“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 wiser. 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 faint sound of a stick and a shambling step on the flags in the passage outside. 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 the help of a crutch7, his eyes were covered by a shade, and his lower lip, half averted8, hung pale and pink from his decaying yellow teeth. He made straight for an armchair on the opposite side of the table, sat down clumsily, and began to cough. The man with the withered hand gave the newcomer a short glance of positive dislike; the old woman took no notice of his arrival, but remained with her eyes fixed9 steadily10 on the fire.
“I said—it’s your own choosing,” said the man with the withered hand, when the coughing had ceased for a while.
“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 sidewise, to see me. I caught a momentary11 glimpse of his eyes, small and bright and inflamed12. Then he began to cough and splutter again.
“Why don’t you drink?” said the man with the withered arm, pushing the beer toward him. The man with the shade poured out a glassful with a shaking hand, that splashed half as much again on the deal table. A monstrous13 shadow of him crouched14 upon the wall, and mocked his action as he poured and drank. I must confess I had scarcely expected these grotesque15 custodians16. There is, to my mind, something inhuman17 in senility, something crouching18 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. And that night, perhaps, I was in the mood for uncomfortable impressions. I resolved to get away from their vague fore-shadowings of the evil things upstairs.
“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 out of the darkness under the shade, but no one answered me. I waited a minute, glancing from one to the other. The old woman stared like a dead body, glaring into the fire with lack-lustre eyes.
“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 slab19 outside the door,” said the man with the withered hand, 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, softly.
“—You go alone.”
“Very well,” I answered, shortly, “and which way do I go?”
“You go along the passage for a bit,” said he, nodding his head on his shoulder at the door, “until you come to a spiral staircase; and on the second landing is a door covered with green 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 you are really going?” said the man with the shade, looking at me again for the third time with that queer, unnatural20 tilting21 of the face.
“This night of all nights!” whispered the old woman.
“It is what I came for,” I said, and moved toward 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 chilly22, echoing passage.
I must confess that the oddness of these three old pensioners23 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, had affected24 me curiously25 in spite of my effort 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 indeed to be feared, when common sense was uncommon26, an age when omens27 and witches were credible28, and ghosts beyond denying. Their very existence, thought I, is spectral29; the cut of their clothing, fashions born in dead brains; the ornaments30 and conveniences in the room about them even are ghostly—the thoughts of vanished men, which still haunt rather than participate in the world of to-day. And the passage I was in, long and shadowy, with a film of moisture glistening31 on the wall, was as gaunt and cold as a thing that is dead and rigid32. But with an effort I sent such thoughts to the right-about. The long, drafty subterranean33 passage was chilly and dusty, and my candle flared34 and made the shadows cower35 and quiver. The echoes rang up and down the spiral staircase, and a shadow came sweeping36 up after me, and another fled before me into the darkness overhead. I came to the wide landing and stopped there for a moment listening to a rustling37 that I fancied I heard creeping behind me, and then, satisfied of the absolute silence, pushed open the unwilling38 baize-covered door and stood in the silent 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 reticulated silvery illumination. Everything seemed in its proper position; the house might have been deserted39 on the yesterday instead of twelve months ago. There were candles in the sockets40 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 my candlelight. A waiting stillness was over everything. I was about to advance, and stopped abruptly41. A bronze group stood upon the landing hidden from me by a corner of the wall; but its shadow fell with marvelous distinctness upon the white paneling, and gave me the impression of some one crouching to waylay42 me. The thing jumped upon my attention suddenly. I stood rigid for half a moment, perhaps. Then, with my hand in the pocket that held the revolver, I advanced, only to discover a Ganymede and Eagle, glistening in the moonlight. That incident for a time restored my nerve, and a dim porcelain43 Chinaman on a buhl table, whose head rocked as I passed, scarcely startled me.
The door of 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 recess44 in which I stood, before opening the door. Here it was, thought I, that my predecessor45 was found, and the memory of that story gave me a sudden twinge of apprehension46. I glanced over my shoulder at the black Ganymede in the moonlight, and opened the door of the Red Room rather hastily, with my face half turned to the pallid47 silence of the corridor.
I 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 ascended48. That had been the end of his vigil, of his gallant49 attempt to conquer the ghostly tradition of the place, and never, I thought, had apoplexy better served the ends of superstition50. There were other and older stories that clung to the room, back to the half-incredible beginning of it all, the tale of a timid wife and the tragic51 end that came to her husband’s jest of frightening her. And looking round that huge shadowy room with its black window bays, its recesses52 and alcoves53, its dusty brown-red hangings and dark gigantic furniture, one could well understand the legends that had sprouted55 in its black corners, its germinating56 darknesses. My candle was a little tongue of light in the vastness of the chamber57; its rays failed to pierce to the opposite end of the room, and left an ocean of dull red mystery and suggestion, sentinel shadows and watching darknesses beyond its island of light. And the stillness of desolation brooded over it all.
I must confess some impalpable quality of that ancient room disturbed me. I tried to fight the feeling down. I resolved to make a systematic58 examination of the place, and so, by leaving nothing to the imagination, dispel59 the fanciful suggestions of the obscurity before they obtained a hold upon me. After satisfying myself of the fastening of the door, I began to walk round the room, peering round each article of furniture, tucking up the valances of the bed and opening its curtains wide. In one place there was a distinct echo to my footsteps, the noises I made seemed so little that they enhanced rather than broke the silence of the place. I pulled up the blinds and examined the fastenings of the several windows. Attracted by the fall of a particle of dust, I leaned forward and looked up the blackness of the wide chimney. Then, trying to preserve my scientific attitude of mind, I walked round and began tapping the oak paneling for any secret opening, but I desisted before reaching the alcove54. I saw my face in a mirror—white.
