Herndon was silent for a moment.
“If he tires of the waiting he may send the beast through for me,” he said. “I mean the man with the yellow eyes. I’ve a desire to try one of these guns on it. It’s real, you know, the beast is—and these guns have stopped elephants.”
“But the man with the yellow eyes, Jim,” I whispered—“who is he?”
“He,” said Herndon—“why, he’s the Wonder-Worker himself!”
“You don’t believe such a story as that!” I cried. “Why, it’s—it’s lunacy! It’s some devilish illusion in the glass. It’s like the—crystal globe that makes you hypnotize yourself and think the things your own mind creates are real. Break it, Jim! It’s devilish! Break it!”
“Break it!” he said incredulously. “Break it? Not for the ten thousand lives that are the toll of Rak! Not real? Aren’t these wounds real? Wasn’t Santhu real? Break it! Good God, man, you don’t know what you say! Why, it’s my only road back to her! If that yellow-eyed devil back there were only as wise as he looks, he would know he didn’t have to keep his beast watching there. I want to go, Ward; I want to go and bring her back with me. I’ve an idea, somehow, that he hasn’t—well, full control of things. I’ve an idea that the Greatest Wonder-Worker wouldn’t put wholly in Rak’s hands the souls that wander through the many gateways into his kingdom. There’s a way out, Ward; there’s a way to escape him. I won away from him once, Ward. I’m sure of it. But then I left Santhu behind. I have to go back for her. That’s why I found the little passage that led from the throne-room. And he knows it, too. That’s why he had to turn his beast on me.
“And I’ll go through again, Ward. And I’ll come back again—with Santhu!”
But he has not returned. It is six months now since he disappeared for the second time. And from his bedroom, as he had done before. By the will that they found—the will that commended that in event of his disappearing as he had done before and not returning within a week I was to have his house and all that was within it—I came into possession of the Dragon Glass. The dragons had spun again for Herndon, and he had gone through the gateway once more. I found only one of the elephant guns, and I knew that he had had time to take the other with him.
I sit night after night before the glass, waiting for him to come back through it—with Santhu. Sooner or later they will come. That I know.
E. F. Benson (1867–1940) was an English writer who tried his hand at novels, biographies, short stories, and even archaeology. His first novel, Dodo (1893), was somewhat controversial for its portrayal of polite society, and not long after Benson explored horror in a different way: through the palpable terror of his supernatural tales. The uncanny also figures into a later novel, David Blaize and the Blue Door (1918), in yet a third mode. The novel, excerpted here, reads much like Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and seems to take place in a dream, filled with the nonsensical and the absurd. This was in itself a departure from the same character written about in a realistic way—with normal depictions of schoolboy life—in his prior novel David Blaize (1916). Somewhat underrated today, Benson’s body of work is extraordinary for its quality and range.
David Blaize and the Blue Door
(EXCERPT)
E. F. Benson
DAVID WAS NOW JUST “turned six,” as Nannie expressed it, and knew that he had only about four years more in front of him before he began to lapse into that drowsy state of grown-uppishness which begins when boys are ten or thereabouts, and lasts, getting worse and worse, till they are twenty or seventy or anything else. If he was going to find the real world of which he caught glimpses now and then, he must do so without losing much time. There was probably a door into it, and for a long time he had hoped that it was the door in the ground by the lake. But one day he had found that door open, and it was an awful disappointment to see that it only contained a tap and a round opening, to which presently the gardener fixed a long curly pipe. When he turned the tap, the pipe gave some jolly chuckling noises, and began to stream with water at its far end. That was very delightful, and consoled David a little for the disappointment.
Then one night he had a clue. He had just lain down in his bed, when he heard a door beginning to behave as doors do when they think they are quite alone, and nobody is looking. Then, as you know, they unlatch themselves, and begin walking to and fro on their hinges, hitting themselves against their frames. This often happened to the nursery door when he came downstairs in the morning, after he was quite sure he had shut it. His mother therefore sent him up to shut it again, and sure enough the door was always open, having undone itself to go for a walk on its hinges. But on this night he thought that the sound of the door came from under his pillow, but he very carelessly fell asleep just as he was listening in order to make sure, and the next thing he knew was that Nannie was telling him it was morning. Again, on the very next night he had only just put his head on the pillow when the door began banging. It sounded muffled, and there was no doubt this time that it came from under his pillow. He sat up in bed, broad awake, and pulled his pillow away. By the light of the flame-cats who were dancing to-night, he could see the smooth white surface of his bolster, but, alas, there was no door there.
David was now quite sure that somewhere under his pillow was the door he was looking for. One time he had allowed himself to go to sleep before finding it, and the other time he had got too much awake. So on the third night he took the pin-partridge to bed with him, in the hope that it would keep him just awake enough, by pricking him with the head of its pin-leg. The pin-partridge had, of course, come out of Noah’s Ark, and in the course of some terrible adventures had lost a leg. So Nannie had taken a pin, and driven it into the stump, so that it could stand again. The pin-leg was rather longer than the wooden one, which made the partridge lean a little to one side, as if it was listening to the agreeable conversation of the animal next it.
