Абрахам Меррит - Burn, Witch, Burn!

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-"

I said, severely, so she might not suspect collusion between McCann and myself:

"You ought not to have done that, McCann. If you had shown the doll to her, Mrs. Gilmore would have

known at once that she had been dreaming and she would have been spared much pain."

"Well, I ain't a doctor." His voice was sullen. "I done what I thought best."

"Go down and see if you can find it," I ordered, tartly. He glanced at me sharply. I nodded-and hoped

he understood. In a few minutes he returned.

"They cleaned out the waste only fifteen minutes ago," he reported, lugubriously. "The doll went with it. I

found this, though."

He held up a little strap from which dangled a half-dozen miniature books. He asked:

"Was them what you dreamed the doll dropped on the dressing table, Mollie?"

She stared, and shrank away.

"Yes," she whispered. "Please put it away, Dan. I don't want to see it."

He looked at me, triumphantly.

"I guess maybe I was right at that when I threw the doll away, Doc."

I said: "At any rate, now that Mrs. Gilmore is satisfied it was all a dream, there's no harm done."

"And now," I took her cold hands in mine. "I'm going to prescribe for you. I don't want you to stay in this

place a moment longer than you can help. I want you to pack a bag with whatever you and little Mollie

may need for a week or so, and leave at once. I am thinking of your condition-and a little life that is on

its way. I will attend to all the necessary formalities. You can instruct McCann as to the other details. But

I want you to go. Will you do this?"

To my relief, she assented readily. There was a somewhat harrowing moment when she and the child

bade farewell to the body. But before many minutes she was on her way with McCann to relations. The

child had wanted to take "the boy and girl dolls." I had refused to allow this, even at the risk of again

arousing the mother's suspicions. I wanted nothing of Madame Mandilip to accompany them to their

refuge. McCann supported me, and the dolls were left behind.

I called an undertaker whom I knew. I made a last examination of the body. The minute puncture would