Fighters of Fear

by Mike Ashley

  “‘But it’s the truth, guardy. I do meet someone in the woods. I have never spoken to him, nor has he spoken to me; I have never even touched his hand, and I always call him the stranger to myself, except when I call him the—the god.’

  “She lowered her voice to a faint whisper. An extraordinary look had come into her eyes—a look that frightened me.

  “‘He’s glorious—so glorious that I cannot believe him to be mortal man. He frightens me a little now, though he never frightened me when I was a child. He is as bright as a flame is bright; his shining flesh gleams like marble through the green bushes. His eyes draw me—compel me, and yet they are fierce eyes—very fierce.’

  “She checked herself abruptly.

  “‘Tell me that it is all nonsense, guardy—that it is only an hallucination of mine. That I shall forget all about my stranger—my god—once Tony has got me in his own safe keeping.’

  “‘Of course it is all nonsense, Daphne,’ I replied. ‘You fancied that you met this—this stranger when you were a child, and you have kept up the fancy all your life, and it’s become a sort of delusion with you—an unhealthy delusion. But, as you truly say, once you are married to Tony you will put all this nonsense out of your head; you will have to.’

  “‘Yes, I shall have to.’ She gave a quiet little nod, then she crept closer to me on the seat. ‘Guardy, I must tell you something else. I had better confess straight out that though I am awfully fond of Tony I am not the least bit in love with him. It’s the stranger I love; why, I should die with sheer delight if he kissed me, I think, but he is only a dream, I suppose, a dream.’

  “I took Daphne by one of her cold hands. I looked straight into her eyes.

  “‘Child, madness lies in such dreams,’ I cried. ‘Do you realise that?—madness. You must forget all about this stranger—you must put him out of your life, out of your thoughts; but with Tony to help you, my dear, you will soon succeed in conquering this hallucination. Thank God you are going to be married, Daphne, and that the wedding is fixed to take place soon.’”

  Aylmer Vance rose from his chair, and began to walk up and down the room. His long arms hung down by his side, his face looked thinner and paler than ever.

  “Just listen to the rain, how it beats against the windows. Does my story interest you, Dexter?”

  “Distinctly. Please go on—don’t stop at such an exciting moment. What did Miss Darrell say in answer to your speech?”

  “Very little, nor did she appear at all disposed to continue the conversation. She merely gave me a faint, shadowy smile; and Tony turned up a few minutes later and carried her back to the tennis court to finish the game I had interrupted. They ran off together, laughing like two children, but I thought Daphne looked very distrait during dinner. She hardly ate or drank anything, and she kept staring vaguely through the open window—gazing in the direction of the wise green woods. She wanted to go out for a walk after dinner, to roam with Tony in the grounds, but Miss Jane asked her to sing to us instead—I must hear how wonderfully Daphne’s voice had improved, the old lady said. But Daphne wouldn’t sing, and she grew more and more restless as the evening wore on. She even seemed in a hurry to get rid of Tony; certainly she did not press him to stay when he finally rose to depart, nor were their adieux very prolonged.

  “‘You are not going to sleep out of doors again this evening, are you, darling?’ Miss Jane asked, rather anxiously, as she kissed Daphne good night a few minutes later. ‘I can hardly bear to think of you in the darkness—your hammock swinging from those big cedar trees.’

  “‘Why, it’s lovely out of doors, Aunt Jane,’ Daphne answered. ‘I couldn’t sleep indoors—I really couldn’t—on such a hot night as this, and I’m not a bit frightened. Why should I be frightened? Do you think someone will steal out of the woods and carry me away—some stranger?’

  “She laughed and left the room laughing. Miss Jane and I looked at each other anxiously.

  “‘Isn’t she a queer girl?’ Miss Jane exclaimed. ‘Oh, I shall be thankful, Mr. Vance, when Daphne is safely married to dear Tony.’

  “‘And I shall be thankful too,’ I answered, and I meant what I said.”

  Vance walked back to his chair again. The fire was beginning to burn down; he put some more coals on, and I noticed that his hands were shaking a little.

