Complete Works of Bram Stoker

by Bram Stoker

  ‘It is not too late,’ came the quick answer of his better self; and full of the thought, he rose up to go home and divest himself of the now hateful costume right away. He paused for one look at the beautiful scene. The light lay pale and mellow, softening every outline of rock and tree and house-top, and deepening the shadows into velvety-black, and lighting, as with a pale flame, the incoming tide, that now crept fringe-like across the flat waste of sand. Then he left the rock and stepped out for the shore.

  But as he did so a frightful spasm of horror shook him, and for an instant the blood rushing to his head shut out all the light of the full moon. Once more he saw that fatal image of himself moving beyond the quicksand from the opposite rock to the shore. The shock was all the greater for the contrast with the spell of peace which he had just enjoyed; and, almost paralysed in every sense, he stood and watched the fatal vision and the wrinkly, crawling quicksand that seemed to writhe and yearn for something that lay between. There could be no mistake this time, for though the moon behind threw the face into shadow he could see there the same shaven cheeks as his own, and the small stubby moustache of a few weeks’ growth. The light shone on the brilliant tartan, and on the eagle’s plume. Even the bald space at one side of the Glengarry cap glistened, as did the cairngorm brooch on the shoulder and the tops of the silver buttons. As he looked he felt his feet slightly sinking, for he was still near the edge of the belt of quicksand, and he stepped back. As he did so the other figure stepped forward, so that the space between them was preserved.

  So the two stood facing each other, as though in some weird fascination; and in the rushing of the blood through his brain Markam seemed to hear the words of the prophecy: ‘See thyself face to face, and repent ere the quicksand swallow thee.’ He did stand face to face with himself, he had repented — and now he was sinking in the quicksand! The warning and prophecy were coming true.

  Above him the seagulls screamed, circling round the fringe of the incoming tide, and the sound being entirely mortal recalled him to himself. On the instant he stepped back a few quick steps, for as yet only his feet were merged in the soft sand. As he did so the other figure stepped forward, and coming within the deadly grip of the quicksand began to sink. It seemed to Markam that he was looking at himself going down to his doom, and on the instant the anguish of his soul found vent in a terrible cry. There was at the same instant a terrible cry from the other figure, and as Markam threw up his hands the figure did the same. With horror-struck eyes he saw him sink deeper into the quicksand; and then, impelled by what power he knew not, he advanced again towards the sand to meet his fate. But as his more forward foot began to sink he heard again the cries of the seagulls which seemed to restore his benumbed faculties. With a mighty effort he drew his foot out of the sand which seemed to clutch it, leaving his shoe behind, and then in sheer terror he turned and ran from the place, never stopping till his breath and strength failed him, and he sank half swooning on the grassy path through the sandhills.

  Arthur Markam made up his mind not to tell his family of his terrible adventure — until at least such time as he should be complete master of himself. Now that the fatal double — his other self — had been engulfed in the quicksand he felt something like his old peace of mind.

  That night he slept soundly and did not dream at all; and in the morning was quite his old self. It really seemed as though his newer and worser self had disappeared for ever; and strangely enough Saft Tammie was absent from his post that morning and never appeared there again, but sat in his old place watching nothing, as of old, with lack-lustre eye. In accordance with his resolution he did not wear his Highland suit again, but one evening tied it up in a bundle, claymore, dirk and philibeg and all, and bringing it secretly with him threw it into the quicksand. With a feeling of intense pleasure he saw it sucked below the sand, which closed above it into marble smoothness. Then he went home and announced cheerily to his family assembled for evening prayers:

  ‘Well! my dears, you will be glad to hear that I have abandoned my idea of wearing the Highland dress. I see now what a vain old fool I was and how ridiculous I made myself! You shall never see it again!’

  ‘Where is it, father?’ asked one of the girls, wishing to say something so that such a self-sacrificing announcement as her father’s should not be passed in absolute silence. His answer was so sweetly given that the girl rose from her seat and came and kissed him. It was:

  ‘In the quicksand, my dear! and I hope that my worser self is buried there along with it — for ever.’

