The vampire nemesis and other weird stories of the China coast (10 page)

On reaching town, I drove at once to the house and let myself in with the latch-key. The Chinese boy who had been left in charge was unmistakably surprised at my unexpected return—a surprise not unmixed with chagrin, for he was dispensing liberal hospitality in the kitchen to a crowd of admiring friends, who had taken up permanent quarters there during our absence.

And now, curiously enough, the compelling force that had drawn me here lessened in intensity and ceased altogether on my arrival at home. It left me in a state of mental perturbation, drifting waywardly to and fro, like the boat that, whirling down the rapids, finds itself drawn suddenly into the comparative calm of some backwater, lacking the guiding hand that had once urged it to the descent.

It
seemed to me next morning incredible that I should have been brought down to Shanghai, and then permitted to lie quietly in my own bed, making an attempt, however futile, to sleep.

What new horror lay in store for me from that reptile ? I asked myself as I rose, shivering from the effect of apprehension working on disordered nerves. This day would show—at least, I should know the worst.

But no. The day passed quietly away. I stuck methodically to routine work, and would vouchsafe no reason to the rest of my staff for my speedy return. Once a horrible thought seized me. Why had I been made to return without my wife ? Had I been permitted to consult her, she would certainly have accompanied me. Great God! could it be

possible that that fiend ? I dared not allow

my mind to frame the ghastly thought. But I took the first opportunity of finding out where Rawdon was. To my relief, he was still at Shanghai. I cannot write down the horrible fear that assailed me.

Two days later Ethel followed me down from Chefoo. She was looking frightened and distressed
at my abrupt departure, but there was no look of reproach in the lovely eyes as she greeted me. Her sole anxiety had been for me. What was the matter of such urgency that had called me away without giving me time to say a word of farewell to her ? But I could only answer evasively that it was business of the utmost importance.

It was on the evening after her return that Rawdon, the parasite, again took possession of my body to work it as he willed. In our little drawingroom were some cherished specimens of old English tapestry, such as the ladies of the early part of the century had loved to work. They had been commenced by Ethel's grandmother and finished by her mother, who had made a present of them to my wife. There was nothing in the whole house that she cherished with such reverent affection as these examples of bygone industry, and Arnold Rawdon knew of them, and knew the value she set on them—at least he must have known ; yet no, perhaps he did not: I cannot tell. I have long since given up all attempt to discover what the man saw with his own eyes and what with mine.

We were sitting together in the room, as was our wont. Ethel was at the piano playing to me the airs she knew I loved, when my eyes, roaming over the walls, came ultimately to rest on the tapestries. I sat looking fixedly at them for some time, then rose and walked toward them and began deliberately to tear them down. Ethel heard the
rustle and flutter, as one after the other came to the ground, and stopped playing.

I felt her eyes turned on me with that old look of apprehension, and I felt the brutal cruelty of what I was doing. Yet I coolly picked up one of the pieces that lay at my feet, and rent it deliberately in two. The stuff was rotten with age, and yielded readily to my efforts. Then I took each half separately and tore it across again and yet again, until a mass of shredded cloth was all that remained of the tapestry my wife had loved. I picked up the second piece; but here Ethel, stung into action at seeing this ruthless destruction of her treasures, rose in agitation from her place and crossed to my side, imploring me to desist. I shall never forget that look of pleading, grief, and fear I saw in her eyes, as I stood for a moment coldly regarding her. She uttered not a word,—there was no need for words, with looks so eloquent.

And I understood clearly every expression that flitted across her face. I realised perfectly the pain I was causing her. It was all so clear to me, yet disassociated from myself, a sensation apart, that had nothing to do with my actions. After gazing at her like this for a second or two I laughed harshly, and seizing her roughly by the arm, led her back to her place and returned to my hellish work.

I was destroying the last piece, gloating as I did so over my work, when I commenced to experience
again that feeling of change that had come over me before in the public gardens—that indescribable something that told me my muscles were coming under the control of my own volition again. As before, too, my soul sprang eagerly forward to regain possession of the evacuated citadel, and almost before I was aware of it, I was myself, my own free-thinking self, standing there, looking stupidly down at a piece of tapestry I held in my hands.

I glanced across at Ethel. She had left her seat at the piano and had thrown herself face down on the couch; I could see the dainty shoulders heaving as she struggled to repress her sobs. As I crossed to her side to ask her forgiveness, to try and explain, I stopped abruptly as the bitter question formulated itself in my brain: What explanation could I offer ? What could I tell her to excuse such an act—that someone at a distance had compelled me to do it against my will ? Would Ethel understand ? Would she not rather think her worst fear was confirmed—the fear that I read so plainly in those clear, horror-stricken eyes—that I had lost my reason ?

No, the thing was hopeless. I must let her think what she would. Explanations would but make it worse. And so, with head bowed in utter hopelessness, I crept softly from the room and up to our bedroom.

What was to be the end of it ? I asked myself.
on the morrow. Then I too went upstairs. Ethel had fallen asleep, and I stood looking down at her .with a thrill of gratitude to Heaven for having blessed me with such a wife.

The pure young face was turned slightly from me, and I could see the line of the dark lashes that touched her cheek and swept upward again.

One bare, rounded arm was thrown upward in curves of graceful beauty, until the little hand was lost in the loosened coils of fair hair beneath her head.

Her whole attitude, in its youthful freshness and repose, whispered a witchery more thrilling than the charm of her waking moments. But as I stood watching the placid heave of her bosom, the fond smile faded from my lips, and I set my teeth; for a diabolical plan had commenced to insinuate itself into my mind—an impulse that made me quiver with terror and fall back a step as I fought frantically to thrust it aside. I knew perfectly what it was, knew too whence it emanated; and with the knowledge came the ghastly conviction that it was useless to struggle against the growing dominance, that I must obey or, what was worse, yield up my body to the force, that it might work its will.

