Read Online The Cadaver of Gideon Wyck by Alexander Laing - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alexander Laing
Tags: Horror
Ads: Link
terrific racket.
Where was it going? At this moment of crisis I experienced a sensation of desperate responsibility—of a need to act quickly, with no knowledge of what to do at all. I was gripped with an absolute conviction that something intolerably evil had been occurring in a hidden place—that Mike’s choking terror of “the black one wit’ the white eyes” had something real to justify it—that he secret which Muriel dared not confess was far more sinister than any of the acts which long ago had made Gideon Wyck the most detested man within many miles.
I stood frozen by the bridge, watching the Ford’s lights make a weird moving pattern as it climbed higher and higher between the still leafless trees. The whole phrase of Mike’s rushed through my mind: “a black one it was, wit’ white eyes, like in the whole in the hill.”
Whatever the hole in the hill might be, I knew that that was where the car was going. What might turn out to be the last clue was disappearing up the hill. With cold fear gripping at my viscera, I started to follow.
Presently I realized, half-inspirationally, that I was at a fork. Deep ruts could be felt, leading both ways. I tried first the right-hand road; but it led promptly into holes which no car could have passed in that muddy season; so I turned back. The other way led before long into an open field, with more woods beyond, but with no spark of light to show where the car might have gone. Although I could still feel ruts underfoot plainly enough to follow them, in a short while I realized that they were lost.
The field was far larger than it had appeared, in the starlight, which of course gave no perspective. The usual wire fence was missing from the other edge of it, and there was no stone wall, or other means of tracing the opening for the old road. After blundering into and out of a score of black holes I realized the ridiculousness of my quest.
I started back. But more troubles were awaiting me. The road up which I had come seemed to have vanished entirely. Finally, in desperation, I started down anywhere through the dark woods. I am going to leave to your imagination the events of the next hour or two, at the end of which time I suddenly fond myself on a trail, and sank down in the middle of it, shaking with nervous exhaustion. When at last able to proceed, I found myself only a few yards above a little bridge which proved to be the first of the two leading up from the Bottom Road. This circumstance saved a mile of the walk back to town; but all the way the muscles of my legs were twitching and shivering.
The Wyck’s house, when I passed it, was as dark as pitch. The first chance to consult my watch came under the twin globes of the hospital gates. It proved to be 1:20 A.M. I had been gone nearly four hours.
The first thought that occurred to me was that the others might have returned to town before me. I decided to call the hospital from the Connells’, to find out about Muriel. As I approached the house, the sight of the lighted bedroom window, downstairs, made me fear that Mike had suffered another of his strange attacks. I was all the more alarmed when a closer view revealed Prexy’s Marmon parked in front of the house. I rushed in, but everything was quiet. Through the open door of Mike’s bedroom I could see that he was asleep, and that Dr. Alling was seated by the bedside holding a watch in his hand.
“Why, what’s happened?” I cried. “Where’s Mrs. Connell?”
“What’s happened to you?” Prexy asked sharply, staring at me in amazement.
Only then did I realize the full effect of my encounters with branches, stones and barbed-wire fences. My trousers were ripped. The bureau mirror showed trickles of blood on my hands and face, and a great blue bruise on my forehead. My coat was smeared with pitch from pine trees and I was covered with burrs. I was about to explain something of my adventures, if not their cause, when Mike groaned. I stepped back
Where was it going? At this moment of crisis I experienced a sensation of desperate responsibility—of a need to act quickly, with no knowledge of what to do at all. I was gripped with an absolute conviction that something intolerably evil had been occurring in a hidden place—that Mike’s choking terror of “the black one wit’ the white eyes” had something real to justify it—that he secret which Muriel dared not confess was far more sinister than any of the acts which long ago had made Gideon Wyck the most detested man within many miles.
I stood frozen by the bridge, watching the Ford’s lights make a weird moving pattern as it climbed higher and higher between the still leafless trees. The whole phrase of Mike’s rushed through my mind: “a black one it was, wit’ white eyes, like in the whole in the hill.”
Whatever the hole in the hill might be, I knew that that was where the car was going. What might turn out to be the last clue was disappearing up the hill. With cold fear gripping at my viscera, I started to follow.
Presently I realized, half-inspirationally, that I was at a fork. Deep ruts could be felt, leading both ways. I tried first the right-hand road; but it led promptly into holes which no car could have passed in that muddy season; so I turned back. The other way led before long into an open field, with more woods beyond, but with no spark of light to show where the car might have gone. Although I could still feel ruts underfoot plainly enough to follow them, in a short while I realized that they were lost.
The field was far larger than it had appeared, in the starlight, which of course gave no perspective. The usual wire fence was missing from the other edge of it, and there was no stone wall, or other means of tracing the opening for the old road. After blundering into and out of a score of black holes I realized the ridiculousness of my quest.
I started back. But more troubles were awaiting me. The road up which I had come seemed to have vanished entirely. Finally, in desperation, I started down anywhere through the dark woods. I am going to leave to your imagination the events of the next hour or two, at the end of which time I suddenly fond myself on a trail, and sank down in the middle of it, shaking with nervous exhaustion. When at last able to proceed, I found myself only a few yards above a little bridge which proved to be the first of the two leading up from the Bottom Road. This circumstance saved a mile of the walk back to town; but all the way the muscles of my legs were twitching and shivering.
The Wyck’s house, when I passed it, was as dark as pitch. The first chance to consult my watch came under the twin globes of the hospital gates. It proved to be 1:20 A.M. I had been gone nearly four hours.
The first thought that occurred to me was that the others might have returned to town before me. I decided to call the hospital from the Connells’, to find out about Muriel. As I approached the house, the sight of the lighted bedroom window, downstairs, made me fear that Mike had suffered another of his strange attacks. I was all the more alarmed when a closer view revealed Prexy’s Marmon parked in front of the house. I rushed in, but everything was quiet. Through the open door of Mike’s bedroom I could see that he was asleep, and that Dr. Alling was seated by the bedside holding a watch in his hand.
“Why, what’s happened?” I cried. “Where’s Mrs. Connell?”
“What’s happened to you?” Prexy asked sharply, staring at me in amazement.
Only then did I realize the full effect of my encounters with branches, stones and barbed-wire fences. My trousers were ripped. The bureau mirror showed trickles of blood on my hands and face, and a great blue bruise on my forehead. My coat was smeared with pitch from pine trees and I was covered with burrs. I was about to explain something of my adventures, if not their cause, when Mike groaned. I stepped back
Similar Books
