircase, and half-way up that is a landing and another door covered with baize. Go through that and down the long corridor to the end, and the red room is on your left up the steps.”
“Have I got that right?” I said, and repeated his directions. He corrected me in one particular.
“And are you really going?” said the man with the shade, looking at me again for the third time, with that queer, unnatural19 tilting20 of the face.
(“This night of all nights!” said the old woman.)
“It is what I came for,” I said, and moved towards the door. As I did so, the old man with the shade rose and staggered round the table, so as to be closer to the others and to the fire. At the door I turned and looked at them, and saw they were all close together, dark against the firelight, staring at me over their shoulders, with an intent expression on their ancient faces.
“Good-night,” I said, setting the door open.
“It’s your own choosing,” said the man with the withered arm.
I left the door wide open until the candle was well alight, and then I shut them in and walked down the chilly21, echoing passage.
I must confess that the oddness of these three 129old pensioners22 in whose charge her ladyship had left the castle, and the deep-toned, old-fashioned furniture of the housekeeper’s room in which they foregathered, affected23 me in spite of my efforts to keep myself at a matter-of-fact phase. They seemed to belong to another age, an older age, an age when things spiritual were different from this of ours, less certain; an age when omens24 and witches were credible25, and ghosts beyond denying. Their very existence was spectral26; the cut of their clothing, fashions born in dead brains. The ornaments27 and conveniences of the room about them were ghostly—the thoughts of vanished men, which still haunted rather than participated in the world of to-day. But with an effort I sent such thoughts to the right-about. The long, draughty subterranean29 passage was chilly and dusty, and my candle flared30 and made the shadows cower31 and quiver. The echoes rang up and down the spiral staircase, and a shadow came sweeping32 up after me, and one fled before me into the darkness overhead. I came to the landing and stopped there for a moment, listening to a rustling33 that I fancied I heard; then, satisfied of the absolute silence, I pushed open the baize-covered door and stood in the corridor.
The effect was scarcely what I expected, for the moonlight, coming in by the great window on the grand staircase, picked out everything in vivid black shadow or silvery illumination. 130Everything was in its place: the house might have been deserted34 on the yesterday instead of eighteen months ago. There were candles in the sockets35 of the sconces, and whatever dust had gathered on the carpets or upon the polished flooring was distributed so evenly as to be invisible in the moonlight. I was about to advance, and stopped abruptly36. A bronze group stood upon the landing, hidden from me by the corner of the wall, but its shadow fell with marvellous distinctness upon the white panelling, and gave me the impression of some one crouching to waylay37 me. I stood rigid38 for half a minute perhaps. Then, with my hand in the pocket that held my revolver, I advanced, only to discover a Ganymede and Eagle glistening39 in the moonlight. That incident for a time restored my nerve, and a porcelain40 Chinaman on a buhl table, whose head rocked silently as I passed him, scarcely startled me.
The door to the red room and the steps up to it were in a shadowy corner. I moved my candle from side to side, in order to see clearly the nature of the recess41 in which I stood before opening the door. Here it was, thought I, that my predecessor42 was found, and the memory of that story gave me a sudden twinge of apprehension43. I glanced over my shoulder at the Ganymede in the moonlight, and opened the door of the red room rather hastily, with my face half turned to the pallid44 silence of the landing.
131I entered, closed the door behind me at once, turned the key I found in the lock within, and stood with the candle held aloft, surveying the scene of my vigil, the great red room of Lorraine Castle, in which the young duke had died. Or, rather, in which he had begun his dying, for he had opened the door and fallen headlong down the steps I had just ascended45. That had been the end of his vigil, of his gallant46 attempt to conquer the ghostly tradition of the place, and never, I thought, had apoplexy better served the ends of superstition47. And there were other and older stories that clung to the room, back to the half-credible beginning of it all, the tale of a timid wife and the tragic48 end that came to her husband’s jest of frightening her. And looking around that large shadowy room, with its shadowy window bays, its recesses49 and alcoves50, one could well understand the legends that had sprouted52 in its black corners, its germinating53 darkness. My candle was a little tongue of light in its vastness, that failed to pierce the opposite end of the room, and left an ocean of mystery and suggestion beyond its island of light.
