Three John Silence Stories | Page 7

was lit I found the room empty, of course, and the door
locked as usual. Then I half dressed and went out on to the landing, my
hilarity better under control, and proceeded to go downstairs. I wished
to record my sensations. I stuffed a handkerchief into my mouth so as
not to scream aloud and communicate my hysterics to the entire
household."
"And the presence of this--this--?"
"It was hanging about me all the time," said Pender, "but for the
moment it seemed to have withdrawn. Probably, too, my laughter killed

all other emotions."
"And how long did you take getting downstairs?"
"I was just coming to that. I see you know all my 'symptoms' in
advance, as it were; for, of course, I thought I should never get to the
bottom. Each step seemed to take five minutes, and crossing the narrow
hall at the foot of the stairs--well, I could have sworn it was half an
hour's journey had not my watch certified that it was a few seconds.
Yet I walked fast and tried to push on. It was no good. I walked
apparently without advancing, and at that rate it would have taken me a
week to get down Putney Hill."
"An experimental dose radically alters the scale of time and space
sometimes--"
"But, when at last I got into my study and lit the gas, the change came
horridly, and sudden as a flash of lightning. It was like a douche of icy
water, and in the middle of this storm of laughter--"
"Yes; what?" asked the doctor, leaning forward and peering into his
eyes.
"--I was overwhelmed with terror," said Pender, lowering his reedy
voice at the mere recollection of it.
He paused a moment and mopped his forehead. The scared, hunted
look in his eyes now dominated the whole face. Yet, all the time, the
corners of his mouth hinted of possible laughter as though the
recollection of that merriment still amused him. The combination of
fear and laughter in his face was very curious, and lent great conviction
to his story; it also lent a bizarre expression of horror to his gestures.
"Terror, was it?" repeated the doctor soothingly.
"Yes, terror; for, though the Thing that woke me seemed to have gone,
the memory of it still frightened me, and I collapsed into a chair. Then I
locked the door and tried to reason with myself, but the drug made my

movements so prolonged that it took me five minutes to reach the door,
and another five to get back to the chair again. The laughter, too, kept
bubbling up inside me--great wholesome laughter that shook me like
gusts of wind--so that even my terror almost made me laugh. Oh, but I
may tell you, Dr. Silence, it was altogether vile, that mixture of fear
and laughter, altogether vile!
"Then, all at once, the things in the room again presented their funny
side to me and set me off laughing more furiously than ever. The
bookcase was ludicrous, the arm-chair a perfect clown, the way the
clock looked at me on the mantelpiece too comic for words; the
arrangement of papers and inkstand on the desk tickled me till I roared
and shook and held my sides and the tears streamed down my cheeks.
And that footstool! Oh, that absurd footstool!"
He lay back in his chair, laughing to himself and holding up his hands
at the thought of it, and at the sight of him Dr. Silence laughed, too.
"Go on, please," he said, "I quite understand. I know something myself
of the hashish laughter."
The author pulled himself together and resumed, his face growing
quickly grave again.
"So, you see, side by side with this extravagant, apparently causeless
merriment, there was also an extravagant, apparently causeless terror.
The drug produced the laughter, I knew; but what brought in the terror I
could not imagine. Everywhere behind the fun lay the fear. It was terror
masked by cap and bells; and I became the playground for two
opposing emotions, armed and fighting to the death. Gradually, then,
the impression grew in me that this fear was caused by the invasion--so
you called it just now--of the 'person' who had wakened me: she was
utterly evil; inimical to my soul, or at least to all in me that wished for
good. There I stood, sweating and trembling, laughing at everything in
the room, yet all the while with this white terror mastering my heart.
And this creature was putting--putting her--"
He hesitated again, using his handkerchief freely.

"Putting what?"
"--putting ideas into my mind," he went on glancing nervously about
the room. "Actually tapping my thought-stream so as to switch off the
usual current and inject her own. How mad that sounds! I know