_XXVI_
THE LUMINOUS SPECK
I awake suddenly. It is still dark. I turn over, once or twice, in myendeavors to sleep again; but I cannot sleep. My head is aching,slightly; and, by turns I am hot and cold. In a little, I give up theattempt, and stretch out my hand, for the matches. I will light mycandle, and read, awhile; perhaps, I shall be able to sleep, after atime. For a few moments, I grope; then my hand touches the box; but, asI open it, I am startled, to see a phosphorescent speck of fire, shiningamid the darkness. I put out my other hand, and touch it. It is on mywrist. With a feeling of vague alarm, I strike a light, hurriedly, andlook; but can see nothing, save a tiny scratch.
'Fancy!' I mutter, with a half sigh of relief. Then the match burns myfinger, and I drop it, quickly. As I fumble for another, the thingshines out again. I know, now, that it is no fancy. This time, I lightthe candle, and examine the place, more closely. There is a slight,greenish discoloration 'round the scratch. I am puzzled and worried.Then a thought comes to me. I remember the morning after the Thingappeared. I remember that the dog licked my hand. It was this one, withthe scratch on it; though I have not been even conscious of theabasement, until now. A horrible fear has come to me. It creeps into mybrain--the dog's wound, shines at night. With a dazed feeling, I sitdown on the side of the bed, and try to think; but cannot. My brainseems numbed with the sheer horror of this new fear.
Time moves on, unheeded. Once, I rouse up, and try to persuade myselfthat I am mistaken; but it is no use. In my heart, I have no doubt.
Hour after hour, I sit in the darkness and silence, and shiver,hopelessly....
The day has come and gone, and it is night again.
This morning, early, I shot the dog, and buried it, away among thebushes. My sister is startled and frightened; but I am desperate.Besides, it is better so. The foul growth had almost hidden its leftside. And I--the place on my wrist has enlarged, perceptibly. Severaltimes, I have caught myself muttering prayers--little things learnt as achild. God, Almighty God, help me! I shall go mad.
Six days, and I have eaten nothing. It is night. I am sitting in mychair. Ah, God! I wonder have any ever felt the horror of life that Ihave come to know? I am swathed in terror. I feel ever the burning ofthis dread growth. It has covered all my right arm and side, and isbeginning to creep up my neck. Tomorrow, it will eat into my face. Ishall become a terrible mass of living corruption. There is no escape.Yet, a thought has come to me, born of a sight of the gun-rack, on theother side of the room. I have looked again--with the strangest offeelings. The thought grows upon me. God, Thou knowest, Thou must know,that death is better, aye, better a thousand times than This. This!Jesus, forgive me, but I cannot live, cannot, cannot! I dare not! I ambeyond all help--there is nothing else left. It will, at least, spareme that final horror....
I think I must have been dozing. I am very weak, and oh! so miserable,so miserable and tired--tired. The rustle of the paper, tries my brain.My hearing seems preternaturally sharp. I will sit awhile and think....
"Hush! I hear something, down--down in the cellars. It is a creakingsound. My God, it is the opening of the great, oak trap. What can bedoing that? The scratching of my pen deafens me ... I must listen....There are steps on the stairs; strange padding steps, that come up andnearer.... Jesus, be merciful to me, an old man. There is somethingfumbling at the door-handle. O God, help me now! Jesus--The door isopening--slowly. Somethi--"
That is all[16]
The House on the Borderland Page 27