I resolved to make a systematic54 examination of the place at once, and dispel55 the fanciful suggestions of its obscurity before they obtained a hold upon me. After satisfying myself of the fastening of the door, I began to walk about the room, peering round each article of furniture, 132tucking up the valances of the bed, and opening its curtains wide. I pulled up the blinds and examined the fastenings of the several windows before closing the shutters56, leant forward and looked up the blackness of the wide chimney, and tapped the dark oak panelling for any secret opening. There were two big mirrors in the room, each with a pair of sconces bearing candles, and on the mantel-shelf, too, were more candles in china candlesticks. All these I lit one after the other. The fire was laid,—an unexpected consideration from the old housekeeper,—and I lit it, to keep down any disposition57 to shiver, and when it was burning well, I stood round with my back to it and regarded the room again. I had pulled up a chintz-covered armchair and a table, to form a kind of barricade58 before me, and on this lay my revolver ready to hand. My precise examination had done me good, but I still found the remoter darkness of the place, and its perfect stillness, too stimulating59 for the imagination. The echoing of the stir and crackling of the fire was no sort of comfort to me. The shadow in the alcove51, at the end in particular, had that undefinable quality of a presence, that odd suggestion of a lurking60 living thing, that comes so easily in silence and solitude61. At last, to reassure62 myself, I walked with a candle into it, and satisfied myself that there was nothing tangible there. I stood that candle upon the floor of the alcove, and left it in that position.
133By this time I was in a state of considerable nervous tension, although to my reason there was no adequate cause for the condition. My mind, however, was perfectly63 clear. I postulated64 quite unreservedly that nothing supernatural could happen, and to pass the time I began to string some rhymes together, Ingoldsby fashion, of the original legend of the place. A few I spoke65 aloud, but the echoes were not pleasant. For the same reason I also abandoned, after a time, a conversation with myself upon the impossibility of ghosts and haunting. My mind reverted66 to the three old and distorted people downstairs, and I tried to keep it upon that topic. The sombre reds and blacks of the room troubled me; even with seven candles the place was merely dim. The one in the alcove flared in a draught28, and the fire-flickering kept the shadows and penumbra67 perpetually shifting and stirring. Casting about for a remedy, I recalled the candles I had seen in the passage, and, with a slight effort, walked out into the moonlight, carrying a candle and leaving the door open, and presently returned with as many as ten. These I put in various knick-knacks of china with which the room was sparsely68 adorned69, lit and placed where the shadows had lain deepest, some on the floor, some in the window recesses, until at last my seventeen candles were so arranged that not an inch of the room but had the direct light of at 134least one of them. It occurred to me that when the ghost came, I could warn him not to trip over them. The room was now quite brightly illuminated70. There was something very cheery and reassuring71 in these little streaming flames, and snuffing them gave me an occupation, and afforded a reassuring sense of the passage of time.
Even with that, however, the brooding expectation of the vigil weighed heavily upon me. It was after midnight that the candle in the alcove suddenly went out, and the black shadow sprang back to its place there. I did not see the candle go out; I simply turned and saw that the darkness was there, as one might start and see the unexpected presence of a stranger. “By Jove!” said I aloud; “that draught’s a strong one!” and, taking the matches from the table, I walked across the room in a leisurely72 manner to relight the corner again. My first match would not strike, and as I succeeded with the second, something seemed to blink on the wall before me. I turned my head involuntarily, and saw that the two candles on the little table by the fireplace were extinguished. I rose at once to my feet.
“Odd!” I said. “Did I do that myself in a flash of absent-mindedness?”
I walked back, relit one, and as I did so, I saw the candle in the right sconce of one of the mirrors wink73 and go right out, and almost immediately its 135companion followed it. There was no mistake about it. The flame vanished, as if the wicks had been suddenly nipped between a finger and a thumb, leaving the wick neither glowing nor smoking, but black. While I stood gaping74, the candle at the foot of the bed went out, and the shadows seemed to take another step towards me.
“This won’t do!” said I, and first one and then another candle on the mantel-shelf followed.
“What’s up?” I cried, with a queer high note getting into my voice somehow. At that the candle on the wardrobe went out, and the one I had relit in the alcove followed.
“Steady on!” I said. “These candles are wanted,” speaking with a half-hysterical facetiousness75, and scratching away at a match the while for the mantel candlesticks. My hands trembled so much that twice I missed the rough paper of the matchbox. As the mantel emerged from darkness again, two candles in the remoter end of the window were eclipsed. But with the same match I also relit the larger mirror candles, and those on the floor near the doorway76, so that for the moment I seemed to gain on the extinctions. But then in a volley there vanished four lights at once in different corners of the room, and I struck another match in quivering haste, and stood hesitating whither to take it.
As I stood undecided, an invisible hand seemed to sweep out the two candles on the table. With 136a cry of terror, I dashed at the alcove, then into the corner, and then into the window, relighting three, as two more vanished by the fireplace; then, perceiving a better way, I dropped the matches on the iron-bound deed-box in the corner, and caught up the bedroom candlestick. With this I avoided the delay of striking matches; but for all that the steady process of extinction77 went on, and the shadows I feared and fought against returned, and crept in upon me, first a step gained on this side of me and then on that. It was like a ragged78 stormcloud sweeping out the stars. Now and then one returned for a minute, and was lost again. I was now almost frantic79 with the horror of the coming darkness, and my self-possession deserted me. I leaped, panting and dishevelled, from candle to candle, in a vain struggle against that remorseless advance.
