The Beetle: A Mystery

by Richard Marsh

  CHAPTER IV

  A LONELY VIGIL

  I knew that the light went out. For not the least singular, nor,indeed, the least distressing part of my condition was the fact that,to the best of my knowledge and belief, I never once lost consciousnessduring the long hours which followed. I was aware of the extinction ofthe lamp, and of the black darkness which ensued. I heard a rustlingsound, as if the man in the bed was settling himself between thesheets. Then all was still. And throughout that interminable night Iremained, my brain awake, my body dead, waiting, watching, for the day.What had happened to me I could not guess. That I probably wore some ofthe external evidences of death my instinct told me,--I knew I did.Paradoxical though it may sound, I felt as a man might feel who hadactually died,--as, in moments of speculation, in the days gone by, Ihad imagined it as quite possible that he would feel. It is very farfrom certain that feeling necessarily expires with what we call life. Icontinually asked myself if I could be dead,--the inquiry presseditself on me with awful iteration. Does the body die, and thebrain--the I, the ego--still live on? God only knows. But, then! theagony of the thought.

  The hours passed. By slow degrees, the silence was eclipsed. Sounds oftraffic, of hurrying footsteps,--life!--were ushers of the morn.Outside the window sparrows twittered,--a cat mewed, a dogbarked--there was the clatter of a milk can. Shafts of light stole pastthe blind, increasing in intensity. It still rained, now and again itpattered against the pane. The wind must have shifted, because, for thefirst time, there came, on a sudden, the clang of a distant clockstriking the hour,--seven. Then, with the interval of a lifetimebetween each chiming, eight,--nine,--ten.

  So far, in the room itself there had not been a sound. When the clockhad struck ten, as it seemed to me, years ago, there came a rustlingnoise, from the direction of the bed. Feet stepped upon thefloor,--moving towards where I was lying. It was, of course, now broadday, and I, presently, perceived that a figure, clad in some queercoloured garment, was standing at my side, looking down at me. Itstooped, then knelt. My only covering was unceremoniously thrown fromoff me, so that I lay there in my nakedness. Fingers prodded me thenand there, as if I had been some beast ready for the butcher's stall. Aface looked into mine, and, in front of me, were those dreadful eyes.Then, whether I was dead or living, I said to myself that this could benothing human,--nothing fashioned in God's image could wear such ashape as that. Fingers were pressed into my cheeks, they were thrustinto my mouth, they touched my staring eyes, shut my eyelids, thenopened them again, and--horror of horrors!--the blubber lips werepressed to mine--the soul of something evil entered into me in theguise of a kiss.

  Then this travesty of manhood reascended to his feet, and said, whetherspeaking to me or to himself I could not tell,

  'Dead!--dead!--as good as dead!--and better! We'll have him buried.'

  He moved away from me. I heard a door open and shut, and knew that hewas gone.

  And he continued gone throughout the day. I had no actual knowledge ofhis issuing out into the street, but he must have done so, because thehouse appeared deserted. What had become of the dreadful creature ofthe night before I could not guess. My first fear was that he had leftit behind him in the room with me,--it might be, as a sort of watchdog.But, as the minutes and the hours passed, and there was still no signor sound of anything living, I concluded that, if the thing was there,it was, possibly, as helpless as myself, and that during its owner'sabsence, at any rate, I had nothing to fear from its too pressingattentions.

  That, with the exception of myself, the house held nothing human, I hadstrong presumptive proof more than once in the course of the day.Several times, both in the morning and the afternoon, people withoutendeavoured to attract the attention of whoever was within.Vehicles--probably tradesmen's carts--drew up in front, their stoppingbeing followed by more or less assiduous assaults upon the knocker andthe bell. But in every case their appeals remained unheeded. Whateverit was they wanted, they had to go unsatisfied away. Lying there,torpid, with nothing to do but listen, I was, possibly, struck by verylittle, but it did occur to me that one among the callers was morepersistent than the rest.

  The distant clock had just struck noon when I heard the gate open, andsomeone approached the front door. Since nothing but silence followed,I supposed that the occupant of the place had returned, and had chosento do so as silently as he had gone. Presently, however, there camefrom the doorstep a slight but peculiar call, as if a rat wassqueaking. It was repeated three times, and then there was the sound offootsteps quietly retreating, and the gate re-closing. Between one andtwo the caller came again; there was a repetition of the samesignal,--that it was a signal I did not doubt; followed by the sameretreat. About three the mysterious visitant returned. The signal wasrepeated, and, when there was no response, fingers tapped softlyagainst the panels of the front door. When there was still no answer,footsteps stole softly round the side of the house, and there came thesignal from the rear,--and then, again, tapping of fingers against whatwas, apparently, the back door. No notice being taken of these variousproceedings, the footsteps returned the way they went, and, as before,the gate was closed.

