deserted by my companions, I took my candelabra and
continued my investigation of the house alone.
The next floor was comprised mainly of bed and
batlfrooms, but I found that one whole wing of the house
(which formed the hollow square in which the courtyard
lay) was one enormous room, the Long Gallery, as
Gideon had called it. Down one side of this long, wide
room—which would have done credit to any great
country house in England— there were very tall windows, and opposite each window was a tall mirror, similar to the one downstairs- but long and narrow.
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Between these mirrors stood the bookcases of polished
oak, and piled on the shelves haphazardly were a myriad
of books, some on their sides, some upside down in total
confusion. Even a cursory glance was enough to tell me
that the library was so muddled it would take me some
considerable time to sort the books into subjects before I
could even start to catalogue and value them. Leaving
the Long Gallery shrouded in dust sheets and with the
shutters still closed, I went one floor higher. Here there
were only attics, and in one of them I came upon the gilt
frame of a mirror and I shivered, for I presumed that this
was the attic in which Gideon’s uncle had been found
dead. The mirror frame was identical to the one in the
blue salon but on a much smaller scale, of course. Here
again were the satyrs, the unicorns, the griffons and
hippographs, but in addition there was a small area at
the top of the frame, carved like a medallion, in which
were inscribed in French the words: "I am your servant.
Feed and liberate me. I am you. " It did not seem to make
sense. I closed the attic door and, chiding myself for
being a coward, I locked it securely and in consequence
felt much better.
When I made my way downstairs to the blue salon, I
was greeted with rapture by both dog and cat, as if I had
been away on a journey of many days, and I realized that
they were hungry. Simultaneously I realized that I was
hungry too, for the excitement of arriving at the house
and exploring it had quite made me forget to prepare
myself any luncheon and it was now past six o’clock in
the evening. So, accompanied by the eager animals, I
made my way down to the kitchen to cook some food for
us all. For the dog, I stewed some scraps of mutton, and a
little chicken for the cat, both combined with some
boiled rice and potatoes; they were delighted with this
menu. For myself, I grilled a large steak with an assortment of vegetables and chose from the cellar an excellent bottle of red wine. When this was ready I carried it up to.
the blue salon and, pulling my chair up to the fire, made
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myself comfortable and fell on the food hungrily. Presently the dog and the cat, replete with food, joined me and spread out in front of the fire. I got up and closed the
door once they were settled, for there was quite a cold
draught from the big hall which, with its marble floor,
was now as cold as an ice-chest. Finishing my food, I lay
back contentedly in my chair, sipping my wine and
watching the blue flames run to and fro over the chestnut
roots in the fire. I was very relaxed and happy and the
wine, rich and heavy, was having a soporific effect on me.
I slept for perhaps an hour. Then, suddenly, I was fully
awake with every nerve tingling, as if someone had
shouted my name. I listened, but the only sounds were
the soft breathing of the sleeping dog and the contented
purr of the cat curled up on the chair opposite me. It was
so silent that I could hear the faint bubble and crackle of
the chestnut roots in the fire. Feeling sure I must have
imagined a sound, and yet feeling unaccountably uneasy
for no discernible reason, I threw another log on the fire
and settled back in the chair to doze.
It was then I glanced across at the mirror opposite me
and noticed that in the reflection the door to the salon
which I had carefully closed was now ajar. Surprised, I
twisted round in my chair and looked at the real door,
only to find it was securely closed as I had left it. I looked
again into the mirror and made sure my eyes— aided by
the wine— were not playing tricks, but sure enough, in
the reflection the door appeared to be slightly ajar. I was
sitting there looking at it and wondering what trick of
light and reflection could produce the effect of an open
door when the door responsible for the reflection was
securely closed, when I noticed something that made me
sit up, astonished and uneasy. The door in the reflection
was being pushed open still further. I looked at the real
door again and saw that it was still firmly shut. Yet its
reflection in the mirror was opening, very slowly, millimeter by millimeter. I sat watching it, the hair on the
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nape of my neck stirring, and suddenly round the edge of
the door, on the carpet, there appeared something that at
first glance I thought was some sort of caterpillar. It was
long, wrinkled and yellowish-white in color, and at one
end it had a long blackened horn. It humped itself up and
scrabbled at the surface of the carpet with its horn in a
way that I had seen no caterpillar behave. Then, slowly,
it retreated behind the door. I found that I was sweating.