I bruised80 myself on the thigh81 against the table, I sent a chair headlong, I stumbled and fell and whisked the cloth from the table in my fall. My candle rolled away from me, and I snatched another as I rose. Abruptly this was blown out, as I swung it off the table, by the wind of my sudden movement, and immediately the two remaining candles followed. But there was light still in the room, a red light that staved off the shadows from me. The fire! Of course, I could still thrust my candle between the bars and relight it!
I turned to where the flames were still dancing between the glowing coals, and splashing red reflections 137upon the furniture, made two steps towards the grate, and incontinently the flames dwindled82 and vanished, the glow vanished, the reflections rushed together and vanished, and as I thrust the candle between the bars, darkness closed upon me like the shutting of an eye, wrapped about me in a stifling83 embrace, sealed my vision, and crushed the last vestiges84 of reason from my brain. The candle fell from my hand. I flung out my arms in a vain effort to thrust that ponderous85 blackness away from me, and, lifting up my voice, screamed with all my might—once, twice, thrice. Then I think I must have staggered to my feet. I know I thought suddenly of the moonlit corridor, and, with my head bowed and my arms over my face, made a run for the door.
But I had forgotten the exact position of the door, and struck myself heavily against the corner of the bed. I staggered back, turned, and was either struck or struck myself against some other bulky furniture. I have a vague memory of battering86 myself thus, to and fro in the darkness, of a cramped87 struggle, and of my own wild crying as I darted88 to and fro, of a heavy blow at last upon my forehead, a horrible sensation of falling that lasted an age, of my last frantic effort to keep my footing, and then I remember no more.
I opened my eyes in daylight. My head was roughly bandaged, and the man with the withered 138arm was watching my face. I looked about me, trying to remember what had happened, and for a space I could not recollect89. I rolled my eyes into the corner, and saw the old woman, no longer abstracted, pouring out some drops of medicine from a little blue phial into a glass. “Where am I?” I asked. “I seem to remember you, and yet I cannot remember who you are.”
They told me then, and I heard of the haunted red room as one who hears a tale. “We found you at dawn,” said he, “and there was blood on your forehead and lips.”
It was very slowly I recovered my memory of my experience. “You believe now,” said the old man, “that the room is haunted?” He spoke no longer as one who greets an intruder, but as one who grieves for a broken friend.
“Yes,” said I; “the room is haunted.”
“And you have seen it. And we, who have lived here all our lives, have never set eyes upon it. Because we have never dared.—Tell us, is it truly the old earl who—”
“No,” said I; “it is not.”
“I told you so,” said the old lady, with the glass in her hand. “It is his poor young countess who was frightened—”
“It is not,” I said. “There is neither ghost of earl nor ghost of countess in that room, there is no ghost there at all; but worse, far worse—”
“Well?” they said.
139“The worst of all the things that haunt poor mortal man,” said I; “and that is, in all its nakedness—Fear! Fear that will not have light nor sound, that will not bear with reason, that deafens90 and darkens and overwhelms. It followed me through the corridor, it fought against me in the room—”
Then the man with the shade sighed and spoke. “That is it,” said he. “I knew that was it. A Power of Darkness. To put such a curse upon a woman! It lurks92 there always. You can feel it even in the daytime, even of a bright summer’s day, in the hangings, in the curtains, keeping behind you however you face about. In the dusk it creeps along the corridor and follows you, so that you dare not turn. There is Fear in that room of hers—black Fear, and there will be—so long as this house of sin endures.”
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1
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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abbreviated
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| adj. 简短的，省略的 动词abbreviate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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custodians
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| n.看守人，保管人( custodian的名词复数 ) | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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pensioners
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| n.领取退休、养老金或抚恤金的人( pensioner的名词复数 ) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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omens
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| n.前兆，预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
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credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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28
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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cower
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| v.畏缩，退缩，抖缩 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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waylay
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| v.埋伏，伏击 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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49
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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50
alcoves
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| n.凹室( alcove的名词复数 )；（花园）凉亭；僻静处；壁龛 | |
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51
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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sprouted
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| v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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germinating
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| n.& adj.发芽（的）v.（使）发芽( germinate的现在分词 ) | |
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systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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postulated
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| v.假定，假设( postulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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penumbra
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| n.（日蚀）半影部 | |
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sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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facetiousness
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| n.滑稽 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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deafens
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| 使聋( deafen的第三人称单数 )； 使隔音 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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