  Shortly after darkness had fallen this assiduous caller returned, tomake a fourth and more resolute attempt to call attention to hispresence. From the peculiar character of his manoeuvres it seemed thathe suspected that whoever was within had particular reasons forignoring him without. He went through the familiar pantomime of thethree squeaky calls both at the front door and the back,--followed bythe tapping of the fingers on the panels. This time, however, he alsotried the window panes,--I could hear, quite distinctly, the clear, yetdistinct, noise of what seemed like knuckles rapping against thewindows behind. Disappointed there, he renewed his efforts at thefront. The curiously quiet footsteps came round the house, to pausebefore the window of the room in which I lay,--and then somethingsingular occurred.

  While I waited for the tapping, there came, instead, the sound ofsomeone or something, scrambling on to the window-sill,--as if somecreature, unable to reach the window from the ground, was endeavouringto gain the vantage of the sill. Some ungainly creature, unskilled insurmounting such an obstacle as a perpendicular brick wall. There wasthe noise of what seemed to be the scratching of claws, as if itexperienced considerable difficulty in obtaining a hold on theunyielding surface. What kind of creature it was I could not think,--Iwas astonished to find that it was a creature at all. I had taken itfor granted that the persevering visitor was either a woman or a man.If, however, as now seemed likely, it was some sort of animal, the factexplained the squeaking sounds,--though what, except a rat, did squeaklike that was more than I could say--and the absence of any knocking orringing.

  Whatever it was, it had gained the summit of its desires,--thewindow-sill. It panted as if its efforts at climbing had made it shortof breath. Then began the tapping. In the light of my new discovery, Iperceived, clearly enough, that the tapping was hardly that which waslikely to be the product of human fingers,--it was sharp and definite,rather resembling the striking of the point of a nail against theglass. It was not loud, but in time--it continued with muchpersistency--it became plainly vicious. It was accompanied by what Ican only describe as the most extraordinary noises. There were squeaks,growing angrier and shriller as the minutes passed; what seemed likegaspings for breath; and a peculiar buzzing sound like, yet unlike, thepurring of a cat.

  The creature's resentment at its want of success in attractingattention was unmistakable. The tapping became like the clattering ofhailstones; it kept up a continuous noise with its cries and pantings;there was the sound as of some large body being rubbed against theglass, as if it were extending itself against the window, andendeavouring, by force of pressure, to gain an entrance through thepane. So violent did its contortions become that I momentarilyanticipated the yielding of the glass, and the excited assailant comingcrashing through. Considerably to my relief the window proved moreimpregnable than seemed at one time likely. The stolid resistancepro
ved, in the end, to be too much either for its endurance or itspatience. Just as I was looking for some fresh manifestation of fury,it seemed rather to tumble than to spring off the sill; then came, oncemore, the same sound of quietly retreating footsteps; and what, underthe circumstances, seemed odder still, the same closing of the gate.

  During the two or three hours which immediately ensued nothing happenedat all out of the way,--and then took place the most surprisingincident of all. The clock had struck ten some time before. Sincebefore the striking of the hour nothing and no one had passed alongwhat was evidently the little frequented road in front of that uncannyhouse. On a sudden two sounds broke the stillness without,--of someonerunning, and of cries. Judging from his hurrying steps someone seemedto be flying for his life,--to the accompaniment of curious cries. Itwas only when the runner reached the front of the house that, in thecries, I recognised the squeaks of the persistent caller. I imaginedthat he had returned, as before, alone, to renew his attacks upon thewindow,--until it was made plain, as it quickly was, that, with him,was some sort of a companion. Immediately there arose, from without,the noise of battle. Two creatures, whose cries were, to me, of sounusual a character, that I found it impossible to even guess at theiridentity, seemed to be waging war to the knife upon the doorstep. Aftera minute or two of furious contention, victory seemed to rest with oneof the combatants, for the other fled, squeaking as with pain. While Ilistened, with strained attention, for the next episode in this queerdrama, expecting that now would come another assault upon the window,to my unbounded surprise I heard a key thrust in the keyhole, the lockturned, and the front door thrown open with a furious bang. It wasclosed as loudly as it was opened. Then the door of the room in which Iwas, was dashed open, with the same display of excitement, and ofclamour, footsteps came hurrying in, the door was slammed to with aforce which shook the house to its foundations, there was a rustling asof bed-clothes, the brilliant illumination of the night before, and avoice, which I had only too good reason to remember said,

  'Stand up.'

  I stood up, automatically, at the word of command, facing towards thebed.

  There, between the sheets, with his head resting on his hand, in theattitude in which I had seen him last, was the being I had madeacquaintance with under circumstances which I was never likely toforget,--the same, yet not the same.