After several months of this, which was the cause of some bickering between us, things reached an impasse; I cannot say I blame Jane. The situation was entirely my own fault; she had grown distant and abstracted. We met only at breakfast, apart from her occasional visits to the library and the supervision of my meals, which I now took almost entirely within its walls. In the meantime she went for long walks and cultivated such friends as we had. It was understood between us that we would, when my researches were concluded, take a long holiday on the Continent together, and in so doing recapture something of the idyllic relationship which had formerly existed between us.
This was the level to which my affairs had been reduced when the name of Dr. Spiros first began to be mentioned in the house. He was, I gathered from Jane, a brilliant physician; his surgery was no great walk from our own door. He had attended Jane when she had a minor fall from a horse in the Park; he had diagnosed a simple sprain but after that his presence never seemed to absent itself from the house for long. Summer wore away and autumn succeeded it and still I laboured on. How I sustained myself I know not at this distance in time but despite the immense labours, I managed to take an hour's walk with Jane once a day latterly-this she had at last prevailed upon me to enjoy.
It was on our return from such a walk one evening that I became aware that Dr. Spiros had assumed an important place in my own household without my becoming aware of it. He had, I think, far too great an influence on my impressionable young wife, and if my mind had not been above such base suspicions, I might have suspected darker things when I learned that he usually dined alone with Jane most evenings within my own walls. My surprise on learning this was succeeded by consternation when I found him on one occasion within the fastness of my library itself; even my own servants knew this was inviolate and the doctor's lame excuse that my housekeeper had shown him in there by mistake left room for the gravest suspicion on my part.
I remained courteous to Dr. Spiros but I was now on my guard. I resolved to learn more of his relationship with Jane which seemed to me to have passed beyond that of a mere physician-patient basis. Dr. Spiros was, I should have said, about five and thirty years of age; broad, black-browed and strong in feature with square white teeth which were perpetually smiling beneath his thick black moustache. He was much addicted to perfume or pomades and the aroma of these had a habit of lying subtly in odd corners about the house so that one was always conscious of his presence, even when his physical self was absent from my walls. This was then, the somewhat curious circumstance of my life, when the events I am about to relate crystallised and first assumed menacing shape on the tranquil horizon of my existence.
2
It was, I think, a cold, blustery evening in November when the first manifestation forced itself to my attention. The icy rain had been tapping with obtrusive fingers at the smeared panes all day long and I had heaped the fire in the library with small coal and turned up the brilliance of the lamps in order to keep the dreary night at bay.
The first volume of my work was about to appear from the press; the second and third were in proof form. I was now engaged upon the last, following which I looked for-forward to the cultivation of my wife's friendship and the resumption of that intimacy which my protracted labours had interrupted. I had just got up on to the stool before my work table when the knocking began. It seemed to emanate from the inner recesses of my brain. A great hammering thunder that commenced as a slight reverberation and then finally shook and tottered the very foundations of the house.
The noise was such that I ran from the library and to the balustrade that ran round the landings commanding the great staircase and hall of the house. The door set under the great portico of the building must have given way under the knocking, but I saw it was still secure. Moreover, to my amazement I saw one of my own staff pass it without a second glance on her way across the hall. I stood with the massive echoes ringing through my ears before running down the stairs, three at a time. I wrestled with the bronze bolt on the oak-panelled door and flung it back. Nothing but the night wind and the tapping of the rain against my face. The entrance was empty, the brass lantern with its flickering candle, swaying uneasily in the wind.
I slammed the door to with a hollow thunder behind me and made my way back up the stairs. In the passage outside the library stood my wife; she looked at me strangely. I said nothing but returned to my place at the desk and bolted the door after me. I was not disturbed again that evening. I felt a great fear over something but I know not what. I went to bed early but did not sleep. It was the beginning of many such nights.
3
Dr. Spiros is coming to assume a quite disproportionate part in my life of late. Twice more have I seen him in the last few days within my own house, on both occasions unannounced and uninvited by me. I really must speak to Jane about this some time. It were almost as if he had assumed proprietorship of my establishment; there are times when I feel like a stranger in my own household. And yet the man has a kindly face; on the last instance of our meeting I had an impulse to consult him on the subject of the knocking.
He smiled encouragingly as we passed on the stairs. But then something in his eyes hardened my heart against him and I brushed by somewhat discourteously. I do not know what to make of the man but I fear a straight encounter with Jane upon the subject. I badly need a friend and some disinterested advice, though it seems I cannot get this, even within my own family. There is a dark labyrinth in which I wander during the waking hours; I fear sleep also for that is when the knocking is certain to manifest itself.
But I must not run ahead. The second time I heard the knocking was an even more shattering experience than the first. It affected my nerves; I think this must inevitably be so, for curious occurrences at night, when one is hovering halfway between sleep and waking, undressed and abed, are inevitably more disturbing than when we have our wits about us during the blessed day. My dread of these long winter evenings dates definitely from this second occasion. And, like the long progression of a nightmare that has no end, I accelerate silently and inevitably into a situation which leads to the incident of the door.