Sure enough, on this third night, David had only just lain down, with the pin-partridge in one hand, and the pin ready to scratch his leg to keep him just awake enough, when the door began banging again, just below his pillow. He listened a little while, pressing the pin-head against his calf so that it hurt a little, but not enough to wake him up hopelessly, and moved his head about till he was sure that his ear was directly above the door. Then very quietly he pushed his pillow aside, and there, in the middle of his bolster was a beautiful shining blue door with a gold handle, swinging gently to and fro, as if it was alone. He got up, pushed it open and entered. For fear of some dreadful misfortune happening, like finding his mother on the other side of it, who might send him back to shut it, he closed it very carefully and softly. He found that there was a key hanging up on the wall beside it, and to his great joy it fitted the keyhole. He locked it, and put the key back on its nail, so that when he came back he could let himself out, and in the meantime nobody could possibly reach him.
CHAPTER II
The passage into which the blue door opened was very like the nursery passage at home, and it was certainly night, because the flame-cats were dancing on the walls, which only happened after dark. Yet there was no fire burning anywhere, which was rather puzzling, but soon David saw that these were real cats, not just the sort of unreal ones which demanded a fire to make them dance at all. Some were red, some were yellow, some were emerald green with purple patches, and instead of having a band or a piano to dance to, they all squealed and purred and growled, making such a noise that David could not hear himself speak. So he stamped his foot and said “Shoo!” at which the dance suddenly came to an end, and all the cats sat down, put one hind-leg in the air, and began licking themselves.
“If you please,” said David, “will you tell me where to go next?”
Every cat stopped licking itself, and looked at him. Some cat behind him said:
“Lor! it’s the boy from the nursery.”
David turned ro
und. All the cats had begun licking themselves again, except a large tabby, only instead of being black and brown, it was the colour of apricot jam and poppies.
“Was it you who spoke?” said David.
“Set to partners!” said the tabby, and they all began dancing again.
“Shoo, you silly things,” said David, stamping again. “I don’t want to stop your dancing, except just to be told where I’m to go, and what I’m to do if I’m hungry.”
The dancing stopped again.
“There is a pot of mouse-marmalade somewhere,” said the tabby, “only you mustn’t take more than a very little bit. It’s got to last till February.”
“But I don’t like mouse-marmalade,” said David.
“I never said you did,” said the tabby. “Where’s the cook?”
“Gone to buy some new whiskers,” said another. “She put them too close to the fire, which accounts for the smell of burning.”
“Then all that can be done is to set to partners, and hope for the best,” said the tabby.
“If any one dances again,” said David, “before you tell me the way, and where I shall find a shop with some proper food in it, not mousey, I shall turn on the electric light.”
“Fiddle-de-dee!” said the tabby, and they all began singing
“Hey diddle-diddle
The cat and the fiddle.”
at the top of their voices.
David was getting vexed with them all, and he looked about for the electric light. But there were no switches by the door, as there ought to have been, but only a row of bottles which he knew came out of his father’s laboratory. But the stopper in one of them was loose, and a fizzing noise came out of it. He listened to it a minute, with his ear close to it, and heard it whispering, “It’s me! it’s me! it’s me!”
“And when he’s got, it, he doesn’t know what to do with it!” said the tabby contemptuously.
David hadn’t the slightest idea. He was only sure that the bottle had something to do with the electric light, and he took it up and began shaking it, as Nannie did to his medicine bottle. To his great delight, he saw that, as he shook it, the cats grew fainter and fainter, and the passage lighter and lighter.
The tabby spoke to him in a tremulous voice.
“You’re shocking us frightfully,” she said. “Please, don’t. You may have all the mouse-marmalade as soon as the cook comes back with her whiskers. She’s been gone a long time. And if you don’t like it, you really know where everything else is. There’s the garden outside, and then the lake, and then the village. It’s all just as usual, except that everything is real here. But whatever you do, don’t shock us any more.”
The passage had grown quite bright by now, and there were only a few of the very strongest cats left. So, as he was a kind boy, he put down the bottle again, which began fizzing and whispering:
“Pleased to have met you: pleased to have met you: pleased to have met you.”
“I don’t know why you couldn’t have told me that at first,” said David to the tabby.
“Nor do I. It was my poor head. The dancing gets into it, and makes it turn round and square, one after the other. May we go on?”
The cats began to recover as he stopped shaking the bottle, and he walked on round the corner where the game cupboard stood against the wall. All the games were kept there, the Noah’s Ark, and the spillikins, and the Badminton, and the Happy Families, and the oak-bricks, and the lead soldiers; and, as usual, the door of it was slightly open, because, when all the games were put away, even Nannie could not shut it tight. To-night there was an extraordinary stir going on in it, everything was slipping about inside, and, as David paused to see what was happening, a couple of marbles rolled out. But, instead of stopping on the carpet, they continued rolling faster and faster, and he heard them hopping downstairs in the direction of the garden door.
