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The followingThe followingpages are apages are apreview of thepreview of thefirst issue offirst issue ofDark WorldsDark WorldsAdventures.Adventures.

Enjoy!Enjoy!


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DARK WORLDS ADVENTURES1


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2 DARK WORLDS ADVENTURES

The entire contents of this magazine are protected by copyright, and must not be reprinted without the publisher's permission

Volume I WINTER 2009 Number 1

CONTENTS

THE CASE OF THEPHANTOM LEGION

By Sebastian Clay . . . 4

DARK WORLD ADVENTURES issued occasionally by the Dark Worlds Club, British Columbia, Canada. Copyright 2009.All Rights Reserved by the Editors and Author/Artist Partners. All copyright remains with the authors and artists. Printed in theUnited States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. Nosubmissions will be accepted without invitation of the Dark Worlds Club. Letters of Comment can be sent [email protected]. Each story in this anthology is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents in thisanthology are either the product of the author's imagi-nation or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people (living or dead)

places, business establishments, locales, and/or events is entirely coincidental.We do not accept responsibility for the return ofunsolicited manuscripts.

G. W. Thomas & M. D. Jackson, Editors

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv


YEARLY SUBSCRIPTIONS, $1.00 SINGLE COPIES, 10 CENTS


A book-length novel

vvvvv

From out of the nightcomes the walking dead!Ghosts drawn from theirgraves at the behest of asupernatural evil. Cant h e B a r o n a n d h i scompanions solve themystery?

UNGEHEUERHORN By Grayson What . . . 80 A forbidding mountainhides a tribe of deadlycreatures.

A local legend may holdthe key to a bafflingmystery for the Baron.

vvv

THE CASE OF THE BLUE MAN By Sebastian Clay . . 100

vvvvv vvv

FROM THE EDITORS . . . . . . . . 118An explanation regarding the text

THE DARK WORLDS CLUB . . . . . . 119A listing of the membership


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4 DARK WORLDS ADVENTURES4 DARK WO LDS ADVENTURES

Can the Baron and his friends save

a town that has ost more than its

handful of ghosts?

Complete Book-Length Novel

by Sebastian Clay

THE CASE OF THEPhantom LegionPhantom Legion


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THE LAST SHADOWS OFmorning checkered the east sideof the lonely house. Surrounded

by dark pines, the lurking shapes fadedfirst from the top of the old gambrel

structure. The new morning sun lit uptwo gable windows looking in on awide attic room that filled the entire topfloor.

Black curtains in the windows weredrawn open by an elderly man in liv-ery. Butler, valet and chauffeur, he was

the only male servant in the house. Heopened both windows before mov-

ing onto the Masters bedroom on thesecond floor. Mail and breakfast wouldbe brought to the attic study when theMaster was dressed.

This was the routine at WellmanHouse. The Baron von Klarnstein, this

servants master, was a man of regularhabits. Once a French novelist had paro-died him in a silly book. The hero of thebook had been an Englishman (which

the Baron was not) and his trip aroundthe world had taken seventy-nine days.Ten more than was actually the case. No

matter. The Baron was no braggart.

THE servant returned with a silverplatter bearing both correspondenceand breakfast. He did a quick dusting ofthe room, placing the odd book back inits well-known position in the massive

bookcases. He could always tell whatwas clutter and what an important ex-periment never to be touched by thepresence of a number of crystal paper-weights that the Baron habitually usedwith volumes he wished left in place.

The books dusted and returned, the

valet exited, leaving the room with itsweird collections of arcane artifacts,sealed specimen jars, old leather-bound

tomes, copper tubing, glass test tubes

and strange electronic devises. TheBaron would appear shortly, like clock-work.

The valet, too, had been parodied bythat Frenchman, who had almost diedfrom his own kins bullet had not thatvery servant intervened. Portrayed asa French acrobat, Ashton-Smythe wasso much more than a circus performer.English, with a vast learning of his own,

he had been the Barons servant for thir-ty-seven years. There was no chance ofhis dismissal over a lost pair of slippersor a confused timetable. So much likethe master, the servant.

THE Baron entered the study without


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haste. He stopped to look out the gablewindow at the beautiful Massachusettsforest. Not so different from his Walla-chian woods. Fewer spruce but that wasall. He silently thanked the Elder Gods

that he had survived yet another day. Somany since he had come into the worlda much humbler creature.

Turning from the window the tallman sat at his breakfast. Beside the sil-ver platter of fresh strawberries, wholewheat toast and cantaloupe, a pot of

dark coffee, cream, sugar and lemon, asa pile of letters, neatly wrapped with a

silk ribbon.The correspondence was attacked

along with the toast. No bills or ad-vertisements filled these envelopes.Ashton-Smythe had sorted out the com-monplace letters, leaving only one en-

treaty from a potential client, one mis-sive of thanks from a past client and acopy of a newsletter for a small but se-lect group of investigators from around

the world. Von Klarnstein left this forlast, tackling the letters first. The thankyou letter bore the royal seal of Poland.