The next time I heard the knocking was at night; it was so late I should rather call it morning. I had worked on in the library until well past one a.m. and it must have been nearer two when I finally sought my bed. I slept for what seemed a long time but may have been in reality but an hour or so. I was suddenly awake, it appeared, without being conscious of any transitional stage between sleep and the state of awareness.
It was quite dark in the chamber, the fire having died to a faint glow by which I could make out various objects in the room. I lay drenched in sweat for perhaps a minute, or longer, terror struggling with reason in my heart. The echo of some gigantic hammering was still within me, but I knew that the echo was merely the reflection of an outward tumult that had its creation in the physical world. The lurid silence was at length broken by a tremendous fusillade of blows with the knocker of the great door in the portico of the house. The tumult was again so great that it seemed as if the whole household must be thrown into uproar; I expected lights, running footsteps, startled cries.
But there was nothing; only the darkness and for the second time the echoes of the knocker's terrifying tattoo dying away against the bruised silence. I lay with my heart thumping and it was like a physical shock when that terrible summons again sounded through the corridors of the darkened house. Somehow, trembling, sick and terrified I found myself at the head of the stairs; I approached a window in an angle of a wing, which commanded a view of the porch. There was nothing but the shadows of the trees in the wild moonlight which fell across the porch door.
Fortunately, I was not called upon to undergo any further ordeal that night; I continued, with ebbing will-power to watch the empty porch, but the knocking was not renewed. It was just possible that the unknown visitor had covered the space between the door and the street corner before I had approached the window. Cold, in tu
rmoil and half worn-out with the shadowy terrors of that sudden awakening, I was again back at my bedside. I crept between the sheets a badly frightened man and slept fitfully till the friendly light of morning allowed me the comfort of a deeper sleep.
I spent the next few days in a fever of hesitation between work and sleep until it seemed as though the night had blended into the day. I had no nocturnal disturbances until the fourth evening; Jane had been absent from the house during the earlier part of the afternoon and I had been so immersed in my researches that the tray my housekeeper had brought up remained untasted on my study desk. Rain had been spitting fitfully against the opaque panes of the window glass for some hours. Towards nine o'clock I had become aware that I had not eaten for a long time and had emptied a flask of cold coffee and finished the dry toast under the cover, all that now remained fit to digest.
It must have been about ten o'clock when the knocking came. It seemed to split my head asunder. I clung to my desk, my nerves shrieking, my body wet with perspiration until that massive thunder had momentarily subsided. Once more the drama was repeated; I again rushed to the window to see nothing in the porch. But to my horror the hollow thunder re-commenced, even though the evidence of my eyes told me that no knocker was within the porch. Dropping the volume I had been perusing, I ran, eyes staring and with clothing awry, to the ground floor. I flung wide the door; there was only shadow inside the portico; that, a tendril of vine that tapped dismally against the wall and the ceaseless spitting of the rain.
Just then a serving woman of my household appeared, startled, in the hall behind me.
I seized her by the arm. "Did you not hear it?" I said in an agitated voice. To my anger the girl shrank away from me with a whimpering cry.
"Fool!" I shrieked and ran from her, leaving her to close the great door. Spiros is concerned in this in some way and I am convinced that Jane is helping him. I feel so helpless and yet I am master in my own household; albeit a master without power. Even the servants are turning against me. My housekeeper has a strange face when she brings in my trays, for Jane will not now even perform that simple duty for me.
The knocking was not heard again that night, thank God, though I slept but fitfully. I hear much whispering in the house and Spiros seems to spend a great deal of time here. I am resolved to be on my guard. I cannot catch them at the knocking; they are too clever for that. But I can spy on them in other ways when they think I am in the library; yes, that is what I will do. What I must do if I am to solve this hideous curse which is hanging over me.
How dark the house seems these winter days; even my researches, which were once so dear to me, have lost their savour. My eyes too, trouble me inordinately; I must consult an oculist, or blindness may ensue. Strange, how my mind is at this moment dominated by the absence of light; darkness, absolute and imbued with terror, reigns supreme.
4
Later. I have heard the knocking twice again, each time more demoniacal than the last. As before, there was nothing in the porch. I have been quite ill. I would not have Spiros near my bedside but consulted my own man, Dr. Fossey. Though I fear they have conspired together. Jane has not been to see me after the first time. She said my condition had upset her so powerfully that she could not bear to come again, at least for the time being. I suspect otherwise. She and Spiros have been drawing even closer during these past weeks. I distrust most medical men, but he particularly, though he smiles amiably enough. But all these grimaces and airs and blandness with the patient do not for one moment deceive a person as shrewd as myself.
I feigned unconsciousness the last time Fossey called. He went away after a while. I took the opportunity of slipping from my bedchamber. Jane now sleeps apart, on the excuse of my illness-and putting on a robe descended to the lower floor of the house. I could hear muffled voices from the dining room. The door was ajar. Looking in I saw Spiros hand Fossey some strange, greenish-hued capsules. I see what he is at. What a mercy I came down.