  “Well, you want to hear the rest of my yarn, I supposed, Dexter? I left Darrell Court next morning. I had only been able to arrange to come down for the night—I had a lot of business to attend to, you see, having so recently returned to England. But I promised Daphne that I would come back the day before the wedding in order to be present at her dance, and I gave her a word of warning as we said goodbye.

  “‘Don’t think any more of that dream of yours, Daphne—that silly delusion. Forget it, my dear—keep your thoughts fixed on Tony.’

  “Daphne smiled and nodded her head.

  “‘That’s all right, guardy,’ she answered. ‘You can trust me to be quite sensible in the future.’

  “She waved her hand to me gaily enough as I drove away, and how was I to guess that even then her thoughts were turning to the stranger in the forest—that she was deceiving all of us, and perhaps herself?

  “I returned to Darrell Court for the dance, as I had arranged to do.

  “I found the house packed with young people; four of the bridesmaids were staying there and several of the groomsmen. The sound of wedding bells was in the air, a happy excitement prevailed, and Daphne herself seemed the gayest of the gay, not that I saw much of her; she seemed to be always surrounded by a bevy of girls—pretty girls, who chattered at the top of their voices.

  “She sought me out of her own free will just before dinner, however. I had dressed early, and had gone down to the study, feeling a little out of things, for the young people were having it all their own way in the drawing-room; they were dancing there already.

  “‘Guardy, I want to speak to you.’ Daphne spoke in low, rather hesitating tones, then she shut the study door behind her and walked up to me. She looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her. She was dressed all in white, as became tomorrow’s bride, and her gown clung tightly to her glorious young figure. She wore no jewels beyond a fillet of pearls in her hair; but the expression in her face troubled me—there was such a yearning look in her eyes—such a strange look.

  “‘What’s the matter, Daphne?’ I asked. ‘My dear, you are not unhappy, are you?’

  “‘I am very unhappy, guardy.’ She bowed her head; two big tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I don’t love Tony, I shall never love Tony, and I am going to marry him tomorrow; and he will take me away from all that I care for most—from my freedom, my solitude, my woods. I shall never be able to spend long days by myself in the future, alone with the wild things. I shall have to become domesticated; I shall be a wife—perhaps later on a mother.’

  “She paused, then added, speaking very quickly and nervously:

  “‘I ought never to have become engaged, I see that now. I ought always to have belonged to myself. I oughtn’t to have been afraid of my dreams, my fancies, and anxious to have them dispelled, for what can Tony give me in exchange—what can he give me?’ She threw back her head—she gazed at me defiantly.

  “‘Tony can give you love,’ I answered steadily. ‘He can give you reality.’

  “‘I want neither.’ She laughed, queer broken laughter. ‘I want, guardy, what I shall never find—what I never can find now.’

  “She swayed from foot to foot, such a slim young figure, then she suddenly sank on her knees and raised her white arms high above her head.

  “‘Oh, my dreams—my beautiful dreams,’ she moaned, ‘my lost dreams! Have I got to say goodbye to them forever tonight, and goodbye to the stranger, goodbye to the lover who has never kissed me, who never will kiss me, but whose kisses I desire above all things, whose love I crave for?’

  “She trembled violently. I remember putting my hand upon her shoulder a
nd feeling how her flesh quivered. I also recollect that I shook Daphne—shook her fiercely.

  “‘Child, don’t talk so madly,’ I cried. ‘You forget yourself; you don’t know what you are saying. You are overtired, you are hysterical tonight—you must be hysterical.’

  “Daphne swayed slowly to her feet, then a film seemed to gather over her eyes. She laughed, soft, broken laughter.

  “‘Yes, that’s what’s the matter with me, guardy,’ she murmured. ‘I am hysterical—overwrought. I have been trying on clothes all this last week without ceasing, and there’s been so much to see to with regard to the wedding. I must pull myself together now. I shall be all right for the dance tonight, and quite all right tomorrow; and of course I don’t want to fail Tony at the last minute I wouldn’t do that for anything. Think how Tony loves me, and what a dear he is!’

  “She ran out of the room before I could say another word, and joined her guests in the drawing-room, and I got no opportunity of talking to her during dinner.