Von Klarnstein broke it with a perfectlymanicured nail. The Crown Prince waseternally grateful in the incident withthe Ghost-Widow of Krakow, etc. TheBaron quickly moved on the other let-ter. A Dr. James Branson of Lone Pines,Michigan. The Baron opened the page

and read.

DOCTOR THEOPILE AGRIPPA, THEFOURTEENTH BARONOFVON KLARNSTEIN

1520 RICHLIEU LANE

ARKHAM, MA. 01397

NOVEMBER 17, 1924

DEAR DOCTOR,

(The man wishes to address me as a

colleague. Unusual, thought the Baron.Americans are usually more impressed

by the title.)

I WRITEONLYBECAUSE I HAVENOOTHEROPTION. I KNOW YOUR TIME IS PRECIOUSANDYOUDONOTWASTEITUPONFRIVOLOUSMATTERS. I GOTYOURADDRESSFROMAMU-TUALACQUAINTANCE. YOUWILLKNOWHIMWHEN I SAY HE LIVES IN A GREEN HOUSEWITHNOWINDOWS. THISFRIENDINSISTED IAPPLYTOYOUBOTHFORHELPANDTOOFFERANYASSISTANCE I CAN.

THE INCIDENT I WISH TO DISCUSS WITHYOULEAVESMEUNABLETOAPPROACHOF-FICERSOFTHELAWBECAUSETHECAUSEAP-PEARSTOBE

(The Baron could detect the instabil-

ity of the writers hand, as if he dared

not write it down and make it official.)UNEARTHLY.PLEASEDONOTDISMISSTHISASAMAD-

MANSORAFOOLSDISCOURSE. I WILLRE-MIND YOU THAT I AM A MAN OF SCIENCE(LIKEYOURSELF) ANDOFYOURFRIENDWHOASSURES ME YOU WILL GIVE THIS LETTERFAIRCONSIDERATION.

YOURESTEEMEDCOLLEAGUE,JAMES BRANSON, MD

THE Baron put down the letter, re-filled his coffee cup.

Smythe, he said in a reasonablevoice.

The valet appeared.I will want you to post this letter im-


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mediately after. The recipient is a medi-cal man, so I do not think we will needto include a ticket.

Yes, sir, the man in the formal dressanswered, waiting quietly nearby. The

master wrote in elegant printing that atfirst glance appeared to be handwrit-ing:

Dear Dr. Branson,I would be pleased to receive you at

my home at your earliest convenience. Iunderstand the seriousness of your situ-

ation and would discuss it with you atlength. I promise your time will be well

compensated.Yours with understanding,Theophile Agrippa, von KlarnsteinAshton-Smythe sealed the letter

with the Barons own green wax seal.A mystic symbol was stamped into the

hot lozenge. The servant left with theletter.

FOUR days went by. On the fifth, an

old horse cart pulled by two black nagscame up Trehorn Road that ran up toWellman House. To call it a road was

to embellish the truth. Trehorn Roadwas two continuous ruts that ran fromthe bottom of Blackfire Mountain to themanor house. The road was best walkedin early autumn when it was relativelydry, and frequented by numerous whip-poorwills. By November the track be-

came a muddy ruin that only improvedwhen Decembers chill froze it into acruel, nerves-pounding ladder.

Dr. Bransons rented coach ran uphalf way before the driver declared de-feat. Finding a flat terrace at this junc-ture, the driver took this opportunity to

turn and flee. The medical man wouldhave to walk the rest of the mile, lug-ging a monstrous travel case.

For the second time the doctor cursedthis place so remote it didnt even have

motor cars. Not that his home of LonePines was a metropolis. Just five thou-sand souls, largely employed in thetimber industry, but at least they had sixcars, two dozen trucks, and a toy rail-way that ran from one end of town tothe other.

The wind picked up as the horse car-riage disappeared back down the road.

Leaves fell in his face. There was noth-ing for it, but to walk

DOCTOR Branson could see thehouse high up on the mountain. Whathe could not see was what the local in-

habitants said of the place, speaking ofits dark history in enclosed rooms, withfurtive looks over their shoulders. Well-man House was reportedly haunted,

evil and only the Barons presence keptthese forces in check.

The houses foundation had been laid

by a Dutch immigrant merchant namedVanderburg. The man spent a fortunetunneling into the mountainside for hismultiple wine cellars. It was during oneof these work expeditions that he andall his workers disappeared. None wereever seen again, though stories spoke

of tunnels existing in those hills beforeVanderburg and after.

