Tales of Terror and Mystery
every nerve thrilling and every sense acutely on the alert. Beyond all
doubt I had heard a sound--some sound very distinct from the gurgling
of the waters. It had passed, but the reverberation of it still
lingered in my ear. Was it a search party? They would most certainly
have shouted, and vague as this sound was which had wakened me, it was
very distinct from the human voice. I sat palpitating and hardly
daring to breathe. There it was again! And again! Now it had become
continuous. It was a tread--yes, surely it was the tread of some
living creature. But what a tread it was! It gave one the impression
of enormous weight carried upon sponge-like feet, which gave forth a
muffled but ear-filling sound. The darkness was as complete as ever,
but the tread was regular and decisive. And it was coming beyond all
question in my direction.
My skin grew cold, and my hair stood on end as I listened to that
steady and ponderous footfall. There was some creature there, and
surely by the speed of its advance, it was one which could see in the
dark. I crouched low on my rock and tried to blend myself into it.
The steps grew nearer still, then stopped, and presently I was aware of
a loud lapping and gurgling. The creature was drinking at the stream.
Then again there was silence, broken by a succession of long sniffs and
snorts of tremendous volume and energy. Had it caught the scent of me?
My own nostrils were filled by a low fetid odour, mephitic and
abominable. Then I heard the steps again. They were on my side of the
stream now. The stones rattled within a few yards of where I lay.
Hardly daring to breathe, I crouched upon my rock. Then the steps drew
away. I heard the splash as it returned across the river, and the
sound died away into the distance in the direction from which it had
come.
For a long time I lay upon the rock, too much horrified to move. I
thought of the sound which I had heard coming from the depths of the
cave, of Armitage's fears, of the strange impression in the mud, and
now came this final and absolute proof that there was indeed some
inconceivable monster, something utterly unearthly and dreadful, which
lurked in the hollow of the mountain. Of its nature or form I could
frame no conception, save that it was both light-footed and gigantic.
The combat between my reason, which told me that such things could not
be, and my senses, which told me that they were, raged within me as I
lay. Finally, I was almost ready to persuade myself that this
experience had been part of some evil dream, and that my abnormal
condition might have conjured up an hallucination. But there remained
one final experience which removed the last possibility of doubt from
my mind.
I had taken my matches from my armpit and felt them. They seemed
perfectly hard and dry. Stooping down into a crevice of the rocks, I
tried one of them. To my delight it took fire at once. I lit the
candle, and, with a terrified backward glance into the obscure depths
of the cavern, I hurried in the direction of the Roman passage. As I
did so I passed the patch of mud on which I had seen the huge imprint.
Now I stood astonished before it, for there were three similar imprints
upon its surface, enormous in size, irregular in outline, of a depth
which indicated the ponderous weight which had left them. Then a great
terror surged over me. Stooping and shading my candle with my hand, I
ran in a frenzy of fear to the rocky archway, hastened up it, and never
stopped until, with weary feet and panting lungs, I rushed up the final
slope of stones, broke through the tangle of briars, and flung myself
exhausted upon the soft grass under the peaceful light of the stars.
It was three in the morning when I reached the farm-house, and today I
am all unstrung and quivering after my terrific adventure. As yet I
have told no one. I must move warily in the matter. What would the
poor lonely women, or the uneducated yokels here think of it if I were
to tell them my experience? Let me go to someone who can understand
and advise.
April 25.--I was laid up in bed for two days after my incredible
adventure in the cavern. I use the adjective with a very definite
meaning, for I have had an experience since which has shocked me almost
as much as the other. I have said that I was looking round for someone
who could advise me. There is a Dr. Mark Johnson who practices some
few miles away, to whom I had a note of recommendation from Professor
Saunderson. To him I drove, when I was strong enough to get about, and
I recounted to him my whole strange experience. He listened intently,
and then carefully examined me, paying special attention to my reflexes
and to the pupils of my eyes. When he had finished, he refused to
discuss my adventure, saying that it was entirely beyond him, but he
gave me the card of a Mr. Picton at Castleton, with the advice that I
should instantly go to him and tell him the story exactly as I had done
to himself. He was, according to my adviser, the very man who was
pre-eminently suited to help me. I went on to the station, therefore,
and made my way to the little town, which is some ten miles away. Mr.
Picton appeared to be a man of importance, as his brass plate was
displayed upon the door of a considerable building on the outskirts of
the town. I was about to ring his bell, when some misgiving came into
my mind, and, crossing to a neighbouring shop, I asked the man behind
the counter if he could tell me anything of Mr. Picton. "Why," said
he, "he is the best mad doctor in Derbyshire, and yonder is his
asylum." You can imagine that it was not long before I had shaken the
dust of Castleton from my feet and returned to the farm, cursing all
unimaginative pedants who cannot conceive that there may be things in
creation which have never yet chanced to come across their mole's
vision. After all, now that I am cooler, I can afford to admit that I
have been no more sympathetic to Armitage than Dr. Johnson has been to
me.