  The remainder of the summer was passed at Crooken with delight by all the family, and on his return to town Mr. Markam had almost forgotten the whole of the incident of the quicksand, and all touching on it, when one day he got a letter from the MacCallum More which caused him much thought, though he said nothing of it to his family, and left it, for certain reasons, unanswered. It ran as follows: —

  ‘The MacCallum More and Roderick MacDhu.

  ‘The Scotch All-Wool Tartan Clothing Mart.

  Copthall Court, E.C.,

  30th September, 1892.

  ‘Dear Sir, — I trust you will pardon the liberty which I take in writing to you, but I am desirous of making an inquiry, and I am informed that you have been sojourning during the summer in Aberdeenshire (Scotland, N.B.). My partner, Mr. Roderick MacDhu — as he appears for business reasons on our bill-heads and in our advertisements, his real name being Emmanuel Moses Marks of London — went early last month to Scotland (N.B.) for a tour, but as I have only once heard from him, shortly after his departure, I am anxious lest any misfortune may have befallen him. As I have been unable to obtain any news of him on making all inquiries in my power, I venture to appeal to you. His letter was written in deep dejection of spirit, and mentioned that he feared a judgment had come upon him for wishing to appear as a Scotchman on Scottish soil, as he had one moonlight night shortly after his arrival seen his ‘wraith’. He evidently alluded to the fact that before his departure he had procured for himself a Highland costume similar to that which we had the honour to supply to you, with which, as perhaps you will remember, he was much struck. He may, however, never have worn it, as he was, to my own knowledge, diffident about putting it on, and even went so far as to tell me that he would at first only venture to wear it late at night or very early in the morning, and then only in remote places, until such time as he should get accustomed to it. Unfortunately he did not advise me of his route so that I am in complete ignorance of his whereabouts; and I venture to ask if you may have seen or heard of a Highland costume similar to your own having been seen anywhere in the neighbourhood in which I am told you have recently purchased the estate which you temporarily occupied. I shall not expect an answer to this letter unless you can give me some information regarding my friend and partner, so pray do not trouble to reply unless there be cause. I am encouraged to think that he may have been in your neighbourhood as, though his letter is not dated, the envelope is marked with the postmark of “Yellon” which I find is in Aberdeenshire, and not far from the Mains of Crooken.

  ‘I have the honour to be, dear sir,

  ‘Yours very respectfully,

  ‘Joshua Sheeny Cohen Benjamin

  ‘(The MacCallum More.)’

  UNCOLLECTED SHORT STORIES

  This collection offers the stories that were not printed in a collection before Stoker’s death. Of particular interest is The Bridal of Death, which is an alternative (and original) ending to Stoker’s Mummy novel The Jewel of Seven Stars.

  Stoker, 1906

  CONTENTS

  THE BRIDAL OF DEATH

  BURIED TREASURES

  THE CHAIN OF DESTINY

  THE CRYSTAL CUP

  THE DUALITISTS

  THE ‘EROES OF THE THAMES

  LORD CASTLETON EXPLAINS

  THE FATE OF FENELLA

  THE GOMBEEN MAN

  GREATER LOVE

  IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

  THE MAN FROM
SHORROX

  OUR NEW HOUSE

  THE RED STOCKADE

  THE SEER

  THE WAY OF PEACE

  A YELLOW DUSTER

  THE BRIDAL OF DEATH

  If any evidence had been wanted of how absolutely one and all of us had come to believe in the spiritual existence of the Egyptian Queen, it would have been found in the change which n a few minutes had been effected in us by the statement of voluntary negation made, we all believed, through Margaret. Despite the coming of the fearful ordeal, the sense of which it was impossible to forget, we looked and acted as though a great relief had come to us. We had indeed lived in such a state of terrorism during the days when Mr. Trelawny was lying in a trance that the feeling had bitten deeply into us. No one knows till he has experienced it, what it is to be in constant dreadof some unknown danger which may come at any time and in any form.

