The nurse received me at the door.
‘Well, nurse, how’s the patient?’
Nurse was a plump, motherly woman, who had attended more than one odd protégé of mine, and whom I kept pretty constantly at my beck and call. She held out her hands.
‘It’s hard to tell. He hasn’t moved since I came.’
‘Not moved?—Is he still insensible?’
‘He seems to me to be in some sort of trance. He does not appear to breathe, and I can detect no pulsation1, but the doctor says he’s still alive,—it’s the queerest case I ever saw.’
I went farther into the room. Directly I did so the man in the bed gave signs of life which were sufficiently2 unmistakable. Nurse hastened to him.
‘Why,’ she exclaimed, ‘he’s moving!—he might have heard you enter!’
He not only might have done, but it seemed possible that that was what he actually had done. As I approached the bed, he raised himself to a sitting posture3, as, in the morning, he had done in the street, and he exclaimed, as if he addressed himself to someone whom he saw in front of him,—I cannot describe the almost more than human agony which was in his voice,
What he meant I had not the slightest notion. Probably that was why what seemed more like a pronouncement of delirium5 than anything else had such an extraordinary effect upon my nerves. No sooner had he spoken than a sort of blank horror seemed to settle down upon my mind. I actually found myself trembling at the knees. I felt, all at once, as if I was standing7 in the immediate8 presence of something awful yet unseen.
As for the speaker, no sooner were the words out of his lips, than, as was the case in the morning, he relapsed into a condition of trance. Nurse, bending over him, announced the fact.
‘He’s gone off again!—What an extraordinary thing!—I suppose it is real.’ It was clear, from the tone of her voice, that she shared the doubt which had troubled the policeman. ‘There’s not a trace of a pulse. From the look of things he might be dead. Of one thing I’m sure, that there’s something unnatural9 about the man. No natural illness I ever heard of, takes hold of a man like this.’
Glancing up, she saw that there was something unusual in my face; an appearance which startled her.
‘Why, Miss Marjorie, what’s the matter!—You look quite ill!’
I felt ill, and worse than ill; but, at the same time, I was quite incapable10 of describing what I felt to nurse. For some inscrutable reason I had even lost the control of my tongue,—I stammered11.
‘I—I—I’m not feeling very well, nurse; I—I—I think I’ll be better in bed.’
As I spoke6, I staggered towards the door, conscious, all the while, that nurse was staring at me with eyes wide open. When I got out of the room, it seemed, in some incomprehensible fashion, as if something had left it with me, and that It and I were alone together in the corridor. So overcome was I by the consciousness of its immediate propinquity, that, all at once, I found myself cowering13 against the wall,—as if I expected something or someone to strike me.
How I reached my bedroom I do not know. I found Fanchette awaiting me. For the moment her presence was a positive comfort,—until I realised the amazement14 with which she was regarding me.
‘Mademoiselle is not well?’
‘Thank you, Fanchette, I—I am rather tired. I will undress myself to-night—you can go to bed.’
‘But if mademoiselle is so tired, will she not permit me to assist her?’
The suggestion was reasonable enough,—and kindly15 too; for, to say the least of it, she had as much cause for fatigue16 as I had. I hesitated. I should have liked to throw my arms about her neck, and beg her not to leave me; but, the plain truth is, I was ashamed. In my inner consciousness I was persuaded that the sense of terror which had suddenly come over me was so absolutely causeless, that I could not bear the notion of playing the craven in my maid’s eyes. While I hesitated, something seemed to sweep past me through the air, and to brush against my cheek in passing. I caught at Fanchette’s arm.
‘Fanchette!—Is there something with us in the room?’
‘Something with us in the room?—Mademoiselle?—What does mademoiselle mean?’
She looked disturbed,—which was, on the whole, excusable. Fanchette is not exactly a strong-minded person, and not likely to be much of a support when a support was most required. If I was going to play the fool, I would be my own audience. So I sent her off.
‘Did you not hear me tell you that I will undress myself?—you are to go to bed.’
She went to bed,—with quite sufficient willingness.
The instant that she was out of the room I wished that she was back again. Such a paroxysm of fear came over me, that I was incapable of stirring from the spot on which I stood, and it was all I could do to prevent myself from collapsing17 in heap on the floor. I had never, till then, had reason to suppose that I was a coward. Nor to suspect myself of being the possessor of ‘nerves.’ I was as little likely as anyone to be frightened by shadows. I told myself that the whole thing was sheer absurdity18, and that I should be thoroughly19 ashamed of my own conduct when the morning came.
‘If you don’t want to be self-branded as a contemptible20 idiot, Marjorie Lindon, you will call up your courage, and these foolish fears will fly.’
But it would not do. Instead of flying, they grew worse. I became convinced,—and the process of conviction was terrible beyond words!—that there actually was something with me in the room, some invisible horror,—which, at any moment, might become visible. I seemed to understand—with a sense of agony which nothing can describe!—that this thing which was with me was with Paul. That we were linked together by the bond of a common, and a dreadful terror. That, at that moment, that same awful peril21 which was threatening me, was threatening him, and that I was powerless to move a finger in his aid. As with a sort of second sight, I saw out of the room in which I was, into another, in which Paul was crouching22 on the floor, covering his face with his hands, and shrieking23. The vision came again and again with a degree of vividness of which I cannot give the least conception. At last the horror, and the reality of it, goaded24 me to frenzy25.
‘Paul! Paul!’ I screamed.
As soon as I found my voice, the vision faded. Once more I understood that, as a matter of simple fact, I was standing in my own bedroom; that the lights were burning brightly; that I had not yet commenced to remove a particle of dress.