It was Gans Wellman, for whom thehouse was named, who bought thefoundation and surrounding woods fora song. He had the cellars filled andproceeded to build three strong stories


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over the bedrock. He and his solitarycompanion, a woman named Francis,lived there twelve years in relative iso-lation. Neither Wellman nor the womanever appeared in town, at church or in

any government office. Always a short,dark servant appeared with a letter andgold sovereigns. Nobody ever pursuedthe matter.

At the end of thirteen years, Wellmanappeared on the doorsteps of the localchurch. He was dying. The left half of

his body had been badly burnt by hisown hand according to the hideous tale

he poured out before he died. His lastwords were: Shes still out there withthem!

An investigation by a party of forty

men armed with shotguns and dogsfound little. The house stood empty forfifty-seven years. Repairs were madeinfrequently by a dark man who said hisMaster had left him gold a-plenty topay for the lumber and paint.

It was this house that Dr. Theophile

Agrippa, the Baron von Klarnstein hadpurchased through mysterious agentsand now had been in his possession forseven years. None of this did Dr. Bran-son see as he trudged up the steep hill-

side.

THE path meandered upward like asnake. The medico stopped frequentlyto catch his breath. At thirty-eight yearsof age he was still a young man but themedical profession did not allow him to

lead as active a life as he had previouslydone in his youth.

The dark firs and dripping beechesof the surrounding forest hissed withwind. Branson thought he heard voicesbut put it down to nerves. He was a ner-vous man. He hadnt been so up untillast month

He pushed all thoughts of the terriblevisions from his mind. Only the Baronvon Klarnstein could help him. Onlythe amazing man who lived up the hill

in the big house.The doctor pushed on. The luggage

grew heavier. He thought of abandoning

it, have a servant come to collect it later.Surely there was no one here to steal it.His host was a man of refinement, a gra-cious host, but Branson did not wish toimpose on him so soon. When he heardthe doctors story, he would need all thelatitude possible.

Instead, Branson sat on his suit-case and rested. It was about the timehe thought of continuing he heard thenoises again. A voice said somethingin gibberish that did not register. It wasgone before he could locate where ithad come from. Was that a blue light he


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across the room. He sat quietly next toBransons suitcase. The man stood up,saying only, Ill tell the Baron you areawake. He left.

The doctor sat up, rubbing his head.

On the night table next to him he founda common headache remedy and a glassof grapefruit juice. Usually he despisedgrapefruit but he took a sip with hismedicine, and then gulped the entireglass. The juice was exactly what hisbody needed.

The man was back. He stopped at thedoor after knocking. The Baron will

see you now, if you feel up to it.Yes, yes, Id like to discuss several

things with the Baron.This way.The man led Dr. Branson to a big

oak door. Go on in, the servant said,

pulling the door open. Branson steppedthrough, seeing a single occupant in theroom.

HE was a tall man. That was thefirst thing Branson noticed. Tall andsartorial, he thought. Sartorial was a

word people didnt use any more butDr. Theophile Agrippa, the FourteenthBaron von Klarnstein was sartorial. Theman himself seemed out of place, old-fashioned, not the figure of a man inthis modern time of 1924.

Please sit down, Mr. Branson. Cof-

fee? Cigar? No? Very well. Let us be-gin.

Branson pressed himself into the gripof a classic Morris chair. Comfortable,he realized.

The Baron seemed to read histhoughts. Comfortable? I knew Mor-

ris in his later years. Rather a boor, Imafraid. He only liked to talk about So-cialism and wallpaper. Im afraid Imnot partial for either. Still, he made ahell of a chair.

Branson couldnt help himself, buthe was shocked at the Barons use ofprofanity. In anyone else it would havecheapened. But the Baron spoke with adeep baritone and a conviction so pow-erful that the words burned in the airafterwards.

You must have questions, Dr. Bran-son, he paused, holding up his hand

in a gesture of arrest. But before youask the questions and I answer them, Imust insist on a sample of your hand-writing.

I dont understand.Please, just write your name and ad-

dress on this card. The Baron pusheda fountain pen and a card toward theman.

Branson thought to protest but

couldnt imagine any grounds. He wroteas instructed then waited.

The Baron placed the card next to the

letter he had sent a week before. Usinga hand glass he examined the letter thenthe card. The tall man compared Lloops and T crossings. Eventuallyhe put down his magnifying glass, andturned back to his guest.

You are the man who wrote this let-

ter, declared the Baron.Yes, was there any doubt?There is always doubt. And deceit.

Please forgive me for the dramatics, butI must always be sure. I have many en-emies.


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I CAN understand that by compar-ing the two samples you can tell I wroteit. But might I not be the very enemyyou speak of who sent such a letter?

