Dracula's Guest
the lamp, and a deadly pallor overspread his face. His knees shook, and
heavy drops of sweat came on his forehead, and he trembled like an
aspen. But he was young and plucky, and pulled himself together, and
after the pause of a few seconds stepped forward again, raised the
lamp, and examined the picture which had been dusted and washed, and
now stood out clearly.
It was of a judge dressed in his robes of scarlet and ermine. His face
was strong and merciless, evil, crafty, and vindictive, with a sensual
mouth, hooked nose of ruddy colour, and shaped like the beak of a bird
of prey. The rest of the face was of a cadaverous colour. The eyes were
of peculiar brilliance and with a terribly malignant expression. As he
looked at them, Malcolmson grew cold, for he saw there the very
counterpart of the eyes of the great rat. The lamp almost fell from his
hand, he saw the rat with its baleful eyes peering out through the hole
in the corner of the picture, and noted the sudden cessation of the
noise of the other rats. However, he pulled himself together, and went
on with his examination of the picture.
The Judge was seated in a great high-backed carved oak chair, on the
right-hand side of a great stone fireplace where, in the corner, a rope
hung down from the ceiling, its end lying coiled on the floor. With a
feeling of something like horror, Malcolmson recognised the scene of
the room as it stood, and gazed around him in an awestruck manner as
though he expected to find some strange presence behind him. Then he
looked over to the corner of the fireplace—and with a loud cry he let
the lamp fall from his hand.
There, in the Judge’s arm-chair, with the rope hanging behind, sat the
rat with the Judge’s baleful eyes, now intensified and with a fiendish
leer. Save for the howling of the storm without there was silence.
The fallen lamp recalled Malcolmson to himself. Fortunately it was of
metal, and so the oil was not spilt. However, the practical need of
attending to it settled at once his nervous apprehensions. When he had
turned it out, he wiped his brow and thought for a moment.
“This will not do,” he said to himself. “If I go on like this I shall
become a crazy fool. This must stop! I promised the doctor I would not
take tea. Faith, he was pretty right! My nerves must have been getting
into a queer state. Funny I did not notice it. I never felt better in
my life. However, it is all right now, and I shall not be such a fool
again.”
Then he mixed himself a good stiff glass of brandy and water and
resolutely sat down to his work.
It was nearly an hour when he looked up from his book, disturbed by the
sudden stillness. Without, the wind howled and roared louder than ever,
and the rain drove in sheets against the windows, beating like hail on
the glass; but within there was no sound whatever save the echo of the
wind as it roared in the great chimney, and now and then a hiss as a
few raindrops found their way down the chimney in a lull of the storm.
The fire had fallen low and had ceased to flame, though it threw out a
red glow. Malcolmson listened attentively, and presently heard a thin,
squeaking noise, very faint. It came from the corner of the room where
the rope hung down, and he thought it was the creaking of the rope on
the floor as the swaying of the bell raised and lowered it. Looking up,
however, he saw in the dim light the great rat clinging to the rope and
gnawing it. The rope was already nearly gnawed through—he could see the
lighter colour where the strands were laid bare. As he looked the job
was completed, and the severed end of the rope fell clattering on the
oaken floor, whilst for an instant the great rat remained like a knob
or tassel at the end of the rope, which now began to sway to and fro.
Malcolmson felt for a moment another pang of terror as he thought that
now the possibility of calling the outer world to his assistance was
cut off, but an intense anger took its place, and seizing the book he
was reading he hurled it at the rat. The blow was well aimed, but
before the missile could reach him the rat dropped off and struck the
floor with a soft thud. Malcolmson instantly rushed over towards him,
but it darted away and disappeared in the darkness of the shadows of
the room. Malcolmson felt that his work was over for the night, and
determined then and there to vary the monotony of the proceedings by a
hunt for the rat, and took off the green shade of the lamp so as to
insure a wider spreading light. As he did so the gloom of the upper
part of the room was relieved, and in the new flood of light, great by
comparison with the previous darkness, the pictures on the wall stood
out boldly. From where he stood, Malcolmson saw right opposite to him
the third picture on the wall from the right of the fireplace. He
rubbed his eyes in surprise, and then a great fear began to come upon
him.
In the centre of the picture was a great irregular patch of brown
canvas, as fresh as when it was stretched on the frame. The background
was as before, with chair and chimney-corner and rope, but the figure
of the Judge had disappeared.
Malcolmson, almost in a chill of horror, turned slowly round, and then
he began to shake and tremble like a man in a palsy. His strength
seemed to have left him, and he was incapable of action or movement,
hardly even of thought. He could only see and hear.
There, on the great high-backed carved oak chair sat the Judge in his
robes of scarlet and ermine, with his baleful eyes glaring
vindictively, and a smile of triumph on the resolute, cruel mouth, as
he lifted with his hands a _black cap_. Malcolmson felt as if the blood
was running from his heart, as one does in moments of prolonged
suspense. There was a singing in his ears. Without, he could hear the
roar and howl of the tempest, and through it, swept on the storm, came
the striking of midnight by the great chimes in the market place. He
stood for a space of time that seemed to him endless still as a statue,
and with wide-open, horror-struck eyes, breathless. As the clock
struck, so the smile of triumph on the Judge’s face intensified, and at
the last stroke of midnight he placed the black cap on his head.