  “Directly after dinner the entire house-party made their way in gay procession to the huge marquee that had been built out on the lawn and turned into a temporary ballroom. The band struck up a waltz as we entered. Tony caught Daphne round her waist and spun her into the middle of the floor, and in a few minutes the whole house-party was dancing, and Daphne’s laugh rang out gaily as Tony waltzed her round. It was hard to believe that I had seen her on her knees in the study only an hour before, indulging in passionate invocation.

  “Guests began to arrive. Miss Jane insisted on introducing me to various ladies, with whom I was in duty bound to dance, but at last I managed to sneak off by myself to enjoy a quiet cigarette on the terrace. It was a stiflingly hot evening, and I had rather a bad headache. I fancied there was a storm about; once or twice I thought I heard the distant rumble of thunder, but I hoped the storm would not come on before morning. Still there were not so many stars out as there had been an hour ago.

  “I lit my cigarette, and proceeded to stroll up and down the terrace. Suddenly I caught sight of Daphne’s figure in the distance, stealing out of the ballroom, and she was alone, much to my amazement; she had evidently deserted her partner. She ran like a hare across the lawn—ran straight in the direction of the woods that slope to the right of Darrell Court; I determined to follow at a safe distance, and see for myself what would happen in those woods—and I did see.”

  A curious change came over Aylmer Vance’s voice as he said the last words. His whole body appeared to stiffen as he sat in his chair. A strange thrill ran through me; I sat up erect in my chair, too.

  “Daphne gained the wood without noticing that I was following her. She ran at a breathless pace, as if she was in the greatest hurry, and when we entered that dark wood, Dexter, I was distinctly conscious of the sound of music—the music of the flute. I told myself at once—for I hope I am a sensible man—that of course it was merely the echo of the dance music that I was listening to, and I suppose that’s what it was.”

  Vance hesitated, and bit his lips.

  “I hardly know how to describe to you what happened next. I don’t want you to think me a lunatic, but it seemed to me as though the wood was full of people, and yet I could see no one actually; but every now and then I caught glimpses of the white arms of girls. I could hear what sounded like soft girlish laughter, and once a long tress of hair seemed to be blown right across my face; I could have sworn to this at the time, but perhaps it was only my fancy. Maybe it was merely some dark bough I brushed against—some soft, sweet-scented bough, for everything was so vague, Dexter, so hopelessly indefinite, and yet, if I can make you understand, so real.”

  Vance half-closed his eyes. He was talking in very, slow, measured tones; I strained my ears to catch every word.

  “Daphne ran on right into the heart of the wood. It was getting very dark overhead. I was certain that the storm would break quite soon, the thunderstorm I had been anticipating. The angry rumbles of distant thunder had grown much louder lately, but the strange thing was I never once thought of calling to Daphne to come back with me to the house, or of warning her that a storm was approaching. Perhaps I was no more myself that night than she was—maybe we were both fay, but I was conscious as I followed her through the wood that there were strange powers abroad that evening—strange forces. I felt curiously excited—oddly stirred. A longing to say goodbye to civilisation and to conventionality came over me. I yearned for greater freedom than I had ever known—for a more intimate knowledge of nature. I felt it would be delightful to cast my clothes from me and bathe in the dew-moistened grass. I forgot that I was a staid and respectable man of forty; all the feelings of youth came back—the sublime intoxication of youth.”

  Vance’s head dropped forward on his breast. His eyes were completely closed.

  “Well, Dexter, I must make an end of my story, or I shall weary you to death. Daphne suddenly fell down on her knees, just as she had done in the study, and she held up her white arms and seemed to cry to someone to come to her—a long, passionate, half-inarticulate cry, and it was the cry of a woman calling to her beloved, summoning him to her, and as I am a living man, Dexter, something—someone—came in answer to Daphne’s cry. He—for it was a man—seemed to shoot down from the branches of a high fir tree, and he was white and shining and nude. A fierce brightness seemed to diffuse from him, and he carried a bow in his hand—he was the archer.”

  Vance raised his head as he said the last words, opened his eyes, and stared me in the face.

