Читать книгу Strange Visitors - Henry J. Horn - Страница 19

Returning one evening from a visit to a friend on earth, I was impelled to take a route with which I was unfamiliar. It led me far beyond the habitations of the city, into an open country whose surface was diversified by sloping hills and broad valleys.

The sun was quite low in the horizon, and dark purple clouds, gathering in the west, indicated an approaching storm. Anxious to reach my spirit-home before such an event, I was nevertheless compelled to keep within the earth's atmosphere.

The aspect of the country became more uneven as I advanced, and the disappearing sun threw out the hills in cold blue relief against the evening sky. One peak to the northward stood high and isolated from the surrounding hills, and was crowned by a spacious dwelling house; the high peaked roof and dark gloomy color of its exterior comported strangely with the landscape.

To this building an unseen influence drew me. As I approached nearer I discovered the figure of a man walking with restless step upon the piazza which surrounded the dwelling. At times he would suspend his walk, and crouch, shuddering as with fear, against the shadowed balustrade. His face was of ashy paleness, and his hair, black as night, fell in neglected masses around his head. His eyes were bright and glassy, and their expression frightful to look upon.

Unconscious of my proximity, he arose from his crouching position, stood for a moment irresolute, and then walked up to the heavy oaken, door and knocked.

Presently the door was opened by a lady; she looked out, but could see no one. "It must have been the wind," said she, shuddering slightly, and drawing her shawl closely around her, was about to close the door. But before she could accomplish her purpose the unseen guest had entered, with myself following closely behind, hoping to give comfort where it appeared most sorely needed.

Up a broad staircase he ascended and at a chamber door he paused—then entered. I followed. His presence seemed to cause the very furniture to shake and rattle.

"Here," thought I, "I will solve the enigma. Here, without doubt, has occurred some grand disturbance of nature. The walls of this apartment, its casements, its decorations, have been witness to some fell crime. The spectre of evil impresses itself upon matter."

While reflecting upon this wonderful law, which all my life I had perceived dimly, I observed with care the evidently unhappy man. A bedstead of rich workmanship occupied one side of the apartment. Rushing toward it he burst forth in a cry of frenzy, swaying his hands fearfully and ejaculating and groaning in most piteous accents.

At this juncture steps were heard outside ascending the stairs, and several members of the household entered, bearing lights. They looked about the room, at first timidly; then, gathering courage, peered under the bed, opened closets, and scrutinized every nook and corner of the apartment. Foiled in their efforts to discover the inmate they turned to each other with amazement.

"I am positive the sounds came from this room," said one. "There is no one to be seen here," replied another; "what can it mean?"

The culprit stood in the corner, gesticulating violently, but they with their mortal eyes could not see him. They passed close to him, but their lighted candles could not reveal the shadowless!

Having satisfied themselves that the room was tenantless, they departed.

Then I approached the unhappy wretch:

"Friend," said I, "let me aid you. Unburden your woo to me; I too have suffered and am not without sin."

Casting his eyes upon me now for the first time, the man scowled with dogged sullenness, and said:

"I want no help."

"Nay," said I, "your looks belie your words; come, go with me to my quiet cottage; there you shall refresh yourself; you shall sleep to-night in peace."

"Peace!" he repeated scornfully. "I know no peace; nor can I leave this spot till every eye beholds the horrid deed that I committed here."

"Friend," said I, "tell me the nature of your crime; reveal to me your secret and your heart will be lighter for it."

"Ha! ha!" he answered, his voice dying away in a low wail. "Look upon that wall opposite the bed; it will speak better than I can." I looked, and beheld a faint photograph or impression of the couch, with its handsome drapery. Upon it reclined the figure of a female, and bending over her appeared the form of a man, whose livid face and black, disordered hair I recognized as an unmistakable reflection of the unfortunate man before me.

"You see that 'the very stones cry out against me,'" said he. "Every night for two years have I enacted that same scene, and I am held by some unseen, influence to this baneful spot."

"Tell me your story," said I; "hide nothing—I am your friend."

He ran his thin fingers through his tangled hair, and with a voice husky with emotion answered:

"I will tell you. Some years ago, when a young man, haughty and passionate, I had the misfortune to love a girl whose youth and beauty proved my bane, and in a moment of recklessness I married her. In her nature were mingled the qualities of the serpent and the dove. She was my inferior, and I could not own her outwardly nor inwardly as my wife; but, unhappily for the peace of both, I could not rid myself of her. I gave her money, but it availed not; she was ignorant, and persisted in following me." Here the man looked around with a nervous air, as if he expected to see the unwelcome face peering at him through the shadows.