Fossey tried to introduce Spiros' poison among my medicaments tonight. He handed me the deadly capsule together with a draught of water. On pretence of swallowing it I managed to drop it to the floor on the far side of the bed, where it rolled into a dark corner. Fossey seemed satisfied. I am better now and up and about again, working in my library. Spiros seemed puzzled the next time I encountered him in the corridor, as well he might. But for my shrewdness I should now be lying in the churchyard with its crooked headstones, which can be seen from the tallest attic of the house. If only I could talk to Jane but she will not see me unless accompanied by a third person, usually Spiros or my housekeeper. And that will not do at all.
Thank God the knocking has not been heard for some time. I must take comfort from that. In my weakened condition it might have incalculable effects upon my general health. In the meantime I have resumed my studies, am even struggling on with the fourth volume of my sadly interrupted work. Thanks to the improved cones on the pressure lamps, which have just been delivered, my eyes are holding out. I could not bear it if eternal darkness should descend.
This was the situation which obtained for several weeks more. Jane remaining aloof; the consultations with Spiros and Fossey continuing; the servants discreetly neutral, while I strove, under terrible conditions, to bring my great work to a close.
January of a new year came in thick with snow; I could not forbear contrasting my present straits with the happy New Year rituals Jane and I had been wont to share in earlier days. February followed with bleak winds and heavy rain. But my work was progressing well and it wanted but two or three pages more to round off the labours of more than half a life-time.
But at the same moment my health, which had been robust by my standards, began to worsen again. My eyesight too, troubled me and my peace of mind was tortured by Spiros' sly machinations. Twice had I caught him walking in the street with Jane; on another occasion I saw them one evening descending from a cab. I followed along the crooked alleys until I saw them go into the lantern-lit entrance of the Medical Institute. This situation seems to plunge me deeper into even darker subterranean passages of unfathomable depth.
5
The crisis has come. I am no longer my own master. I think that I have had more to bear than almost any wretch on earth. Tonight I finished my immense labours, wrote finis to the script with a triumphant flourish of my pen and flung the thing down. I even executed a little dance around the shadowy library, whose silence was broken only by the lonely hissing of the lamps. I sought the small liquor cupboard I keep in there, and poured myself a glass of port for a solitary toast.
I had no sooner lowered the glass than a splintering crash made the whole building shudder; the amber liquid splashed in carmine rivulets across my manuscript as I staggered to my feet, my hands clasped over my ears, to keep out the insane cacophany of those mighty thunder claps. I groaned aloud as the unseen knocker dispensed his mad tattoo; the crashing and pounding were enough to rend the door asunder and the echoes fled shrieking into every corner of the house.
I tottered from the library as the alarmed figure of my housekeeper crossed the hall below me. I descended the curving staircase in frenzy. We reached the door almost together.
"What is it, woman?" I shouted, convinced that she knew something of this fearsome mystery which was slowly draining life itself from me. My wild face and haggard eyes must have startled the woman because she fell back against the door as though she would prevent me from opening it.
"Mrs. Rayner is leaving, sir," she said.
"Leaving?" I shouted. "What means this?"
I pushed past her as a cab-wheel grated at the kerb. Outside, through the porch window I could see Jane and Dr. Spiros, entering a barouche in the windy night. The glimmer of light from a nearby gas-lamp fell square upon Jane's face so that I could not be mistaken.
"Let me pass, woman," I told the housekeeper.
She stood foursquare against the door.
"It is better this way, sir," she said with a whit
e face.
I was in a passion of rage by this time.
"Woman, you shall let me pass!" I shrieked. There was a rack of Oriental curios inside the hall. Almost without realising it I found a Malay kris in my hand; I passed it not once but several times through her body, my hand seemingly without volition of its own. Horrified, I saw Mrs. Carfax hang there as though crucified, before sliding to the floor in bloody death. I opened the door and fled into the wild night.
I could hear the scraping of the barouche's wheels on the cobbles ahead of me. I followed, cutting through small alleys and courts; I knew this portion of the city intimately and by this method could be sure of keeping abreast of them. I still carried the knife, I know not why. Presently, I was in a deserted part of the metropolis, which was unknown to me; I could still hear the cab's progress but was obliged to keep it in sight, for fear of losing my way.
Presently it stopped in front of a fine Georgian building, with a large porch, lit by a brass lantern from above. Spiros, for I could now see clearly that it was he, paid off the cab and he and Jane entered the house. I waited until the barouche had disappeared. The street was quite empty and deserted. With a mad cry I rushed across to the house, from which light now shone brightly, and seized the iron knocker.
As I crashed it against the door, the same terrible thunder I had heard so many times, rushed upon me, seeming to mingle with the frenzied tattoo of which I was myself the author. I reeled in agony, clinging to the knocker. The knocking rose to a horrendous crescendo which seemed to penetrate and split my brain. A moment longer and the door was flung aside. I saw first the horrified face of a manservant, with Spiros and Jane behind him.
I screamed and sprang forward with the knife.
"Wife-stealer!" I shouted and lunged at Spiros' throat. He was too quick and strong for me. He and the manservant attempted to pinion me. A terrible, silent struggle now began.
Richard Davis (ed) - [Year's Best Horror Stories 02] Page 8