I stood in the doorway of the house, the dog panting by my side, the cat arching itself around my legs and purring loudly, and watched Gideon get back into the dog cart, wrap the rug around himself and then flick the horses with the reins. As they broke into a trot and he steered them towards the entrance to the courtyard he raised his whip in salute. He disappeared through the archway and soon the sound of the hoof beats were muffled by the snow and faded altogether. Picking up the warm, silky body of the cat and whistling to the dog, which had chased the dog cart to the archway, barking exuberantly, I went back into the house and bolted the front door behind me.
The first thing to do was to explore the house and ascertain where the various books were that I had come to work with, and thus to make up my mind which rooms I needed to open. On a table in the hall I had spotted a large six-branched silver candelabra loaded with candles and with a box of matches lying beside it. I decided to use this in my exploration since it would relieve me of the tedium of having to open and close innumerable shutters. Lighting the candles and accompanied by the eager, bustling dog, whose nails rattled on the bare floors like castanets, I started off.
The whole of the ground floor consisted of three very large rooms and one smaller one, which comprised the drawing room, the dining room, a study and then this smaller salon. Strangely enough, this room – which I called the blue salon since it was decorated in various shades of blue and gold – was the only one that was locked, and it took me some time to find the right key for it. This salon formed one end of the house and so it was a long, narrow, shoe-box shape, with large windows at each end.
The door by which one entered was mid-way down one of the longer walls and hanging on the wall opposite was one of the biggest mirrors I have ever seen. It must have been fully nine feet high, stretching from floor level almost to the ceiling and some thirty-five feet in length. The mirror itself was slightly tarnished, which gave it a pleasant blueish tinge, like the waters of a shallow lake, but it still reflected clearly and accurately. The whole was encompassed in a wide and very ornate gold frame, carved to depict various nymphs and satyrs, unicorns, griffons and other fabulous beasts. The frame in itself was a work of art. By seating oneself in one of the comfortable chairs that stood one on each side of the fireplace one could see the whole room reflected in this remarkable mirror and, although the room was somewhat narrow, this gave one a great sense of space.
Owing to the size, the convenience and – I must admit – the novelty of the room, I decided to make it my living-room, and in a very short space of time I had the dust covers off the furniture and a roaring blaze of chestnut roots in the hearth. Then I moved in the cage of finches and canaries and placed them at one end of the room together with Octavius the parrot, who seemed pleased by the change for he shuffled his feathers, cocked his head on one side and whistled a few bars of the Marseillaise. The dog and cat immediately stretched themselves out in front of the blaze and fell into a contented sleep. Thus, deserted by my companions, I took my candelabra and continued my investigation of the house alone.
The next floor I found comprised mainly of bed- and bathrooms, but a 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 there were very tall windows, and opposite each window was a mirror, similar to the one downstairs, but long and narrow. 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 that 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. 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 with the one in the blue salon, but on a much smaller scale. Here again were the satyrs, the unicorns, the griffons and hippogryphs, but in addition was a small area at the top of the frame, carved like a medallion, in which were inscribed 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, 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. 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 made me forget to prepare myself any luncheon and it was now past six o’clock in the evening. 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, 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 myself comfortable and fell to hungrily. Presently the dog and the cat, replete with food, joined me and spread themselves out in front of the fire. I got up and closed the door once they were settled, for there was 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 relaxed and happy and the wine, rich and heavy, was having a soporific effect upon me. I slept for perhaps an hour. 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 unaccountably uneasy for no discernible reason, I threw another log on the fire and settled myself back in the chair to doze.
It was then that I glanced across at the mirror opposite me and noticed that, in the reflection, the door to the salon that 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 me 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 minor was opening, slowly millimetre by millimetre. I sat there watching it, the hair on the nape of my neck stirring. 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 colour, 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 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 clap-trap, here I 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. This time it was joined by another and then, after a pause, yet another.
Suddenly my blood ran cold for I realized what it was. They were not caterpillars but attenuated yellow fingers with long twisted black nails tipping each one 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, parchment-like 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 sea, one that has become pallid through living in perpetual dark. Then slowly it was withdrawn behind the door. I shuddered for I wondered what sort of body was attached to that horrible hand. I 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 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 did not have the courage. 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, threw it down the room so that it landed just by the closed door. In the mirror it lay 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. 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, seeking my approval, while behind the mirror door, God knows what fate had overtaken his reflection.
To say that I 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 the mirror and the door into the salon. 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, if I must 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.
Picking up the cat and calling 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 as I heard a cracked, harsh voice bid me ‘Bonne nuit’ in wheedling tones. It was a moment or so 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 encouraging 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 died down, but the atmosphere was still warm. I made my toilet and, without further ado, climbed into bed, with Agrippa lying one side of me and Clair the other. I received much comfort from the feel of their warm bodies but, in addition, I am not ashamed to say that 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 main-land. Every window-sill and every projection of the eaves was a fearsome armoury of icicles, and the window-sills 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; with another snow fall 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 to a surfeit of good wine and an over-excited 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. I heaved a sigh of relief. It was not until I was halfway down the room that I glanced at the mirror. I stopped as suddenly as if I had walked into 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 up Agrippa 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 left no doubt he was a flesh and blood animal) and made myself some breakfast. As I 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, I was also 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. I spent the day cataloguing the books in the study and, when darkness fell, once again lit the fire in the salon, cooked myself some supper, carried it and a bottle of wine upstairs, and settled myself by the hearth. This time, however, I had taken the precaution of arming myself with a stout ebony cane. This gave me a certain confidence though what use a cane was going to be against a looking-glass adversary, heaven only knew. As it turned out, 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 to the mirror image of the door. I sat back sipping my wine and watching. After an hour or so the fire was burning low. I got up to put some logs on it, and had just settled myself back in my chair when I saw the handle of the mirror door start to turn very slowly. Millimetre by millimetre, the door was pushed open a foot or so. It was incredible that the opening of a door should be charged with such menace, but the slow furtive way it swung across the carpet was indescribably evil.
Then the hand appeared, again moving very slowly, humping its way across the carpet until the wrist and part of the yellowish forearm was in view. It paused for a moment, lying flaccid on the carpet, then, in a sickening sort of way, started to grope around, as if the creature in control of the hand was blind.
Now it seemed to me was the moment to put my carefully thought-out plan into operation. I had deliberately starved Clair so that she would be hungry; now I woke her up and waved under her nose a piece of meat which I had brought up from the kitchen for this purpose. Her eyes widened and she let out a loud mew of excitement. I waved the meat under her nose until she was frantic to get the morsel and then I threw it down the room so that it landed on the carpet near the firmly closed door of the salon. In the mirror I could see that it had landed near, but not too near the reflection of the hand which was still groping about blindly.
The Picnic and Suchlike Pandemonium Page 18