"To avoid her," he continued, "I secretly purchased this dwelling, remote from the place of her abode. There I lived for a brief time, happy; a new life with loftier purposes dawned upon me; I formed another attachment—a higher and more noble one.

"One evening as I was walking upon the balcony thinking of my new-found joys, a figure came creeping up through the shrubbery towards me. To my amazement it proved to be the girl who claimed me.

"When I saw her, rage entered my heart, and I felt as if I could annihilate her. But, suppressing all show of feeling, I went with her into the house, and appointed her this room for the night. A demoniac idea had presented itself to my mind; it came unsought, but under the excitement of the moment it seemed like a good angel of deliverance.

"To further this idea, I lay down beside her. Presently she fell into a light slumber. At first a slight expression of pleasure played upon her lips, but ere long the fatigue of her journey overcame her, and she slept heavily.

"Then," said he, his countenance assuming a convulsive and ghastly aspect, "I arose on tiptoe, and collecting the heavy comforters and large downy pillows of the bed, I deliberately piled them on her one upon the other, and pressing them down with all my gathered force, I stifled her in her sleep!

"No cry, no groan from my victim betrayed the unhallowed deed, and before the first dawn of day I was driving furiously over the road to the river's bank, from which into the watery depth below I threw this millstone of my life.

"When I drove back the morning had dawned. The daylight seemed to pry into the secrets of the past night. I would fain shun it—the garish light disturbed me. The morning sun, which had ever been my delight, seemed now a mocking imp of curiosity; the house and grounds looked bare and desolate; a blight had fallen upon their former comeliness.

"A strange fascination again drew me into the chamber which had been the scene of my crime. When there I re-enacted the last night's work. The bed and furniture seemed to come toward me and taunt me with the fell crime I had committed. 'I was justified in the act,' said I to these dumb accusers, as though they had been, living witnesses. 'She was the bane of my existence.' And with cunning precision I arranged the disordered room, smoothed the pillows, and levelled the coverlet. 'The dead cannot speak,' said I. 'This thing is hidden.'

"After this performance I went forth, hoping by a sharp walk to drown the memory of the momentary deed. I passed through the garden and reached the sloping hill. There, where the low fence joined the open road, I was met by the lady whom I loved. She was taking the morning air, and with her smiling face seemed drinking in its balmy freshness.

"'You look ill,' said she, with a pitying glance. 'See what I have brought for you,' and she held forth a newly-plucked bouquet of flowers.

"I took the proffered blossoms hurriedly, dreading to meet her clear eye, which I felt must surely read my guilt. Burying the flowers in my breast, and with an effort to smile that sickened me, I bowed low to the ground and hurried on.

"When beyond her sight I drew the nosegay from its hiding place—it was withered as if scorched by a burning heat! Upon looking closer at this strange phenomena, I beheld, to my horror, in dim outline, the face of the murdered! Whence came the impression? Had my riotous heart burnt the secret upon those blushing petals?

"Frantically I tore open my shirt, when lo! upon my breast I beheld imprinted a picture of the direful deed—seared in by rays more potent than the sun's—photographed there, as if by the lightning's fierce stroke!

"Presently a band of children on their way to school overtook me, and began to whisper to each other as they passed. I saw that they looked at me with suspicion in their eyes. 'They too can see the brand,' thought I; 'they are mouthing about it now.'

"Urged to desperation, I plunged into a thicket near by. Amid a group of trees in its centre, one lifted itself higher and straighter than its companions. Upon its topmost branch, as I chanced to lift my eyes, I beheld to my terror the woman whom I had sent into eternity, looking down upon me with scoffs and grimaces!

"The ghostly apparition wrought me to frenzy. In hot haste I climbed the tree. Its straight, smooth sides, under ordinary circumstances would have proved a barrier to my efforts, but in my excitement they formed no obstacle. Reaching the top, I endeavored to grasp her. Stretching out my arms and clasping frantically the air, I fell dead to the ground.

"Thus was I born into the spirit world. The idea that last possessed me on earth, first possessed me in the spirit life.