Yes, of course, Dr. Branson. But this

letter tells me more than just an identi-fication.

More? Like what?The Baron paused, studied the ad-

dress card briefly before answering.That you are right handed, precise innature not uncommon with your pro-

fession the jagged lines of the letterspeak of great stress while the loops of

the card speak of fatigue.But you knew all those things al-

ready. You knew I was a doctor, that Iwrote about a terrible business and thatI was attacked earlier today. You justwatched me write on that card with my

right hand. None of this is not obviousto the observant.

Excellent. You pass another test,doctor. Now for the less obvious. You

are American but one of your parentswas or is not originally from the USA.I suspect it was your mother. That you

usually use a dark ink, probably black,not blue, but that you prefer pencils toa pen. That you like small pads of pa-per to larger sheets (most doctors do,another obvious one). That you wereeducated in the Southern States and thatyou own a dog.

How? Its all true.Its all in your hand-writing. Your

Os resemble the of the Norwegian al-phabet, thus a teacher of non-Americanorigins. Its a long-time habit so learnedin childhood. Most likely learned fromyour mother, since mothers are the first

teacher in life. You usually use a darkerink because of the pressure you exertedwith my pen which had to work harderto produce the desired density of ink.(Your letter supports these conclusions,

of course.) This extra pressure resultedin splattered ts and ds. That you preferpencils to pen can be seen in two spotswhere you began to change your mind.A pencil habit. With a pen, this pause toreflect results in blotches at the begin-ning of sentences. The paper size is a

doctors preoccupation for prescriptionpads. You will note the address card

is comfortably filled while your letterbears a large margin on all sides. Andthe Southern education is obvious fromthe manner in which you put a flourishon your Ys. No Yankee school marmwould stand for such unnecessary Ro-

coccoism. My guess at a school wouldbe Medical University of South Caro-lina in Charleston.

Medical College of Georgia actu-

ally.The Baron smiled. See, Im not per-

fect.

Amazing all the same. Just like aSherlock Holmes story.

The Baron nodded. Yes, Mr. Doyle isa personal acquaintance. He has shownthis type of observational techniqueon a number of occasions. I believe helearned it from a pupil of mine, Dr. Jo-

seph Bell.

BUT let us talk of less pleasantthings, said the Baron gravely. First,you must wonder what manner of crea-ture attacked you on my doorstep?

Yes, though Im finding I remember


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less and less as time passes.Good, then you will recover fully.

The Baron pulled a thin volume fromhis shelf nearest his desk. The library ofbound books around them was magnifi-

cent. The Baron flipped through pagesBranson could see were hand-written ingreen ink. The Barons thin, immacu-late finger pointed to an entry, thenanother and a last. This is an accountof a Mr. Harold Barclay, not a famousperson so you would not know him,

but I believe his words are true wherehe does not speculate too heavily. Go

ahead and read it. I will just write a let-ter that needs doing while you peruse it.Coffee?

No thank you, maybe in a littlewhile. Branson accepted the smallbook and made himself comfortable.

The green ink told a most fantastic sto-ry that seemed anything but incredibleto the doctor.

TESTIMONY given by Harold

Barclay, New York City, 1865

IT is, I confess, with considerable dif-fidence that I approach the strange nar-rative which I am about to relate. Theevents which I purpose detailing are ofso extraordinary and unheard-of a char-acter that I am quite prepared to meetwith an unusual amount of incredulity

and scorn. I accept all such beforehand.I have, I trust, the literary courage toface unbelief. I have, after mature con-sideration, resolved to narrate, in assimple and straightforward a manner asI can compass, some facts that passedunder my observation in the month of

July last, and which, in the annals ofthe mysteries of physical science, arewholly unparalleled.

I live at No. Twenty-sixth Street, inthis city. The house is in some respects

a curious one. It has enjoyed for the lasttwo years the reputation of being haunt-ed. It is a large and stately residence,surrounded by what was once a garden,but which is now only a green inclosureused for bleaching clothes. The dry ba-sin of what has been a fountain, and a

few fruit-trees, ragged and unpruned,indicate that this spot, in past days, was

a pleasant, shady retreat, filled withfruits and flowers and the sweet mur-mur of waters.

