Ghost Stories of an Antiquary | Page 6

had acquired. And now, as I said, he
was alone in his bedroom, taking stock of Canon Alberic's treasures, in
which every moment revealed something more charming.
'Bless Canon Alberic!' said Dennistoun, who had an inveterate habit of
talking to himself. 'I wonder where he is now? Dear me! I wish that
landlady would learn to laugh in a more cheering manner; it makes one
feel as if there was someone dead in the house. Half a pipe more, did
you say? I think perhaps you are right. I wonder what that crucifix is
that the young woman insisted on giving me? Last century, I suppose.
Yes, probably. It is rather a nuisance of a thing to have round one's
neck--just too heavy. Most likely her father has been wearing it for
years. I think I might give it a clean up before I put it away.'
He had taken the crucifix off, and laid it on the table, when his attention
was caught by an object lying on the red cloth just by his left elbow.
Two or three ideas of what it might be flitted through his brain with
their own incalculable quickness.
A penwiper? No, no such thing in the house. A rat? No, too black. A
large spider? I trust to goodness not--no. Good God! a hand like the
hand in that picture!
In another infinitesimal flash he had taken it in. Pale, dusky skin,
covering nothing but bones and tendons of appalling strength; coarse

black hairs, longer than ever grew on a human hand; nails rising from
the ends of the fingers and curving sharply down and forward, grey,
horny, and wrinkled.
He flew out of his chair with deadly, inconceivable terror clutching at
his heart. The shape, whose left hand rested on the table, was rising to a
standing posture behind his seat, its right hand crooked above his scalp.
There was black and tattered drapery about it; the coarse hair covered it
as in the drawing. The lower jaw was thin--what can I call it?--shallow,
like a beast's; teeth showed behind the black lips; there was no nose;
the eyes, of a fiery yellow, against which the pupils showed black and
intense, and the exulting hate and thirst to destroy life which shone
there, were the most horrifying features in the whole vision. There was
intelligence of a kind in them--intelligence beyond that of a beast,
below that of a man.
The feelings which this horror stirred in Dennistoun were the intensest
physical fear and the most profound mental loathing. What did he do?
What could he do? He has never been quite certain what words he said,
but he knows that he spoke, that he grasped blindly at the silver crucifix,
that he was conscious of a movement towards him on the part of the
demon, and that he screamed with the voice of an animal in hideous
pain.
Pierre and Bertrand, the two sturdy little serving-men, who rushed in,
saw nothing, but felt themselves thrust aside by something that passed
out between them, and found Dennistoun in a swoon. They sat up with
him that night, and his two friends were at St Bertrand by nine o'clock
next morning. He himself, though still shaken and nervous, was almost
himself by that time, and his story found credence with them, though
not until they had seen the drawing and talked with the sacristan.
Almost at dawn the little man had come to the inn on some pretence,
and had listened with the deepest interest to the story retailed by the
landlady. He showed no surprise.
'It is he--it is he! I have seen him myself,' was his only comment; and to
all questionings but one reply was vouchsafed: 'Deux fois je l'ai vu:

mille fois je l'ai senti.' He would tell them nothing of the provenance of
the book, nor any details of his experiences. 'I shall soon sleep, and my
rest will be sweet. Why should you trouble me?' he said.[2]
[2] He died that summer; his daughter married, and settled at St Papoul.
She never understood the circumstances of her father's 'obsession'.
We shall never know what he or Canon Alberic de Mauléon suffered.
At the back of that fateful drawing were some lines of writing which
may be supposed to throw light on the situation:
Contradictio Salomonis cum demonio nocturno. Albericus de Mauléone
delineavit. V. Deus in adiutorium. Ps. Qui habitat. Sancte Bertrande,
demoniorum effugator, intercede pro me miserrimo. Primum uidi nocte
12(mi) Dec. 1694: uidebo mox ultimum. Peccaui et passus sum, plura
adhuc passurus. Dec. 29, 1701.[3]
[3] i.e., The Dispute of Solomon with a demon of the night. Drawn by
Alberic de Mauléon. Versicle. O Lord, make haste to help me. Psalm.
Whoso dwelleth xci.
Saint Bertrand, who puttest