I glanced once more at the real door to assure myself that
it was closed because, for some reason or other, I did not
fancy having that caterpillar or whatever it was crawling
about the room with me. The door was still shut. I took a
draught of wine to steady my nerves and was annoyed to
see that my hand was shaking. I, who had never believed
in ghosts, or hauntings, or magic spells or any of that
claptrap, was imagining things in a mirror and convincing myself to such an extent they were real that I was actually afraid. It was ridiculous, I told myself as I drank
the wine. There was some perfectly rational explanation
for the whole thing. I sat forward in my chair and gazed
at the reflection in the mirror with great intentness. For a
long time nothing happened, and then the door in the
mirror swung open a fraction and the caterpillar appeared again, but this time it was joined by another and then, after a pause, yet another and suddenly my blood
ran cold for I realized what it was. They were not
caterpillars but attenuated yellow fingers with long black
nails twisted like gigantic misshapen rose thorns. The
moment I realized this the whole hand came into view,
feeling its way feebly along the carpet. The hand was a
mere skeleton covered with the pale yellow, parchmentlike skin through which the knuckles and joints showed like walnuts. It felt around on the carpet in a blind,
groping sort of way, the hand moving from a bony wrist,
like the tentacles of some strange sea anemone from the
deep, one that has become pallid through living in
>
perpetual dark. Then slowly it withdrew behind the
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door. I shuddered for I wondered what sort of body was
attached to that horrible hand. 1 waited for perhaps
quarter of an hour, dreading what might suddenly appear from behind the mirror door, but nothing happened.
After a while I became restive. I was still attempting to
convince myself that the whole thing was an hallucination brought on by the wine and the heat of the fire, but without success. For there was the door of the blue salon
carefully closed against the draught and the door in the
mirror still ajar with apparently something lurking behind it. I wanted to walk over to the mirror and examine it, but I did not have the courage, I regret to say. Instead,
I thought of a plan which, I felt, would show me whether
I was imagining things or not. I woke Agrippa the dog
and, crumpling up a sheet of the newspaper I had been
reading into a ball, I threw it down the room so that it
landed just by the closed door. In the mirror it lay just
near the door that was ajar. Agrippa, more to please me
than anything else for he was very sleepy, bounded after
it. Gripping the arms of my chair, I watched his reflection in the mirror as he ran towards the door. He reached the ball of newspaper and paused to pick it up. And then
something so hideous happened that I could scarcely
believe my eyes. The mirror door was pushed open still
further and the hand and a long white bony arm shot out.
It grabbed the dog in the mirror by the scruff of its neck
and pulled it speedily, kicking and struggling, behind the
door. Agrippa had now come back to me, having retrieved the newspaper, but I took no notice of him, for my gaze was fixed on the reflection in the mirror. After a
few minutes the hand suddenly reappeared. Was it my
imagination or did it now seem stronger? At any event, it
curved itself round the woodwork of the door and drew
it completely shut, leaving on the white paint a series of
bloody fingerprints that made me feel sick. The real
Agrippa was nosing my leg, the newspaper in his mouth,
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331
seeking my approval, while behind the mirror door, God
knows what fate had overtaken his reflection.
To say that 1 was shaken means nothing. I could
scarcely believe the evidence of my senses. I sat staring at
the mirror for a long time, but nothing further happened.
Eventually, and with my skin prickling with fear, I got up
and examined both the mirror and the door into the
salon, but both bore a perfectly ordinary appearance. I
wanted very much to open the door to the salon and see
if the reflection in the mirror opened as well, but to tell
the truth, I was too frightened of disturbing whatever it
was that lurked behind the mirror door. I glanced up at
the top of the mirror and saw for the first time that it
bore the same inscription as the one I had found in the
attic: I am your servant. Feed and liberate me. I am you.
Did this mean the creature behind the door, I wondered?
Feed and liberate me— was that what I had done by
letting the dog go near the door? Was the creature now
feasting upon the dog it had caught in the mirror? I
shuddered at the thought. I determined that the only
thing to do was to get a good night's rest, for I was tired
and overwrought. In the morning, I assured myself, I
would hit upon a ready explanation for all this mumbo-
jumbo. So, picking up the cat and calling for the dog (for,
if the truth be known, I needed the company of the
animals), I left the blue salon. As I was closing the door I
was frozen into immobility and the hair on my head
prickled as I heard a cracked, harsh voice bid me "Bon
nuit" in wheedling tones. It was a moment or two before
I realized it was Octavius the parrot and went limp with
relief.
