The Lair of the White Worm

by Bram Stoker

  CHAPTER XI--MESMER'S CHEST

  After a couple of weeks had passed, the kite seemed to give Edgar Caswalla new zest for life. He was never tired of looking at its movements. Hehad a comfortable armchair put out on the tower, wherein he sat sometimesall day long, watching as though the kite was a new toy and he a childlately come into possession of it. He did not seem to have lost interestin Lilla, for he still paid an occasional visit at Mercy Farm.

  Indeed, his feeling towards her, whatever it had been at first, had nowso far changed that it had become a distinct affection of a purely animalkind. Indeed, it seemed as though the man's nature had become corrupted,and that all the baser and more selfish and more reckless qualities hadbecome more conspicuous. There was not so much sternness apparent in hisnature, because there was less self-restraint. Determination had becomeindifference.

  The visible change in Edgar was that he grew morbid, sad, silent; theneighbours thought he was going mad. He became absorbed in the kite, andwatched it not only by day, but often all night long. It became anobsession to him.

  Caswall took a personal interest in the keeping of the great kite flying.He had a vast coil of cord efficient for the purpose, which worked on aroller fixed on the parapet of the tower. There was a winch for thepulling in of the slack; the outgoing line being controlled by a racket.There was invariably one man at least, day and night, on the tower toattend to it. At such an elevation there was always a strong wind, andat times the kite rose to an enormous height, as well as travelling forgreat distances laterally. In fact, the kite became, in a short time,one of the curiosities of Castra Regis and all around it. Edgar began toattribute to it, in his own mind, almost human qualities. It became tohim a separate entity, with a mind and a soul of its own. Being idle-handed all day, he began to apply to what he considered the service ofthe kite some of his spare time, and found a new pleasure--a new objectin life--in the old schoolboy game of sending up "runners" to the kite.The way this is done is to get round pieces of paper so cut that there isa hole in the centre, through which the string of the kite passes. Thenatural action of the wind-pressure takes the paper along the string, andso up to the kite itself, no matter how high or how far it may have gone.

  In the early days of this amusement Edgar Caswall spent hours. Hundredsof such messengers flew along the string, until soon he bethought him ofwriting messages on these papers so that he could make known his ideas tothe kite. It may be that his brain gave way under the opportunitiesgiven by his illusion of the entity of the toy and its power of separatethought. From sending messages he came to making direct speech to thekite--without, however, ceasing to send the runners. Doubtless, theheight of the tower, seated as it was on the hill-top, the rushing of theceaseless wind, the hypnotic effect of the lofty altitude of the speck inthe sky at which he gazed, and the rushing of the paper messengers up thestring till sight of them was lost in distance, all helped to furtheraffect his brain, undoubtedly giving way under the strain of beliefs andcircumstances which were at once stimulating to the imagination,occupative of his mind, and absorbing.

  The next step of intellectual decline was to bring to bear on the mainidea of the conscious identity of the kite all sorts of subjects whichhad imaginative force or tendency of their own. He had, in Castra Regis,a large collection of curious and interesting things formed in the pastby his forebears, of similar tastes to his own. There were all sorts ofstrange anthropological specimens, both old and new, which had beencollected through various travels in strange places: ancient Egyptianrelics from tombs and mummies; curios from Australia, New Zealand, andthe South Seas; idols and images--from Tartar ikons to ancient Egyptian,Persian, and Indian objects of worship; objects of death and torture ofAmerican Indians; and, above all, a vast collection of lethal weapons ofevery kind and from every place--Chinese "high pinders," double knives,Afghan double-edged scimitars made to cut a body in two, heavy knivesfrom all the Eastern countries, ghost daggers from Thibet, the terriblekukri of the Ghourka and other hill tribes of India, assassins' weaponsfrom Italy and Spain, even the knife which was formerly carried by theslave-drivers of the Mississippi region. Death and pain of every kindwere fully represented in that gruesome collection.

  That it had a fascination for Oolanga goes without saying. He was nevertired of visiting the museum in the tower, and spent endless hours ininspecting the exhibits, till he was thoroughly familiar with everydetail of all of them. He asked permission to clean and polish andsharpen them--a favour which was readily granted. In addition to theabove objects, there were many things of a kind to awaken human fear.Stuffed serpents of the most objectionable and horrid kind; giant insectsfrom the tropics, fearsome in every detail; fishes and crustaceanscovered with weird spikes; dried octopuses of great size. Other things,too, there were, not less deadly though seemingly innocuous--dried fungi,traps intended for birds, beasts, fishes, reptiles, and insects; machineswhich could produce pain of any kind and degree, and the only mercy ofwhich was the power of producing speedy death.

  Caswall, who had never before seen any of these things, except thosewhich he had collected himself, found a constant amusement and interestin them. He studied them, their uses, their mechanism--where there wassuch--and their places of origin, until he had an ample and realknowledge of all concerning them. Many were secret and intricate, but henever rested till he found out all the secrets. When once he had becomeinterested in strange objects, and the way to use them, he began toexplore various likely places for similar finds. He began to inquire ofhis household where strange lumber was kept. Several of the men spoke ofold Simon Chester as one who knew everything in and about the house.Accordingly, he sent for the old man, who came at once. He was very old,nearly ninety years of age, and very infirm. He had been born in theCastle, and had served its succession of masters--present or absent--eversince. When Edgar began to question him on the subject regarding whichhe had sent for him, old Simon exhibited much perturbation. In fact, hebecame so frightened that his master, fully believing that he wasconcealing something, ordered him to tell at once what remained unseen,and where it was hidden away. Face to face with discovery of his secret,the old man, in a pitiable state of concern, spoke out even more fullythan Mr. Caswall had expected.

  "Indeed, indeed, sir, everything is here in the tower that has ever beenput away in my time except--except--" here he began to shake and trembleit--"except the chest which Mr. Edgar--he who was Mr. Edgar when I firsttook service--brought back from France, after he had been with Dr.Mesmer. The trunk has been kept in my room for safety; but I shall sendit down here now."

  "What is in it?" asked Edgar sharply.

  "That I do not know. Moreover, it is a peculiar trunk, without anyvisible means of opening."

  "Is there no lock?"

  "I suppose so, sir; but I do not know. There is no keyhole."

  "Send it here; and then come to me yourself."

  The trunk, a heavy one with steel bands round it, but no lock or keyhole,was carried in by two men. Shortly afterwards old Simon attended hismaster. When he came into the room, Mr. Caswall himself went and closedthe door; then he asked:

  "How do you open it?"

  "I do not know, sir."

  "Do you mean to say that you never opened it?"

  "Most certainly I say so, your honour. How could I? It was entrusted tome with the other things by my master. To open it would have been abreach of trust."

  Caswall sneered.

  "Quite remarkable! Leave it with me. Close the door behind you.Stay--did no one ever tell you about it--say anything regarding it--makeany remark?"

  Old Simon turned pale, and put his trembling hands together.

  "Oh, sir, I entreat you not to touch it. That trunk probably containssecrets which Dr. Mesmer told my master. Told them to his ruin!"

  "How do you mean? What ruin?"

  "Sir, he it was who, men said, sold his soul to the Evil One; I hadthought that that time and the evil of it had all
passed away."

  "That will do. Go away; but remain in your own room, or within call. Imay want you."

  The old man bowed deeply and went out trembling, but without speaking aword.