“I don’t want to play games just yet,” he said to himself, “there is so much to explore, but I must see what they are doing.”
He opened the door a little wider, and heard an encouraging voice, which he knew must be Noah’s, come from inside.
“That’s right,” it said; “now we can see what we’re doing. Is my ulster buttoned properly this time, missus? Last night, when you buttoned it for me, you did it wrong, you did, and I caught cold in my ankle, I did. It’s been sneezing all day, it has.”
“I never saw such trouble as you men are,” said Mrs. Noah. “Get up, you silly, and don’t sit on Shem’s hat. I’ve been looking for it everywhere.”
David stooped down and looked in. He had a sort of idea that he was invisible, and wouldn’t disturb anybody. There was the ark, with all its windows open, and the family were dressing. It consisted of two compartments, in the second of which lived the animals, one on the top of each other right up to the roof. There was no door in it, but the roof lifted off. At present it was tightly closed and latched, and confused noises of lions roaring and elephants trumpeting and cows mooing, dogs barking, and birds singing came from inside. Sometimes there was ordinary talk too, for the animals had all learned English from David as well as knowing their own animal tongue, and the Indian elephant spoke Hindustanee in addition. He was slim and light blue, and was known as the “Elegant Elephant,” in contrast to a stout black one who never spoke at all. All this David thought that he and Nannie had made up, but now he knew that it was perfectly true. And he stood waiting to see what would happen next.
The hubbub increased.
“If that great lamb would get off my chest,” said the elegant elephant, “I should be able to get up. Why don’t they come and open the roof?”
“Not time yet,” said the cow. “The family are still dressing. But it’s a tight fit to-night. I’m glad the pin-partridge isn’t here scratching us all.”
“Where’s it gone?” said the elephant.
“David took it to bed; more fool he,” said the cow.
“He couldn’t be much more of a fool than he is,” grunted the pig. “He knows nothing about us really.”
At this moment David heard an irregular kind of hopping noise coming down the passage, and, just as he turned to look, the pin-partridge ran between his legs. It flew on to the roof of the ark, and began pecking at it.
“Let me in,” it shouted. “I believe it’s the first of September. What cads you fellows are not to let me in!”
“You always think it’s the first of September,” said the cow. “Now look at me; I’m milked every day, which must hurt me much more than being shot once.”
“Not if it’s properly done,” said the partridge. “I know lots of cows who like it.”
“But it’s improperly done,” said the cow. “David knows less about milking than anybody since the flood. You wait till I catch him alone, and see if I can’t teach him something about tossing.”
This sounded a very awful threat, and David, who knew that it was best to take cows as well as bulls by the horns, determined on a bold policy.
“If I hear one word more about tossing, I shan’t let any of you out,” he said.
There was dead silence.
“Who’s that?” said the cow in a trembling voice, for she was a coward as well as a cow.
“It’s me!” said David.
There was a confused whispering within.
“We can’t stop here all night.”
“Say you won’t toss him.”
“You can’t anyhow, because your horns are both broken.”
“Less noise in there,” said Noah suddenly, from the next compartment.
The cow began whimpering.
“I’m a poor old woman,” she said, “and everybody’s very hard on me, considering the milk and butter I’ve given you.”
“Chalk and water and margarine,” said the
pin-partridge, who had been listening with his ear to the roof. “Do say you won’t toss him. I can’t see him, but he’s somewhere close to me.”
“Very well. I won’t toss him. Open the roof, boy.”
David was not sure that Noah would like this, as he was the ark-master, but he felt that his having said that he would keep the roof shut unless the cow promised, meant that he would open it if she did, and so he lifted the roof about an inch.
At that moment Noah’s head appeared. He was standing on Shem’s head, who was standing on Ham’s head, who was standing on Japheth’s head, who was standing on his mother’s head. They always came out of their room in this way, partly in order to get plenty of practice in case of fire, and partly because they couldn’t be certain that the flood had gone down, and were afraid that if they opened the door, which is the usual way of leaving a room, the water might come in. When Noah had climbed on to the top of the wall, he pulled Shem after him, who pulled Ham, who pulled Japheth, who pulled Mrs. Noah, and there they all stood like a row of sparrows on a telegraph wire, balancing themselves with great difficulty.
“Who’s been meddling with my roof?” asked Noah, in an angry voice. “I believe it’s that pin-partridge.”
The pin-partridge trembled so violently at this that he fell off the roof altogether, quite forgetting that he could fly. But the moment he touched the ground, he became a full-sized partridge.
“No, I didn’t,” he said. “There’s that boy somewhere about, but I can’t see him. He got through the blue door to-night.”
David now knew that he was invisible, but though it had always seemed to him that it must be the most delicious thing in the world to be able to be visible or invisible whenever you chose, he found that it was not quite so jolly to have become invisible without choosing, and not to have the slightest idea how to become visible again. It gave him an empty kind of feeling like when he was hungry long before the proper time.
The Big Book of Classic Fantasy Page 106