April 27. When I was a student I had the reputation of being a man of
courage and enterprise. I remember that when there was a ghost-hunt at
Coltbridge it was I who sat up in the haunted house. Is it advancing
years (after all, I am only thirty-five), or is it this physical malady
which has caused degeneration? Certainly my heart quails when I think
of that horrible cavern in the hill, and the certainty that it has some
monstrous occupant. What shall I do? There is not an hour in the day
that I do not debate the question. If I say nothing, then the mystery
remains unsolved. If I do say anything, then I have the alternative of
mad alarm over the whole countryside, or of absolute incredulity which
may end in consigning me to an asylum. On the whole, I think that my
best course is to wait, and to prepare for some expedition which shall
be more deliberate and better thought out than the last. As a first
step I have been to Castleton and obtained a few essentials--a large
acetylene lantern for one thing, and a good double-barrelled sporting
rifle for another. The latter I have hired, but I have bought a dozen
heavy game cartridges, which would bring down a rhinoceros. Now I am
ready for my troglodyte friend. Give me better health and a little
spate of energy, and I shall try conclusions with him yet. But who and
what is he? Ah! there is the question which stands between me and my
sleep. How many theories do I form, only to discard each in turn! It
is all so utterly unthinkable. And yet the cry, the footmark, the
tread in the cavern--no reasoning can get past these I think of the
old-world legends of dragons and of other monsters. Were they,
perhaps, not such fairy-tales as we have thought? Can it be that there
is some fact which underlies them, and am I, of all mortals, the one
who is chosen to expose it?
May 3.--For several days I have been laid up by the vagaries of an
English spring, and during those days there have been developments, the
true and sinister meaning of which no one can appreciate save myself.
I may say that we have had cloudy and moonless nights of late, which
according to my information were the seasons upon which sheep
disappeared. Well, sheep have disappeared. Two of Miss Allerton's,
one of old Pearson's of the Cat Walk, and one of Mrs. Moulton's. Four
in all during three nights. No trace is left of them at all, and the
countryside is buzzing with rumours of gipsies and of sheep-stealers.
But there is something more serious than that. Young Armitage has
disappeared also. He left his moorland cottage early on Wednesday
night and has never been heard of since. He was an unattached man, so
there is less sensation than would otherwise be the case. The popular
explanation is that he owes money, and has found a situation in some
other part of the country, whence he will presently write for his
belongings. But I have grave misgivings. Is it not much more likely
that the recent tragedy of the sheep has caused him to take some steps
which may have ended in his own destruction? He may, for example, have
lain in wait for the creature and been carried off by it into the
recesses of the mountains. What an inconceivable fate for a civilized
Englishman of the twentieth century! And yet I feel that it is
possible and even probable. But in that case, how far am I answerable
both for his death and for any other mishap which may occur? Surely
with the knowledge I already possess it must be my duty to see that
something is done, or if necessary to do it myself. It must be the
latter, for this morning I went down to the local police-station and
told my story. The inspector entered it all in a large book and bowed
me out with commendable gravity, but I heard a burst of laughter before
I had got down his garden path. No doubt he was recounting my
adventure to his family.
June 10.--I am writing this, propped up in bed, six weeks after my last
entry in this journal. I have gone through a terrible shock both to
mind and body, arising from such an experience as has seldom befallen a
human being before. But I have attained my end. The danger from the
Terror which dwells in the Blue John Gap has passed never to return.
Thus much at least I, a broken invalid, have done for the common good.
Let me now recount what occurred as clearly as I may.
The night of Friday, May 3rd, was dark and cloudy--the very night for
the monster to walk. About eleven o'clock I went from the farm-house
with my lantern and my rifle, having first left a note upon the table
of my bedroom in which I said that, if I were missing, search should be
made for me in the direction of the Gap. I made my way to the mouth of
the Roman shaft, and, having perched myself among the rocks close to
the opening, I shut off my lantern and waited patiently with my loaded
rifle ready to my hand.
It was a melancholy vigil. All down the winding valley I could see the
scattered lights of the farm-houses, and the church clock of
Chapel-le-Dale tolling the hours came faintly to my ears. These tokens
of my fellow-men served only to make my own position seem the more
lonely, and to call for a greater effort to overcome the terror which
tempted me continually to get back to the farm, and abandon for ever
this dangerous quest. And yet there lies deep in every man a rooted
self-respect which makes it hard for him to turn back from that which
he has once undertaken. This feeling of personal pride was my
salvation now, and it was that alone which held me fast when every
instinct of my nature was dragging me away. I am glad now that I had
the strength. In spite of all that is has cost me, my manhood is at
least above reproach.
Twelve o'clock struck in the distant church, then one, then two. It