  “I am not asking you to believe me, Dexter—I know that my tale sounds too incredible but I tell you when I saw this flash of light descending, as it were, upon Daphne, I covered my face with my hands, and fell to the ground myself, for what right had I, a mere man, to spy upon this meeting of a maid and an immortal? Yes, I crouched abashed to the ground, and as I did so a great thunder clap seemed to shake the earth to its foundations—such a thunder clap.”

  Vance bent forward in his chair and put a hand upon my arm.

  “There’s very little more to tell you now,” he whispered. “There was no wedding at Darrell Court the next day, for the tragic reason that the bride had been struck by lightning the night before. We don’t believe, you and I, being wise, sensible, practical men, that it was a lover’s kiss that killed her—a lover’s burning kiss; and yet the lightning had hardly scarred her sweet body, though it had struck her dead.”

  “What a horrible—what a ghastly tragedy!” I interrupted. A cold shiver ran through my spine as I spoke, but Aylmer Vance shook his head.

  “You’re making a mistake, my dear friend. There was nothing really tragic about Daphne Darrell’s death. It was the fate she would have chosen, I have no doubt, if she had been given her choice, for remember if we are to believe her own story—she was not the least in love with Tony Halbert; and think what a loveless marriage would have meant to a girl of Daphne’s temperament! She met her dream and her death at the same time. Besides, have you forgotten, Dexter, that ‘those whom the gods love die young?’”

  I made no answer, but as I watched Aylmer Vance kneel down in front of the fire to warm his hands, I ventured to ask him a question.

  “Do you believe that the old gods are dead, Vance?—do you really believe that?”

  Vance smiled—a strange inscrutable smile.

  “They are dead to some,” he answered, “but they are alive to others.”

  LESTER STUKELEY IN

  THE SWAYING VISION

  JESSIE DOUGLAS KERRUISH

  Jessie Douglas Kerruish (1884–1949), who came from an ancient Manx family, ensured her immortality, at least amongst devotees of weird fiction, with The Undying Monster (1922), a tale of lycanthropy and a family curse that also included one of the few female occult detectives of the period, Luna Bartendale. Little of her other stories are known, though she was a frequent contributor to The Weekly Tale-Teller. Her series of Arabian tales, Babylonian Nights’ Entertainment, ran there in 1915 and
eventually appeared in book form in 1934. Kerruish was fortunate in winning the first prize of £750 in a competition in 1917 for her adventure novel set in Mesopotamia, Miss Haroun al-Raschid. The sum of £750 in 1917 is equal to around £50,000 ($66,000) today. She followed this with A Girl from Kurdistan (1918), this time set in Persia (modern Iran), and is every bit as contemporary in its study of the conflict between Christianity and Islam. The Hull of Coins (1928) is a treasure-hunt adventure for a sunken vessel off the English coast. These later novels are long forgotten, but Kerruish’s name was kept alive by The Undying Monster, which was filmed in 1942 though, alas, the sex of the occult investigator was changed. Little else of her works have survived but, tucked away in the pages of The Weekly Tale-Teller in January 1915 is the following, which introduces us to an earlier investigator, Lester Stukeley.

  CHADWICK BOUGHT THE DESIRABLE SEMI-DETACHED RESIDENCES, Nos. 75 and 77, Herald Crescent, Willingborough, to fulfil the ideal of middle-class retirement; a house to live in and another to pay rates and taxes and the coal bill. He was not a man to buy a pig in a poke, or a house in a strange town in a hurry; he held strict inquest on the birth and death rates of the locality, and on the drains of his prospective purchase, its damp courses, and the character of the immediate neighbourhood. He welcomed a two days’ downpour that triumphantly vindicated the watertightness of the buildings, and he found that the pair were the only ones to let in the Crescent.

  What else, within the limits of the normal Three Dimensions, could a man have done further?

  On March 25 he, with his family consisting of Mrs. Chadwick and their two daughters, moved into No. 75. On the 26th he consorted with his next-door neighbour and learnt the worst.

  “It was really nobody’s affair,” the next-door neighbour protested. “How could anybody warn you? Of course you might,” he added, as the aggrieved Chadwick breathed threats relating to the ex-landlord of his new demesne and the house agent. “Still, I must remind you it’s a penal offence to kill people, even if they have landed you with one of the most notorious haunted houses in England.”