"No mortal man can describe the horror I experienced on finding myself in the midst of a boundless space, face to face with mine enemy. Her narrow intellect and strong animal nature seemed to have expanded, even as I have seen the face of a child expand from pleasing infancy into idiotic youth. This animal part of her immortality roused my ire—struck some savage chord in my nature—and I rose up like a wild beast to attack her; but the creature laughed and jeered at my vain efforts. She led me thus, in fruitless pursuit, further and further into space; inciting me on by her taunts and ringing laugh, until I found myself in a dark and noisome pit, when she suddenly vanished.

"Ignorant of the peculiarities of spirit condition, I could not grope my way out of this place, which appeared to me a very hell. I wandered in this gloomy labyrinth, breathing the foul air, and uttering fearful cries which struck my ears with anguish. Black, threatening shapes appeared to stand in the intricate windings of that gloomy cavern, ready to seize me if I dared to essay my escape. When my agony had reached its utmost bounds of endurance, I felt myself growing strangely light, and like some thin vapor I ascended to the mouth of the pit and made my exit into the outer air.

"The place I then discovered to be merely a cavern or deserted mine, but to my unhappy condition of mind it had appeared as the home of the damned.

"Out into space again, I saw afar off, as across the continent, the dwelling where I had passed the last days of my eventful life. A current of air like the shock from an electric wire carried me back to the spot.

"Returned to the scene of my crime, I became possessed with the desire to expose to view the deed I had committed, and to reveal my villany to the community. For two weary years I have hovered around this place for that purpose; but I have failed hitherto, as you have seen me fail to-night."

As he finished his narrative I observed he seemed about to relax into a morbid condition again. To prevent this, I seized him kindly by the shoulder and exclaimed, "Friend, you must come with me. Your life, your future welfare is imperiled. You are like one shut up in a vault, breathing his own exhalations. You do not understand the science of mind."

"The science of mind?" said he. "What have I to do with that? 'Tis the curse of Cain resting upon me. I cannot undo the evil that I have done. I am an outcast!"

"The wrong you have done," said I, "becomes doubly, trebly magnified by thus living it over day by day. You have committed a crime. Do you wish to perpetuate that crime? You pursue the very course to make it permanent and enduring. Mind acts upon matter and matter reacts upon mind. You have made the house a partner to the deed you have committed by constantly associating it with the act. You have tainted its walls and poisoned it within and without.

"It becomes sentient and reacts upon you. It becomes a magnet, a loadstone to draw you. Your constant habit of associating it in your mind with the past, creates around it an atmosphere which is a part of your being and welds you to it, so that you, the house, and the deed, become one mighty monster, inseparable. The idea that you can expiate the deed by this self-torture is vain. You can neither confer good upon yourself nor your victim. Leave off and follow me."

These last words seemed to have the desired effect, for he raised his eyes with a sad smile, placed his hand in mine, and said:

"I will go with you."

Happy that my efforts proved availing, I hurried on in a joyous mood, soon rising above the earth and bearing my companion to my spirit home.

The pure air of the fragrant fields revived him, and by the time we arrived at my own garden-home he seemed born into a new life.

I set him down under my arbor, now dripping with golden fruits, and having refreshed him with cordial (angels' food), I called his attention to the beauties around us; the birds, the flowers, and the luxurious growth of nature, which shed such abundance around my home.

"See," said I, "how nature works. If the roots of the tree meet with obstacles they start off in another direction. They do not wind and wind themselves around one spot. If they did death would ensue.

"In every man's life there are deeds to be regretted—wrongs which he would gladly undo—but painful imaginings and fruitless remorse will not set them right. Only by being actively engaged in some nobler direction can atonement be made.

"This woman, whom you have injured, is in magnetic rapport with you; and while you are in this moody, self-denunciatory frame of mind, your restless, unhappy condition acts upon her, preventing her from becoming contented and happy; then her state reacts back upon you, and thus an evil equilibrium is maintained."

"I see my error," he exclaimed. "Tell me what to do and I will do it."

It was arranged that he should remain with me. We worked together; he became happy and his mind no longer reverted to the past, but active and healthful employment engaged his hours.

When he had recovered sufficiently I took him to see his former companion. He found her in a pleasant home, looking buoyant and happy. All that was demoniac had vanished from her face. Surprised, he burst into tears as he beheld her. "Weep not," said she, "for I am happy now. The past is forgotten."

They compared notes, and found that peace had entered into her soul when he had obliterated the past from his memory and commenced his labors in a new life.

Thus we see that the evil passions and attributes of one nature may awaken and kindle like passions in another, which can only be subdued by letting them pass unnoticed, and also by arousing the higher faculties into activity.