The house is very spacious. A hall ofnoble size leads to a vast spiral stair-case winding through its center, while

the various apartments are of imposingdimensions. It was built some fifteen ortwenty years since by Mr. A, thewell-known New York merchant, who

five years ago threw the commercialworld into convulsions by a stupendousbank fraud. Mr. A, as every one

knows, escaped to Europe, and died notlong after of a broken heart. Almost im-mediately after the news of his deceasereached this country, and was verified,the report spread in Twenty-sixth Streetthat No. was haunted. Legal measureshad dispossessed the widow of its for-

mer owner, and it was inhabited merelyby a care taker and his wife, placed thereby the house agent into whose hands ithad passed for purposes of renting orsale. These people declared that theywere troubled with unnatural noises.Doors were opened without any visible


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of supernaturalism, and had once writ-ten a story, entitled The Pot of Tulips,for Harpers Monthly, the foundation ofwhich was a ghost. If a table or a wain-scot panel happened to warp when we

were assembled in the large drawing-room, there was an instant silence, andevery one was prepared for an imme-diate clanking of chains and a spectralform.

After a month of psychological ex-citement, it was with the utmost dis-

satisfaction that we were forced to ac-knowledge that nothing in the remotest

degree approaching the supernaturalhad manifested itself. Once the blackbutler asseverated that his candle hadbeen blown out by some invisible agen-cy while he was undressing himself forthe night; but as I had more than once

discovered this colored gentleman in acondition when one candle must haveappeared to him like two, I thought itpossible that, by going a step farther in

his potations, he might have reversedhis phenomenon, and seen no candle atall where he ought to have beheld one.

Things were in this state when anincident took place so awful and inex-plicable in its character that my reasonfairly reels at the bare memory of theoccurrence. It was the tenth of July. Af-ter dinner was over I repaired with myfriend, Dr. Hammond, to the garden to

smoke my evening pipe. The Doctor andmyself found ourselves in an unusuallymetaphysical mood. We lit our largemeerschaums, filled with fine Turkishtobacco; we paced to and fro, convers-ing. A strange perversity dominated thecurrents of our thought. They would not

flow through the sun-lit channels intowhich we strove to divert them. Forsome unaccountable reason they con-stantly diverged into dark and lonesomebeds, where a continual gloom brooded.

It was in vain that, after our old fashion,we flung ourselves on the shores of theEast, and talked of its gay bazaars, of thesplendors of the time of Haroun, of ha-rems and golden palaces. Black afreetscontinually arose from the depths ofour talk, and expanded, like the one the

fisherman released from the copper ves-sel, until they blotted everything bright

from our vision. Insensibly, we yieldedto the occult force that swayed us, andindulged in gloomy speculation. We hadtalked some time upon the proneness ofthe human mind to mysticism, and thealmost universal love of the Terrible,

when Hammond suddenly said to me,What do you consider to be the great-est element of Terror?

The question, I own, puzzled me.

That many things were terrible, I knew.Stumbling over a corpse in the dark; be-holding, as I once did, a woman float-

ing down a deep and rapid river, withwildly lifted arms, and awful, upturnedface, uttering, as she sank, shrieks thatrent ones heart, while we, the specta-tors, stood frozen at a window whichoverhung the river at a height of sixtyfeet, unable to make the slightest effort

to save her, but dumbly watching herlast supreme agony and her disappear-ance. A shattered wreck, with no lifevisible, encountered floating listlesslyon the ocean, is a terrible object, for itsuggests a huge terror, the proportionsof which are veiled. But it now struck


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me for the first time that there must beone great and ruling embodiment offear, a King of Terrors to which all oth-ers must succumb. What might it be?To what train of circumstances would it

owe its existence?I confess, Hammond, I replied

to my friend, I never considered thesubject before. That there must be oneSomething more terrible than any otherthing, I feel. I cannot attempt, however,even the most vague definition.

I am somewhat like you, Harry, heanswered. I feel my capacity to experi-

ence a terror greater than anything yetconceived by the human mind,some-thing combining in fearful and unnatu-ral amalgamation hitherto supposed in-compatible elements. The calling of thevoices in Brockden Browns novel of

Wieland is awful; so is the picture ofthe Dweller of the Threshold, in Bulw-ers Zanoni; but, he added, shakinghis head gloomily, there is something

more horrible still than these.Look here, Hammond, I rejoined,

let us drop this kind of talk, for Heav-

ens sake!I dont know whats the matter with

me to-night, he replied, but my brainis running upon all sorts of weird andawful thoughts. I feel as if I could writea story like Hoffman to night, if I wereonly master of a literary style.

Well, if we are going to be Hoff-manesque in our talk, Im off to bed.How sultry it is! Good night, Ham-mond.

Good night, Harry. Pleasant dreamsto you.

To you, gloomy wretch, afreets,

ghouls, and enchanters.We parted, and each sought his respec-

tive chamber. I undressed quickly andgot into bed, taking with me, accord-ing to my usual custom, a book, over

which I generally read myself to sleep. Iopened the volume as soon as I had laidmy head upon the pillow, and instantlyflung it to the other side of the room. Itwas Goudons History of Monstersa curious French work, which I hadlately imported from Paris, but which,

in the state of mind I had then reached,was anything but an agreeable compan-

ion. I resolved to go to sleep at once; so,turning down my gas until nothing buta little blue point of light glimmered onthe top of the tube, I composed myselfto rest.

