Абрахам Меррит - Creep, Shadow!

Bill said, stolidly: "No. Say, rather, that I do not yet accept any of them."

Dr. Lowell said, abruptly: "There is still another explanation. Suggestion. Post-hypnotic suggestion. If Ralston and the others had come under the influence of someone who knew how to control minds by such methods… then I can well understand how they might have been driven to kill themselves. I, myself – "

His fingers clenched around the stem of the wine glass. The stem snapped, cutting him. He wrapped a napkin around the bleeding hand. He said: "It is no matter. I wish the memory that caused it went no deeper."

The Demoiselle's eyes were on him, and there was a tiny smile at the corners of her mouth. I was sure de Keradel had missed nothing. He asked:

"Do you accept Dr. Lowell's explanation?"

Bill answered, hesitantly: "No – not entirely – I don't know."

The Breton paused, studying him with a curious intentness. He said, "Orthodox science tells us that a shadow is only a diminution of light within a certain area caused by the interposition of a material body between a source of light and some surface. It is insubstantial, an airy nothing. So orthodox science tells us. What and where was the material body that cast this shadow upon the four – if it was no hallucination?"

Dr. Lowell said: "A thought placed cunningly in a man's mind might cast such shadow."

De Keradel replied, blandly: "But Dr. Bennett does not accept that theory."

Bill said nothing. De Keradel went on: "If Dr. Bennett believes that a shadow caused the deaths, and if he will not admit it hallucination, nor that it was cast and directed by a material body – then inevitably the conclusion must be that he admits a shadow may have the attributes of a material body. This shadow came necessarily from somewhere; it attaches itself to someone, follows, and finally compels that someone to kill himself. All this implies volition, cognition, purpose and emotion. These shadows? They are attributes of material things only – phenomena of the consciousness housed in the brain. The brain is material and lives in an indubitably material skull. But a shadow is not material, and therefore can have no skull to house a brain; and therefore can have no brain, and therefore no consciousness. And, still again, therefore, can have no volition, cognition, will, or emotion. And, lastly therefore, could not possibly urge, lure, drive, frighten, or coerce a material living being to self-destruction. And if you do not agree with that, my dear Dr. Bennett, what you are admitting is – witchcraft."

Bill answered, quietly: "If so, why do you laugh at me? What are those theories of ritual you have been expounding to us but witchcraft? Perhaps you have converted me, Dr. de Keradel."

The Breton stopped laughing, abruptly, he said: "So?" and again, slowly: "So! But they are not theories, Dr. Bennett. They are discoveries. Or, rather, rediscoveries of, let us say, unorthodox science." The veins in his forehead were twitching; he added, with an indefinable menace: "If it is truly I who have opened your eyes – I hope to make your conversion complete."

I saw that Lowell was looking at de Keradel with a strange intentness. The Demoiselle was looking at Bill, the little devilish lights flickering in her eyes; and I thought that there were both malice and calculation in her faint smile. There was an odd tension about the table – as of something unseen, crouching and ready to strike.

Helen broke it, quoting dreamily:

Some there be that shadows kiss.

Such have but a shadow's bliss –

The Demoiselle was laughing; laughter that was more like the laughter of little waves than anything else. But there were undertones to it that I liked even less than the subtle menace in her smile – something inhuman, as though the little waves were laughing at the dead men who lay under them.

De Keradel spoke rapidly, in a tongue that I felt I ought to recognize, but did not. The Demoiselle became demure. She said, sweetly: "Your pardon, Mademoiselle Helen. It was not at you that I laughed. It was that suddenly I am reminded of something infinitely amusing. Someday I shall tell you and you too will laugh – "

De Keradel interrupted her, urbane as before: "And I ask your pardon, Dr. Bennett. You must excuse the rudeness of an enthusiast. And also his persistency. Because I now ask if you could, without too great violation of confidence between physician and patient, inform me as to the symptoms of Mr. Ralston. The behavior of this – this shadow, if you will call it so. I am greatly curious – professionally."

Bill said: "There's nothing I'd like better. You, with your unique experience may recognize some point of significance that I have missed. To satisfy professional ethics, let us call it a consultation, even though it is a postmortem one."

I had the fleeting thought that Bill was pleased; that he had scored some point toward which he had been maneuvering. I pushed my chair back a little so that I could see both the Demoiselle and her father. Bill said:

"I'll start from the beginning. If there is anything you want me to amplify, don't hesitate to interrupt. Ralston called me up and said he wanted me to look him over. I had neither seen nor heard from him for a couple of months; had thought, indeed, that he was on one of his trips abroad. He began, abruptly: 'Something's wrong with me, Bill. I see a shadow.' I laughed, but he didn't. He repeated: 'I see a shadow, Bill. And I'm afraid!' I said, still laughing: 'If you couldn't see a shadow you certainly would have something wrong with you.' He answered like a frightened child.

"'But, Bill – there's nothing to make this shadow!'

"He leaned toward me, and now I realized that he was holding himself together by truly extraordinary effort. He asked: 'Does that mean I'm going crazy? Is seeing a shadow a common symptom when you are going insane? Tell me, Bill – is it?'

"I told him that the notion was nonsense; that in all probability some little thing was wrong with his eyes or his liver. He said: 'But this shadow – whispers!'

"I said: 'You need a drink,' and I gave him a stiff one. I said: 'Tell me exactly what it is you think you see, and, if you can, precisely when you first thought you saw it.' He answered: 'Four nights ago. I was in the library, writing-' Let me explain, Dr. de Keradel, that he lived in the old Ralston house on 78th Street; alone except for Simpson, the butler, who was a heritage from his father, and half a dozen servants. He went on: 'I thought I saw someone or something slip along the wall into the curtains that cover the window. The window was at my back and I was intent upon my letter, but the impression was so vivid that I jumped up and went over to the curtains. There was nothing there. I returned to my desk – but I couldn't get rid of the feeling that someone or something was in the room.'

"He said: 'I was so disturbed that I made a note of the time.'"

"A mental echo of the visual hallucination," said De Keradel. "An obvious concomitant."

"Perhaps," said Bill. "At any rate, a little later he had the same experience, only this time the movement was from right to left, the reverse of the first. In the next half hour it was repeated six times, always in the opposite direction – I mean, from left to right, then right to left and so on. He laid emphasis upon this, as though he thought it in some way significant. He said: 'It was, as though it were weaving.' I asked what 'It' was like. He said: 'It had no shape. It was just movement – No, it had no shape then.' The feeling of not being alone in the room increased to such an uncomfortable pitch that shortly after midnight he left the library, leaving the lights burning, and turned in. There was no recurrence of the symptoms, in his bedroom. He slept soundly. Nor was he troubled the next night. By the day following he had almost forgotten the matter.