  The change was manifested in different ways, according to each nature. Margaret was sad. Doctor Winchester was in high spirits, and keenly observant; the process of thought which had served as an antidote to fear, being now relieved from this duty, added to his intellectual enthusiasm. Mr. Corbeck seemed to be in a retrospective rather than a speculative mood. I was myself rather inclined to be gay; the relief from certain anxiety regarding Margaret was sufficient for me for the time.

  As to Mr. Trelawny he seemed less changed than any. Perhaps this was only natural, as he had had in his mind the intention for so many years of doing that in which we were tonight engaged, that any event connected with it could only seem to him as an episode, a step to the end. His was that commanding nature which looks so to the end of an undertaking that all else is of secondary importance. Even now, though his terrible sternness relaxed under the relief from the strain, he never flagged nor faltered for a moment in his purpose. He asked us men to come with him; and going to the hall we presently managed to lower into the cave an oak table, fairly long and not too wide, which stood against the wall in the hall. This we placed under the strong cluster of electric lights in the middle of the cave. Margaret looked on for a while; then all at once her face blanched, and in an agitated voice she said:

  “What are you going to do, Father?”

  “To unroll the mummy of the cat! Queen Tera will not need her Familiar tonight. If she should want him, it might be dangerous to us; so we shall make him safe. You are not alarmed, dear?”

  “Oh no!” she answered quickly. “But I was thinking of my Silvio, and how I should feel if he had been the mummy that was to be unswathed!”

  Mr. Trelawny got knives and scissors ready, and placed the cat on the table. It was a grim beginning to our work; and it made my heart sink when I thought of what might happen in that lonely house in the mid-gloom of the night. The sense of loneliness and isolation from the world was increased by the moaning of the wind which had now risen ominously, and by the beating of waves on the rocks below. But we had too grave a task before us to be swayed by external manifestations: the unrolling of the mummy began.

  There was an incredible number of bandages; and the tearing sound — they being stuck fast to each other by bitumen and gums and spices — and the little cloud of red pungent dust that arose, pressed on the senses of all of us. As the last wrappings came away, we saw the animal seated before us. He was all hunkered up; his hair and teeth and claws were complete. The eyes were closed, but the eyelids had not the fierce look which I expected. The whiskers had been pressed down on the side of the face by the bandaging; but when the pressure ws taken away they stood out, just as they would have done in life. He was a magnificent creature, a tiger-cat of great size. But as we looked at him, our first glance of admiration changed to one of fear, and a shudder ran through each one of us; for here was a confirmation of the fears which we had endured.

  His mouth and his claws were smeared with the dry, red stains of recent blood!

  Doctor Winchester was the first to recover; blood in itself had small disturbing quality for him. He had taken out his magnifying-glass and was examining the stains on the cat’s mouth. Mr. Trelawny breathed loudly, as though a strain had been taken from him.

  “It is as I expected,” he said. “This promises well for what is to follow.”

  By this time Doctor Winchester was looking at the red stained paws. “As I expected!” he said. “He has seven claws, too!” Opening his pocket-book, he took out the piece of blotting-paper marked by Silvio’s claws, on which was also marked in pencil a diagram of the cuts made on Mr. Trelawny’s wrist. He placed the paper under the mummy cat’s paw. The marks fitted exactly.

  When we had carefully examined the cat, finding, however, nothing strange about it but its wonderful preservation, Mr. Trelawny lifted it from the table. Margaret started forward, crying out:

  “Take care, Father! Take care! He may injure you!”

  “Not now, my dear!” he answered as he moved towards the stairway. Her face fell. “Where are you going?” she asked in a faint voice.

  “To the kitchen,” he answered. “Fire will take away all danger for the future; even an astral body cannot materialise from ashes!” He signed to us to follow him. Margaret turned away with a sob. I went to her; but she motioned me back and whispered:

  “No, no! Go with the others. Father may want you. Oh! it seems like murder! The poor Queen’s pet . . . !” The tears were dropping from under the fingers that covered her eyes.