The room was in total darkness. The

atom of gas that still remained lighteddid not illuminate a distance of threeinches round the burner. I desperatelydrew my arm across my eyes, as if to

shut out even the darkness, and triedto think of nothing. It was in vain. Theconfounded themes touched on by

Hammond in the garden kept obtrud-ing themselves on my brain. I battledagainst them. I erected ramparts ofwould-be blankness of intellect to keepthem out. They still crowded upon me.While I was lying still as a corpse, hop-ing that by a perfect physical inaction

I should hasten mental repose, an aw-ful incident occurred. A Somethingdropped, as it seemed, from the ceiling,plumb upon my chest, and the next in-stant I felt two bony hands encirclingmy throat, endeavoring to choke me.

I am no coward, and am possessed


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of considerable physical strength. Thesuddenness of the attack, instead ofstunning me, strung every nerve to itshighest tension. My body acted frominstinct, before my brain had time to

realize the terrors of my position. Inan instant I wound two muscular armsaround the creature, and squeezed it,with all the strength of despair, againstmy chest. In a few seconds the bonyhands that had fastened on my throatloosened their hold, and I was free to

breathe once more. Then commenceda struggle of awful intensity. Immersed

in the most profound darkness, totallyignorant of the nature of the Thing bywhich I was so suddenly attacked, find-ing my grasp slipping every moment,by reason, it seemed to me, of the entirenakedness of my assailant, bitten with

sharp teeth in the shoulder, neck, andchest, having every moment to protectmy throat against a pair of sinewy, agilehands, which my utmost efforts could

not confinethese were a combina-tion of circumstances to combat whichrequired all the strength and skill and

courage that I possessed.At last, after a silent, deadly, exhaust-

ing struggle, I got my assailant under bya series of incredible efforts of strength.Once pinned, with my knee on whatI made out to be its chest, I knew thatI was victor. I rested for a moment to

breathe. I heard the creature beneathme panting in the darkness, and feltthe violent throbbing of a heart. It wasapparently as exhausted as I was; thatwas one comfort. At this moment I re-membered that I usually placed undermy pillow, before going to bed, a large

yellow silk pocket handkerchief, for useduring the night. I felt for it instantly; itwas there. In a few seconds more I had,after a fashion, pinioned the creaturesarms.

I now felt tolerably secure. There wasnothing more to be done but to turn onthe gas, and, having first seen what mymidnight assailant was like, arouse thehousehold. I will confess to being ac-tuated by a certain pride in not givingthe alarm before; I wished to make the

capture alone and unaided.Never losing my hold for an instant, I

slipped from the bed to the floor, drag-ging my captive with me. I had but a fewsteps to make to reach the gas-burner;these I made with the greatest caution,holding the creature in a grip like avice. At last I got within arms-length of

the tiny speck of blue light which toldme where the gas-burner lay. Quick aslightning I released my grasp with onehand and let on the full flood of light.

Then I turned to look at my captive.I cannot even attempt to give any

definition of my sensations the instant

after I turned on the gas. I suppose Imust have shrieked with terror, for inless than a minute afterward my roomwas crowded with the inmates of thehouse. I shudder now as I think of thatawful moment. I saw nothing! Yes;I had one arm firmly clasped round a

breathing, panting, corporeal shape, myother hand gripped with all its strengtha throat as warm, and apparently flesh-ly, as my own; and yet, with this livingsubstance in my grasp, with its bodypressed against my own, and all in thebright glare of a large jet of gas, I ab-


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solutely beheld nothing! Not even anoutline,a vapor!

I do not, even at this hour, realizethe situation in which I found myself.I cannot recall the astounding incident

thoroughly. Imagination in vain tries tocompass the awful paradox.

It breathed. I felt its warm breathupon my cheek. It struggled fiercely. Ithad hands. They clutched me. Its skinwas smooth, like my own. There it lay,pressed close up against me, solid as

stone,and yet utterly invisible!I wonder that I did not faint or go mad

on the instant. Some wonderful instinctmust have sustained me; for, absolutely,in place of loosening my hold on theterrible Enigma, I seemed to gain an ad-ditional strength in my moment of hor-ror, and tightened my grasp with such

wonderful force that I felt the creatureshivering with agony.

Just then Hammond entered my roomat the head of the household. As soon as

he beheld my facewhich, I suppose,must have been an awful sight to lookathe hastened forward, crying, Great

heaven, Harry! what has happened?Hammond! Hammond! I cried,

come here. Oh! this is awful! I havebeen attacked in bed by something orother, which I have hold of; but I cantsee itI cant see it!