Slowly and deliberately the Judge rose from his chair and picked up the
piece of the rope of the alarm bell which lay on the floor, drew it
through his hands as if he enjoyed its touch, and then deliberately
began to knot one end of it, fashioning it into a noose. This he
tightened and tested with his foot, pulling hard at it till he was
satisfied and then making a running noose of it, which he held in his
hand. Then he began to move along the table on the opposite side to
Malcolmson keeping his eyes on him until he had passed him, when with a
quick movement he stood in front of the door. Malcolmson then began to
feel that he was trapped, and tried to think of what he should do.
There was some fascination in the Judge’s eyes, which he never took off
him, and he had, perforce, to look. He saw the Judge approach—still
keeping between him and the door—and raise the noose and throw it
towards him as if to entangle him. With a great effort he made a quick
movement to one side, and saw the rope fall beside him, and heard it
strike the oaken floor. Again the Judge raised the noose and tried to
ensnare him, ever keeping his baleful eyes fixed on him, and each time
by a mighty effort the student just managed to evade it. So this went
on for many times, the Judge seeming never discouraged nor discomposed
at failure, but playing as a cat does with a mouse. At last in despair,
which had reached its climax, Malcolmson cast a quick glance round him.
The lamp seemed to have blazed up, and there was a fairly good light in
the room. At the many rat-holes and in the chinks and crannies of the
wainscot he saw the rats’ eyes; and this aspect, that was purely
physical, gave him a gleam of comfort. He looked around and saw that
the rope of the great alarm bell was laden with rats. Every inch of it
was covered with them, and more and more were pouring through the small
circular hole in the ceiling whence it emerged, so that with their
weight the bell was beginning to sway.
Hark! it had swayed till the clapper had touched the bell. The sound
was but a tiny one, but the bell was only beginning to sway, and it
would increase.
At the sound the Judge, who had been keeping his eyes fixed on
Malcolmson, looked up, and a scowl of diabolical anger overspread his
face. His eyes fairly glowed like hot coals, and he stamped his foot
with a sound that seemed to make the house shake. A dreadful peal of
thunder broke overhead as he raised the rope again, whilst the rats
kept running up and down the rope as though working against time. This
time, instead of throwing it, he drew close to his victim, and held
open the noose as he approached. As he came closer there seemed
something paralysing in his very presence, and Malcolmson stood rigid
as a corpse. He felt the Judge’s icy fingers touch his throat as he
adjusted the rope. The noose tightened—tightened. Then the Judge,
taking the rigid form of the student in his arms, carried him over and
placed him standing in the oak chair, and stepping up beside him, put
his hand up and caught the end of the swaying rope of the alarm bell.
As he raised his hand the rats fled squeaking, and disappeared through
the hole in the ceiling. Taking the end of the noose which was round
Malcolmson’s neck he tied it to the hanging-bell rope, and then
descending pulled away the chair.
When the alarm bell of the Judge’s House began to sound a crowd soon
assembled. Lights and torches of various kinds appeared, and soon a
silent crowd was hurrying to the spot. They knocked loudly at the door,
but there was no reply. Then they burst in the door, and poured into
the great dining-room, the doctor at the head.
There at the end of the rope of the great alarm bell hung the body of
the student, and on the face of the Judge in the picture was a
malignant smile.
The Squaw
Nurnberg at the time was not so much exploited as it has been since
then. Irving had not been playing _Faust_, and the very name of the old
town was hardly known to the great bulk of the travelling public. My
wife and I being in the second week of our honeymoon, naturally wanted
someone else to join our party, so that when the cheery stranger, Elias
P. Hutcheson, hailing from Isthmian City, Bleeding Gulch, Maple Tree
County, Neb. turned up at the station at Frankfort, and casually
remarked that he was going on to see the most all-fired old Methuselah
of a town in Yurrup, and that he guessed that so much travelling alone
was enough to send an intelligent, active citizen into the melancholy
ward of a daft house, we took the pretty broad hint and suggested that
we should join forces. We found, on comparing notes afterwards, that we
had each intended to speak with some diffidence or hesitation so as not
to appear too eager, such not being a good compliment to the success of
our married life; but the effect was entirely marred by our both
beginning to speak at the same instant—stopping simultaneously and then
going on together again. Anyhow, no matter how, it was done; and Elias
P. Hutcheson became one of our party. Straightway Amelia and I found
the pleasant benefit; instead of quarrelling, as we had been doing, we
found that the restraining influence of a third party was such that we
now took every opportunity of spooning in odd corners. Amelia declares
that ever since she has, as the result of that experience, advised all
her friends to take a friend on the honeymoon. Well, we “did” Nurnberg
together, and much enjoyed the racy remarks of our Transatlantic
friend, who, from his quaint speech and his wonderful stock of