Not one detail of what occurred within the next twenty minutes was hidden from me; I could no more have concealed from myself what I was doing than I could have averted it.

XII.

Let
me hurry through it, and tell it as briefly as I can, for it is not a subject one cares to dwell upon with too great minuteness of detail! I shall pass over that miserable day at the office—when work was impossible to my maddened brain, and when my thoughts travelled but in the one groove of horror, worn deep and smooth now with constant usage—and come at once to the night.

I had taken home with me some manuscript that required revision, or rather re-writing, before it could be available as copy. It was the report of an outport contributor, and what news it contained was so garbled as to require a large amount of licking into shape before it could be made presentable. Feeling unequal to the task during office hours, I had determined to rewrite it at home and run it in in the next day's issue.

As I sat poring over the sheets, struggling to extract sense and coherency from the mangled contribution, Ethel, after making me promise faithfully to stop at eleven o'clock, whether I had finished or not, went up to bed.

I finished before eleven, and had the satisfaction of seeing all the sheets ready for the compositors
on the morrow. Then I too went upstairs. Ethel had fallen asleep, and I stood looking down at her with a thrill of gratitude to Heaven for having blessed me with such a wife.

The pure young face was turned slightly from me, and I could see the line of the dark lashes that touched her cheek and swept upward again.

One bare, rounded arm was thrown upward in curves of graceful beauty, until the little hand was lost in the loosened coils of fair hair beneath her head.

Her whole attitude, in its youthful freshness and repose, whispered a witchery more thrilling than the charm of her waking moments. But as I stood watching the placid heave of her bosom, the fond smile faded from my lips, and I set my teeth; for a diabolical plan had commenced to insinuate itself into my mind—an impulse that made me quiver with terror and fall back a step as I fought frantically to thrust it aside. I knew perfectly what it was, knew too whence it emanated; and with the knowledge came the ghastly conviction that it was useless to struggle against the growing dominance, that I must obey or, what was worse, yield up my body to the force, that it might work its will.

Not one detail of what occurred within the next twenty minutes was hidden from me; I could no more have concealed from myself what I was doing than I could have averted it.

In the dining-room stood a Japanese charcoal stove that we had bought as an ornament, but which we sometimes used as a unique footwarmer on unusually cold evenings.

This I now dragged out and ignited, creeping steadily back to the room with it in my arms. With fiendish deliberation, I chose the most convenient place in which to put it, and carefully closed the doors, blocked up the chimney, and assured myself that the window was firmly fastened. Then I stirred the glowing embers to brisker life, piled them in a heap, and sat down to watch the effects of the fumes on my sleeping wife.

I was going to suffocate her, to stifle her, as one smokes out a rat in its hole; and I had to stay here and watch her until the fumes became too dense to be longer endured, or perhaps to perish myself.

Oh, the hell-hound! the fiend incarnate! He was making me commit murder—murder of the foulest kind—and I helpless and powerless to prevent it! Ah, why had I let him live to draw another breath when I had him for the moment in my power there in the gardens ? Why did I turn and fly to save my own miserable life, and so ensure the destruction of Ethel's ?

The insidious fumes grew denser! I rose from my knees beside the furnace, where I had been fanning the charcoal into a fiercer glow, and contemplated it from a safer distance. In the lurid
glow of the embers I thought I traced the vile features of Rawdon looking out at me with his sardonic leer. I could even trace in the grey ash on the upper pieces the bristling sandy hair, stiff and erect, as I had too often seen it.

Once I almost shook myself free of this frightful obsession and ran forward to the brazier; but my purpose was changed before I reached it, and I but stirred the glowing embers afresh.

The fumes grew heavier still in their deadly pungency. Ethel stirred slightly, and allowed her arm to sink to her side. I watched her with bated breath, fearful she might wake.

The room was becoming untenable; I retreated slowly toward the closed door. I would gladly, had I been allowed, have laid myself down beside my girl-wife and the little child yet unborn and have shared their fate, but the inexorable force prevented me. I must leave them, must close the door, and leave them there to die, while I preserved my miserable life until such time as the scaffold claimed it and the world branded me with the blood of my young wife.

I reached the door, and stood there swaying to and fro in anguish, a terrible struggle going on between my own will and this that was ruling my body—such a struggle as I had never made before. May God shield any conscious being from such a one again ! And while I stood rocking thus in the agony of impotence, Ethel stirred once more.

They say a person suffocating from the fumes of charcoal sees visions of wondrous beauty. I do not doubt it, for as I gazed, Ethel turned in her sleep and smiled. Her sweet face was turned full towards me, and while the ghost of that smile of ineffable peace still lingered round the corners of her mouth, I felt something go like a ripping seam behind my ear.

It was freedom! It was the swift transition from obsession to free will!

My brain reeled with the joy of the thought as I clung to the door handle, for one brief second, as stunned and inert as I had been before under the influence of the force. The next, the intense desire for action tingled its way sharply through every fibre of my body. I sprang forward, and dashed my fist through every pane of the window in rapid succession. Then I bounded back to the door, threw it wide open, and tore the rug from the chimney where I had stuffed it. Lastly, I seized the brazier of glowing charcoal, regardless of my searing flesh, and dashed it with all my force through the broken window, tearing away with it the useless framework.

The crash aroused Ethel from the lethargy into which she was sinking.

She opened her eyes languidly and looked around. The gas-jet was still burning low, but gradually brightening under the indraught of sweet, fresh air from the shattered window.