Hammond, doubtless struck by the

unfeigned horror expressed in my coun-tenance, made one or two steps forwardwith an anxious yet puzzled expression.A very audible titter burst from the re-mainder of my visitors. This suppressedlaughter made me furious. To laugh at ahuman being in my position! It was the

worst species of cruelty. Now, I can un-derstand why the appearance of a manstruggling violently, as it would seem,with an airy nothing, and calling for as-sistance against a vision, should have

appeared ludicrous. Then, so great wasmy rage against the mocking crowd thathad I the power I would have strickenthem dead where they stood.

Hammond! Hammond! I criedagain, despairingly, for Gods sakecome to me. I can hold thethe Thing

but a short while longer. It is overpow-ering me. Help me! Help me!

Harry, whispered Hammond, ap-proaching me, you have been smokingtoo much.

I swear to you, Hammond, that thisis no vision, I answered, in the samelow tone. Dont you see how it shakes

my whole frame with its struggles? Ifyou dont believe me, convince your-self. Feel it,touch it.

Hammond advanced and laid his hand

on the spot I indicated. A wild cry ofhorror burst from him. He had felt it!

In a moment he had discovered some-

where in my room a long piece of cord,and was the next instant winding it andknotting it about the body of the unseenbeing that I clasped in my arms.

Harry, he said, in a hoarse, agitatedvoice, for, though he preserved his pres-ence of mind, he was deeply moved,

Harry, its all safe now. You may letgo, old fellow, if youre tired. The Thingcant move.

I was utterly exhausted, and I gladlyloosed my hold.

Hammond stood holding the ends ofthe cord that bound the Invisible, twist-


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ed round his hand, while before him,self-supporting as it were, he beheld arope laced and interlaced, and stretch-ing tightly round a vacant space. I neversaw a man look so thoroughly stricken

with awe. Nevertheless his face ex-pressed all the courage and determina-tion which I knew him to possess. Hislips, although white, were set firmly,and one could perceive at a glance that,although stricken with fear, he was notdaunted.

The confusion that ensued among theguests of the house who were witness-

es of this extraordinary scene betweenHammond and myself,who beheldthe pantomime of binding this strug-gling Something,who beheld me al-most sinking from physical exhaustionwhen my task of jailer was overthe

confusion and terror that took posses-sion of the bystanders, when they sawall this, was beyond description. Theweaker ones fled from the apartment.

The few who remained clustered nearthe door, and could not be induced toapproach Hammond and his Charge.

Still incredulity broke out through theirterror. They had not the courage to sat-isfy themselves, and yet they doubted. Itwas in vain that I begged of some of themen to come near and convince them-selves by touch of the existence in thatroom of a living being which was in-

visible. They were incredulous, but didnot dare to undeceive themselves. Howcould a solid, living, breathing body beinvisible, they asked. My reply was this.I gave a sign to Hammond, and both ofusconquering our fearful repugnanceto touch the invisible creaturelifted

it from the ground, manacled as it was,and took it to my bed. Its weight wasabout that of a boy of fourteen.

Now, my friends, I said, as Ham-mond and myself held the creature sus-

pended over the bed, I can give youself-evident proof that here is a solid,ponderable body which, nevertheless,you cannot see. Be good enough towatch the surface of the bed attentive-ly.

I was astonished at my own courage

in treating this strange event so calmly;but I had recovered from my first ter-

ror, and felt a sort of scientific pride inthe affair which dominated every otherfeeling.

The eyes of the bystanders were im-mediately fixed on my bed. At a givensignal Hammond and I let the crea-

ture fall. There was the dull sound ofa heavy body alighting on a soft mass.The timbers of the bed creaked. A deepimpression marked itself distinctly on

the pillow, and on the bed itself. Thecrowd who witnessed this gave a sort oflow, universal cry, and rushed from the

room. Hammond and I were left alonewith our Mystery.

We remained silent for some time,listening to the low, irregular breathingof the creature on the bed, and watchingthe rustle of the bedclothes as it impo-tently struggled to free itself from con-

finement. Then Hammond spoke.Harry, this is awful.Aye, awful.But not unaccountable.Not unaccountable! What do you

mean? Such a thing has never occurredsince the birth of the world. I know not


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what to think, Hammond. God grantthat I am not mad, and that this is not aninsane fantasy!

Let us reason a little, Harry. Here isa solid body which we touch, but which

we cannot see. The fact is so unusual thatit strikes us with terror. Is there no par-allel, though, for such a phenomenon?Take a piece of pure glass. It is tangibleand transparent. A certain chemicalcoarseness is all that prevents its beingso entirely transparent as to be totally

invisible. It is not theoretically impos-sible, mind you, to make a glass which

shall not reflect a single ray of lightaglass so pure and homogeneous in itsatoms that the rays from the sun shallpass through it as they do through theair, refracted but not reflected. We donot see the air, and yet we feel it.