  In the kitchen was a fire of wood ready laid. To this Mr. Trelawny applied a match; in a few seconds the kindling had caught and the flames leaped. When the fire was solidly ablaze, he threw the body of the cat into it. For a few seconds it lay a dark mass amidst the flames, and the room was rank with the smell of burning hair. Then the dry body caught fire too. The inflammable substances used in embalming became new fuel, and the flames roared. A few minutes of fierce conflagration; and then we breathed freely. Queen Tera’s Familiar was no more!

  When we went back to the cave we found Margaret sitting in the dark. She had switched off the electric light, and only a faint glow of the evening light came through the narrow openings. Her father went quickly over to her and put his arms round her in a loving protective way. She laid her head on his shoulder for a minute and seemed comforted. Presently she called to me:

  “Malcolm, turn up the light!” I carried out her orders, and could see that, though she had been crying, her eyes were now dry. Her father saw it too and looked glad. He said to us in a grave tone:

  “Now we had better prepare for our great work. It will not do to leave anything to the last!” Margaret must have had a suspicion of what was coming, for it was with a sinking voice that she asked:

  “What are you going to do now?” Mr. Trelawny too must have had a suspicion of her feelings, for he answered in a low tone:

  “To unroll the mummy of Queen Tera!” She came close to him and said pleadingly in a whisper:

  “Father, you are not going to unswathe her! All you men . . . ! And in the glare of light!”

  “But why not, my dear?”

  “Just think, Father, a woman! All alone! In such a way! In such a place! Oh! it’s cruel, cruel!” She was manifestly much overcome. Her cheeks were flaming red, and her eyes were full of indignant tears. Her father saw her distress; and, sympathising with it, began to comfort her. I was moving off; but he signed to me to stay. I took it that after the usual manner of men he wanted help on such an occasion, and man-like wished to throw on someone else the task of dealing with a woman in indignant distress. However, he began to appeal first to her reason:

  “Not a woman, dear; a mummy! She has been dead nearly five thousand years!”

  “What does that matter? Sex is not a matter of years! A woman is a woman, if she had been dead five thousand centuries! And you expect her to arise out of that long sleep! It could not be real death, if she is to rise out of it! You have led me to believe that she will come alive when the Coffer is opened!”

  “I did, my dear; and I believe it! But if it isn’t death
that has been the matter with her all these years, it is something uncommonly like it. Then again, just think; it was men who embalmed her. They didn’t have women’s rights or lady doctors in ancient Egypt, my dear! And besides,” he went on more freely, seeing that she was accepting his argument, if not yielding to it, “we men are accustomed to such things. Corbeck and I have unrolled a hundred mummies; and there were as many women as men amongst them. Doctor Winchester in his work has had to deal with women as well of men, till custome has made him think nothing of sex. Even Ross has in his work as a barrister . . .” He stopped suddenly.

  “You were going to help too!” she said to me, with an indignant look.

  I said nothing; I thought silence was best. Mr. Trelawny went on hurriedly; I could see that he was glad of interruption, for the part of his argument concerning a barrister’s work was becoming decidedly weak:

  “My child, you will be with us yourself. Would we do anything which would hurt or offend you? Come now! be reasonable! We are not at a pleasure party. We are all grave men, entering gravely on an experiment which may unfold the wisdom of old times, and enlarge human knowledge indefinitely; which may put the minds of men on new tracks of thought and research. An experiment,” as he went on his voice deepened, “which may be fraught with death to any one of us — to us all! We know from what has been, that there are, or may be, vast and unknown dangers ahead of us, of which none in the house today may ever see the end. Take it, my child, that we are not acting lightly; but with all the gravity of deeply earnest men! Besides, my dear, whatever feelings you or any of us may have on the subject, it is necessary for the success of the experiment to unswathe her. I think that under any circumstances it would be necessary to remove the wrappings before she became again a live human being instead of a spiritualised corpse with an astral body. Were her original intention carried out, and did she come to new life within her mummy wrappings, it might be to exchange a coffin for a grave! She would die the death of the buried alive! But now, when she has voluntarily abandoned for the time her astral power, there can be no doubt on the subject.”