There were two big mirrors in the room, each with a pair of sconces bearing candles, and on the mantelshelf, too, were candles in china candle-sticks. 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 disposition60 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 barricade61 before me. On this lay my revolver, ready to hand. My precise examination had done me a little good, but I still found the remoter darkness of the place and its perfect stillness too stimulating62 for the imagination. The echoing of the stir and crackling of the fire was no sort of comfort to me. The shadow in the alcove at the end of the room began to display that undefinable quality of a presence, that odd suggestion of a lurking63 living thing that comes so easily in silence and solitude64. And to reassure65 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.
By this time I was in a state of considerable nervous tension, although to my reason there was no adequate cause for my condition. My mind, however, was perfectly66 clear. I postulated67 quite unreservedly that nothing supernatural could happen, and to pass the time I began stringing some rhymes together, Ingoldsby fashion, concerning the original legend of the place. A few I spoke68 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 reverted69 to the three old and distorted people downstairs, and I tried to keep it upon that topic.
The sombre reds and grays of the room troubled me; even with its seven candles the place was merely dim. The light in the alcove flaring70 in a draft, and the fire flickering71, kept the shadows and penumbra72 perpetually shifting and stirring in a noiseless flighty dance. Casting about for a remedy, I recalled the wax candles I had seen in the corridor, and, with a slight effort, carrying a candle and leaving the door open, I walked out into the moonlight, and presently returned with as many as ten. These I put in the various knick-knacks of china with which the room was sparsely73 adorned74, and lit and placed them where the shadows had lain deepest, some on the floor, some in the window recesses, arranging and rearranging them until at last my seventeen candles were so placed that not an inch of the room but had the direct light of at least 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 illuminated75. There was something very cheering and reassuring76 in these little silent streaming flames, and to notice their steady diminution77 of length offered me an occupation and gave me a reassuring sense of the passage of time.
Even with that, however, the brooding expectation of the vigil weighed heavily enough upon me. I stood watching the minute hand of my watch creep towards midnight.
Then something happened in the alcove. 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. The black shadow had sprung back to its place. “By Jove,” said I aloud, recovering from my surprise, “that draft’s a strong one;” and taking the matchbox from the table, I walked across the room in a leisurely78 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 wink79 and go right out, and almost immediately its companion followed it. The flames vanished as if the wick had been suddenly nipped between a finger and thumb, leaving the wick neither glowing nor smoking, but black. While I stood gaping80 the candle at the foot of the bed went out, and the shadows seemed to take another step toward me.
“This won’t do!” said I, and first one and then another candle on the mantelshelf followed.
“What’s up?” I cried, with a queer high note getting into my voice somehow. At that the candle on the corner of the wardrobe went out, and the one I had relit in the alcove followed.
“Steady on!” I said, “those candles are wanted,” speaking with a half-hysterical facetiousness81, 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 room were eclipsed. But with the same match I also relit the larger mirror candles, and those on the floor near the doorway82, so that for the moment I seemed to gain on the extinctions. But then in a noiseless 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 a 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, and then, perceiving a better way, I dropped matches on the iron-bound deedbox 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 extinction83 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, then on that. I was now almost frantic84 with the horror of the coming darkness, and my self-possession deserted me. I leaped panting from candle to candle in a vain struggle against that remorseless advance.
I bruised85 myself in the thigh86 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 streamed across the ceiling and 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 upon the furniture; made two steps toward the grate, and incontinently the flames dwindled87 and vanished, the glow vanished, the reflections rushed together and disappeared, and as I thrust the candle between the bars darkness closed upon me like the shutting of an eye, wrapped about me in a stifling88 embrace, sealed my vision, and crushed the last vestiges89 of self-possession from my brain. And it was not only palpable darkness, but intolerable terror. The candle fell from my hands. I flung out my arms in a vain effort to thrust that ponderous90 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 stumbling run for the door.
But I had forgotten the exact position of the door, and I struck myself heavily against the corner of the bed. I staggered back, turned, and was either struck or struck myself against some other bulky furnishing. I have a vague memory of battering91 myself thus to and fro in the darkness, of a heavy blow at last upon my forehead, of 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 hand was watching my face. I looked about me trying to remember what had happened, and for a space I could not recollect92. I rolled my eyes into the corner and saw the old woman, no longer abstracted, no longer terrible, pouring out some drops of medicine from a little blue phial into a glass. “Where am I?” I said. “I seem to remember you, and yet I can not 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.”
I wondered that I had ever disliked him. The three of them in the daylight seemed commonplace old folk enough. The man with the green shade had his head bent as one who sleeps.
It was very slowly I recovered the memory of my experience. “You believe now,” said the old man with the withered hand, “that the room is haunted?” He spoke no longer as one who greets an intruder, but as one who condoles93 with a friend.
“Yes,” said I, “the room is haunted.”
“And you have seen it. And we who have been 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, something impalpable—”
“Well?” they said.
“The worst of all the things that haunt poor mortal men,” 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 deafens94 and darkens and overwhelms. It followed me through the corridor, it fought against me in the room—”
I stopped abruptly. There was an interval95 of silence. My hand went up to my bandages. “The candles went out one after another, and I fled—”
Then the man with the shade lifted his face sideways to see me and spoke.
“That is it,” said he. “I knew that was it. A Power of Darkness. To put such a curse upon a home! It lurks96 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 in the corridor and follows you, so that you dare not turn. It is even as you say. Fear itself is in that room. Black Fear.... And there it 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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3
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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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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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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13
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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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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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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31
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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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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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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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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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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porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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44
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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47
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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48
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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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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53
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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54
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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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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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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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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63
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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64
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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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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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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diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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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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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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85
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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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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condoles
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| v.表示同情，吊唁( condole的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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96
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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