Thats all very well, Hammond, butthese are inanimate substances. Glassdoes not breathe, air does not breathe.This thing has a heart that palpitates,

a will that moves it,lungs that play,and inspire and respire.

You forget the strange phenomena of

which we have so often heard of late,answered the Doctor, gravely. At themeetings called spirit circles, invisiblehands have been thrust into the hands ofthose persons round the tablewarm,fleshly hands that seemed to pulsatewith mortal life.

What? Do you think, then, that thisthing is

I dont know what it is, was the sol-emn reply; but please the gods I will,with your assistance, thoroughly inves-tigate it.

We watched together, smoking many

pipes, all night long, by the bedsideof the unearthly being that tossed andpanted until it was apparently weariedout. Then we learned by the low, regu-lar breathing that it slept.

The next morning the house was allastir. The boarders congregated on thelanding outside my room, and Ham-mond and myself were lions. We had toanswer a thousand questions as to thestate of our extraordinary prisoner, foras yet not one person in the house ex-

cept ourselves could be induced to setfoot in the apartment.

The creature was awake. This wasevidenced by the convulsive manner inwhich the bedclothes were moved in itsefforts to escape. There was somethingtruly terrible in beholding, as it were,those second-hand indications of the

terrible writhings and agonized strug-gles for liberty which themselves wereinvisible.

Hammond and myself had racked our

brains during the long night to discoversome means by which we might real-ize the shape and general appearance

of the Enigma. As well as we couldmake out by passing our hands overthe creatures form, its outlines andlineaments were human. There wasa mouth; a round, smooth head with-out hair; a nose, which, however, waslittle elevated above the cheeks; and its

hands and feet felt like those of a boy.At first we thought of placing the beingon a smooth surface and tracing its out-line with chalk, as shoemakers trace theoutline of the foot. This plan was givenup as being of no value. Such an outlinewould give not the slightest idea of its


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conformation.A happy thought struck me. We would

take a cast of it in plaster of Paris. Thiswould give us the solid figure, and satis-fy all our wishes. But how to do it? The

movements of the creature would dis-turb the setting of the plastic covering,and distort the mold. Another thought.Why not give it chloroform? It had re-spiratory organsthat was evident byits breathing. Once reduced to a state ofinsensibility, we could do with it whatwe would. Doctor Xwas sent for; and

after the worthy physician had recov-

ered from the first shock of amazement,he proceeded to administer the chlo-roform. In three minutes afterward wewere enabled to remove the fetters fromthe creatures body, and a well-knownmodeler of this city was busily engaged

in covering the invisible form with themoist clay. In five minutes more we hada mold, and before evening a rough facsimile of the mystery. It was shaped

like a man,distorted, uncouth, andhorrible, but still a man. It was small,not over four feet and some inches in

height, and its limbs revealed a muscu-lar development that was unparalleled.Its face surpassed in hideousness any-thing I had ever seen. Gustave Dor, orCallot, or Tony Johannot, never con-ceived anything so horrible. There is aface in one of the latters illustrations

to Un Voyage o il vous plaira, whichsomewhat approaches the countenanceof this creature, but does not equal it. Itwas the physiognomy of what I shouldhave fancied a ghoul to be. It looked asif it was capable of feeding on humanflesh.

Having satisfied our curiosity, andbound every one in the house to se-crecy, it became a question what wasto be done with our Enigma. It wasimpossible that we should keep such

a horror in our house; it was equallyimpossible that such an awful beingshould be let loose upon the world. Iconfess that I would have gladly votedfor the creatures destruction. But whowould shoulder the responsibility? Whowould undertake the execution of this

horrible semblance of a human being?Day after day this question was delib-

erated gravely. The boarders all left thehouse. Mrs. Moffat was in despair, andthreatened Hammond and myself withall sorts of legal penalties if we did notremove the Horror. Our answer was,

We will go if you like, but we declinetaking this creature with us. Remove ityourself if you please. It appeared inyour house. On you the responsibilityrests. To this there was, of course, no

answer. Mrs. Moffat could not obtainfor love or money a person who would

even approach the Mystery.The most singular part of the transac-

tion was that we were entirely ignorantof what the creature habitually fed on.Everything in the way of nutriment thatwe could think of was placed beforeit, but was never touched. It was awfulto stand by, day after day, and see the

clothes toss, and hear the hard breath-ing, and know that it was starving.

Ten, twelve days, a fortnight passed,and it still lived. The pulsations of theheart, however, were daily growingfainter, and had now nearly ceased al-together. It was evident that the crea-


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