Abraham Merritt - Burn, Witch, Burn!

"I could not move! I could not stir a finger! I tried to speak, to cry out. I could not!

"The window curtains were partly drawn. A faint light showed beneath and around them from the street. Suddenly this was blotted out. The room was dark—utterly dark.

"And then the green glow began—

"At first it was the dimmest gleam. It did not come from outside. It was in the room itself. It would flicker and dim, flicker and dim. But always after each dimming it was brighter. It was green like the light of the firefly. Or like looking at moonlight through clear green water. At last the green glow became steady. It was like light, and still it wasn't light. It wasn't brilliant. It was just glowing. And it was everywhere—under the dressing table, under the chairs…I mean it cast no shadows. I could see everything in the bedroom. I could see the baby asleep in her crib, the doll's head on her shoulder…

"The doll moved!

"It turned its head, and seemed to listen to the baby's breathing. It put its little hands upon the baby's arm. The arm dropped away from it.

"The doll sat up!

"And now I was sure that I must be dreaming the strange silence the strange green glow…and this…

"The doll clambered over the side of the crib, and dropped to the floor. It came skipping over the floor toward the bed like a child, swinging its school books by their strap. It turned its head from side to side as it came, looking around the room like a curious child. It caught sight of the dressing table, and stopped, looking up at the mirror. It climbed up the chair in front of the dressing table. It jumped from the chair seat to the table, tossed its books aside and began to admire itself in the mirror.

"It preened itself. It turned and looked at itself, first over this shoulder and then over that. I thought: 'What a queer fantastic dream!' It thrust its face close to the mirror and rearranged and patted its hair. I thought: 'What a vain little doll!' And then I thought: 'I'm dreaming all this because John said the doll was so life–like he wouldn't be surprised to see it walk.' And then I thought: 'But I can't be dreaming, or I wouldn't be trying to account for what I'm dreaming!' And then it all seemed so absurd that I laughed. I knew I had made no sound. I knew I couldn't…that the laugh was inside me. But it was as though the doll had heard me. It turned and looked straight at me—

"My heart seemed to die within me. I've had nightmares, Dr. Lowell—but never in the worst of them did I feel as I did when the doll's eyes met mine…

"They were the eyes of a devil! They shone red. I mean they were— were—luminous…like some animal's eyes in the dark. But it was the—the—hellishness in them that made me feel as though a hand had gripped my heart! Those eyes from hell in that face like one of God's own angels…

"I don't know how long it stood there, glaring at me. But at last it swung itself down and sat on the edge of the dressing table, legs swinging like a child's and still with its eyes on mine. Then slowly, deliberately, it lifted its little arm and reached behind its neck. Just as slowly it brought its arm back. In its hand was a long pin… like a dagger…

"It dropped from the dressing table to the floor. It skipped toward me and was hidden by the bottom of the bed. An instant and it had clambered up the bed and stood, still looking at me with those red eyes, at John's feet.

"I tried to cry out, tried to move, tried to arouse John. I prayed—'Oh, God, wake him up! Dear God—wake him!'

"The doll looked away from me. It stood there, looking at John. It began to creep along his body, up toward his head. I tried to move my hand, to follow it. I could not. The doll passed out of my sight…

"I heard a dreadful, sobbing groan. I felt John shudder, then stretch and twist…I heard him sigh…

"Deep deep down…I knew John was dying…and I could do nothing…in the silence in the green glow…

"I heard something like the note of a flute, from the street, beyond the windows. There was a tiny scurrying. I saw the doll skip across the floor and spring up to the windowsill. It knelt there for a moment, looking out into the street. It held something in its hand. And then I saw that what it held was the knotted cord John had thrown on his table.

"I heard the flute note again…the doll swung itself out of the window…I had a glimpse of its red eyes…I saw its little hands clutching the sill…and it was gone…

"The green glow…blinked and…went out. The light from the street returned around the curtains. The silence seemed…seemed… to be sucked away.

"And then something like a wave of darkness swept over me. I went down under it. Before it swept over me I heard the clock strike two.

"When I awakened again…or came out of my faint…or, if it was just a dream, when I awakened…I turned to John. He lay there …so still! I touched him…he was cold…so cold! I knew he was dead!

"Dr. Lowell…tell me what was dream and what was real? I know that no doll could have killed John!

"Did he reach out to me when he was dying, and did the dream come from that? Or did I…dreaming…kill him?"

There was an agony in her eyes that forbade the truth, so I lied to her.

"I can comfort you as to that, at least. Your husband died of entirely natural causes—from a blood clot in the brain. My examination satisfied me thoroughly as to that. You had nothing to do with it. As for the doll—you had an unusually vivid dream, that is all."

She looked at me as one who would give her soul to believe. She said:

"But I heard him die!"

"It is quite possible—" I plunged into a somewhat technical explanation which I knew she would not quite understand, but would, perhaps, be therefore convincing—"You may have been half–awake—on what we term the borderline of waking consciousness. In all probability the entire dream was suggested by what you heard. Your subconsciousness tried to explain the sounds, and conceived the whole fantastic drama you have recited to me. What seemed, in your dream, to take up many minutes actually passed through your mind in a split second—the subconsciousness makes its own time. It is a common experience. A door slams, or there is some other abrupt and violent sound. It awakens the sleeper. When he is fully awake he has recollection of some singularly vivid dream which ended with a loud noise. In reality, his dream began with the noise. The dream may have seemed to him to have taken hours. It was, in fact, almost instantaneous, taking place in the brief moment between noise and awakening."

She drew a deep breath; her eyes lost some of their agony. I pressed my advantage.

"And there is another thing you must remember—your condition. It makes many women peculiarly subject to realistic dreams, usually of an unpleasant character. Sometimes even to hallucinations."

She whispered: "That is true. When little Mollie was coming I had the most dreadful dreams—"

She hesitated; I saw doubt again cloud her face.

"But the doll—the doll is gone!" she said.

I cursed to myself at that, caught unawares and with no ready answer. But McCann had one. He said, easily:

"Sure it's gone, Mollie. I dropped it down the chute into the waste. After what you told me I thought you'd better not see it any more."

She asked, sharply:

"Where did you find it? I looked for it."

"Guess you weren't in shape to do much looking," he answered. "I found it down at the foot of the kid's crib, all messed up in the covers. It was busted. Looked like the kid had been dancing on it in her sleep."

She said hesitantly: "It might have slipped down. I don't think I looked there—"