‘Am I going mad?’ I wondered.
I had heard of insanity26 taking extraordinary forms, but what could have caused softening27 of the brain in me I had not the faintest notion. Surely that sort of thing does not come on one—in such a wholly unmitigated form!—without the slightest notice,—and that my mental faculties28 were sound enough a few minutes back I was certain. The first premonition of anything of the kind had come upon me with the melodramatic utterance29 of the man I had found in the street.
‘Paul Lessingham!—Beware!—The Beetle!’
The words were ringing in my ears.—What was that?—There was a buzzing sound behind me. I turned to see what it was. It moved as I moved, so that it was still at my back. I swung, swiftly, right round on my heels. It still eluded30 me,—it was still behind.
The buzzing was distinctly audible. It was like the humming of a bee. Or—could it be a beetle?
My whole life long I have had an antipathy33 to beetles34,—of any sort or kind. I have objected neither to rats nor mice, nor cows, nor bulls, nor snakes, nor spiders, nor toads35, nor lizards36, nor any of the thousand and one other creatures, animate37 or otherwise, to which so many people have a rooted, and, apparently38, illogical dislike. My pet—and only—horror has been beetles. The mere12 suspicion of a harmless, and, I am told, necessary cockroach39, being within several feet has always made me seriously uneasy. The thought that a great, winged beetle—to me, a flying beetle is the horror of horrors!—was with me in my bedroom,—goodness alone knew how it had got there!—was unendurable. Anyone who had beheld40 me during the next few moments would certainly have supposed I was deranged41. I turned and twisted, sprang from side to side, screwed myself into impossible positions, in order to obtain a glimpse of the detested42 visitant,—but in vain. I could hear it all the time; but see it—never! The buzzing sound was continually behind.
The terror returned,—I began to think that my brain must be softening. I dashed to the bed. Flinging myself on my knees, I tried to pray. But I was speechless,—words would not come; my thoughts would not take shape. I all at once became conscious, as I struggled to ask help of God, that I was wrestling with something evil,—that if I only could ask help of Him, evil would flee. But I could not. I was helpless,—overmastered. I hid my face in the bedclothes, cramming43 my fingers into my ears. But the buzzing was behind me all the time.
I sprang up, striking out, blindly, wildly, right and left, hitting nothing,—the buzzing always came from a point at which, at the moment, I was not aiming.
I tore off my clothes. I had on a lovely frock which I had worn for the first time that night; I had had it specially44 made for the occasion of the Duchess’ ball, and—more especially—in honour of Paul’s great speech. I had said to myself, when I saw my image in a mirror, that it was the most exquisite45 gown I had ever had, that it suited me to perfection, and that it should continue in my wardrobe for many a day, if only as a souvenir of a memorable46 night. Now, in the madness of my terror, all reflections of that sort were forgotten. My only desire was to away with it. I tore it off anyhow, letting it fall in rags on the floor at my feet. All else that I had on I flung in the same way after it; it was a veritable holocaust47 of dainty garments,—I acting48 as relentless49 executioner who am, as a rule, so tender with my things. I leaped upon the bed, switched off the electric light, hurried into bed, burying myself, over head and all, deep down between the sheets.
I had hoped that by shutting out the light, I might regain50 my senses. That in the darkness I might have opportunity for sane51 reflection. But I had made a grievous error. I had exchanged bad for worse. The darkness lent added terrors. The light had not been out five seconds before I would have given all that I was worth to be able to switch it on again.
As I cowered52 beneath the bedclothes I heard the buzzing sound above my head,—the sudden silence of the darkness had rendered it more audible than it had been before. The thing, whatever it was, was hovering53 above the bed. It came nearer and nearer; it grew clearer and clearer. I felt it alight upon the coverlet;—shall I ever forget the sensations with which I did feel it? It weighed upon me like a ton of lead. How much of the seeming weight was real, and how much imaginary, I cannot pretend to say; but that it was much heavier than any beetle I have ever seen or heard of, I am sure.
For a time it was still,—and during that time I doubt if I even drew my breath. Then I felt it begin to move, in wobbling fashion, with awkward, ungainly gait, stopping every now and then, as if for rest. I was conscious that it was progressing, slowly, yet surely, towards the head of the bed. The emotion of horror with which I realised what this progression might mean, will be, I fear, with me to the end of my life,—not only in dreams, but too often, also, in my waking hours. My heart, as the Psalmist has it, melted like wax within me. I was incapable of movement,—dominated by something as hideous54 as, and infinitely55 more powerful than, the fascination56 of the serpent.
When it reached the head of the bed, what I feared—with what a fear!—would happen, did happen. It began to find its way inside,—to creep between the sheets; the wonder is I did not die! I felt it coming nearer and nearer, inch by inch; I knew that it was upon me, that escape there was none; I felt something touch my hair.
And then oblivion did come to my aid. For the first time in my life I swooned.
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1
pulsation
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| n.脉搏，悸动，脉动；搏动性 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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6
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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7
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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8
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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9
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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10
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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11
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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14
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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15
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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collapsing
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| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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23
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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24
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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28
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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29
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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30
eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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31
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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32
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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33
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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35
toads
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆( toad的名词复数 ) | |
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lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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38
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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cockroach
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| n.蟑螂 | |
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40
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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41
deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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42
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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44
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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45
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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46
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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holocaust
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| n.大破坏；大屠杀 | |
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48
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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49
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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50
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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51
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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52
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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53
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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54
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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55
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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56
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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