Clair the cat drowsed peacefully in my arms, but
Agrippa needed some encouragement to accompany me
upstairs, for it was obvious that he had never been
allowed above the ground floor before. At length, with
reluctance that soon turned to excitement at the novelty,
he followed me upstairs. The fire in the bedroom had
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Gerald Durrell
died down, but the atmosphere was still warm. I made
my toilet and, without further ado, climbed into bed
with Agrippa lying on one side of me and Clair on the
other. I received much comfort from the feel of their
warm bodies but, in addition, I am not ashamed to say I
left the candles burning and the door to the room
securely locked.
The following morning when I awoke I was immediately conscious of the; silence. Throwing open the shutters, I gazed out at a world muffled in snow. It must have been snowing steadily all night, and great drifts had piled
up on the rock faces, on the bare trees, along the river
bank and piled in a great cushion some seven feet deep
along the crest of the bridge that joined the house to the
mainland. Every windowsill and every projection of the
eaves were a fearsome armory of icicles, and the sills
themselves were varnished with a thin layer of ice. The
sky was dark grey and lowering so that I could see we
were in for yet more snow. Even if I had wanted to leave
the house, the roads were already impassable, and with
another snowfall, I would be completely cut off from the
outside world. I must say that, thinking back on my
experiences of the previous night, this fact made me feel
somewhat uneasy. But I chided myself and by the time I
had finished dressing, I had managed to convince myself
that my experience in the blue salon was due entirely to a
surfeit of good wine and an overexcited imagination.
Thus comforting myself, I went downstairs, picked up
Clair in my arms, called Agrippa to heel and, steeling
myself, threw open the door of the blue salon and
entered. It was as I had left it, the dirty plates and wine
bottle near my chair, the chestnut roots in the fire burnt
to a delicate grey ash that stirred slightly at the sudden
draught from the open door. But it was the only thing in
the room that stirred. Everything was in order. Everything was normal and I heaved a sigh of relief. It was not until I was halfway down the room that I glanced at the
mirror, and I stopped as suddenly as if I had walked into
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a brick wall and my blood froze, for I could not believe
what I was seeing.
Reflected in the mirror was myself with the cat in my
arms, but there was no dog at my heels, although Agrippa
was nosing at my ankles.
For several seconds I stood there thunderstruck, unable to believe the evidence of my own senses, gazing first at the dog at my feet and then at the mirror with no
reflection of the animal. I, the cat and the rest of the
room were reflected with perfect clarity, but there was no
reflection of Agrippa. I dropped the cat on the floor (and
she remained reflected by the mirror) and picked Agrippa u
p in my arms. In the mirror I appeared to be carrying an imaginary object in my arms. Hastily I picked up the
cat and so, with Clair under one arm and an invisible dog
under the other, I left the blue salon and securely locked
the door behind me.
Down in the kitchen I was ashamed to find that my
hands were shaking. I gave the animals some milk (and
the way Agrippa dealt with his, there was no doubt he
was a flesh-and-blood animal) and made myself some
breakfast. As I automatically fried eggs and some heavily
smoked ham, my mind was busy with what I had seen in
the blue salon. Unless I was mad— and I had never felt
saner in my life— I was forced to admit that I had really
experienced what I had seen, incredible though it
seemed and indeed still seems to me. Although I was
terrified at whatever it was that lurked behind the door
in the mirror, yet I was filled with an overwhelming
curiosity, a desire to see whatever creature it was that
possessed that gaunt and tallow hand, yellow and emaciated arm. I determined that that very evening I would attempt to lure the creature out so that I could examine
it. I was filled with horror at what I intended to do, but
my curiosity was stronger than my fear. So I spent the
day cataloguing the books in the study and, when
darkness fell, I again lit the fire in the salon and cooked
myself some supper and carried it and a bottle of wine
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upstairs and settled myself by the hearth. This time,
however, I had taken the precaution of arming myself
with a stout ebony cane and this gave me a certain
confidence, though if I had thought about it, what use a
cane was going to be to me against a looking-glass
adversary, Heaven only knew. As it turned out eventually, arming myself with the stick was the worst thing I could have done and nearly cost me my life.
I ate my food, my eyes fixed on the mirror, the two
animals lying asleep at my feet as they had done the night
before. I finished my meal and still there was no change
in the mirror image of the door. I sat back sipping my
wine and watching. After an hour or so the fire was
Visions of Fear - Foundations of Fear III (1992) Page 41