Best Horror Novels

Chapter 7 Descending

Chapter 7

DescendingIt would be vain my attempting to tell you the horror with

which, even now, I recall the occurrence of that night. It was no

such transitory terror as a dream leaves behind it. It seemed to

deepen by time, and communicated itself to the room and the very

furniture that had encompassed the apparition.

I could not bear next day to be alone for a moment. I should

have told papa, but for two opposite reasons. At one time I thought

he would laugh at my story, and I could not bear its being treated

as a jest; and at another I thought he might fancy that I had been

attacked by the mysterious complaint which had invaded our

neighborhood. I had myself no misgiving of the kind, and as he had

been rather an invalid for some time, I was afraid of alarming

him.

I was comfortable enough with my good-natured companions, Madame

Perrodon, and the vivacious Mademoiselle Lafontaine. They both

perceived that I was out of spirits and nervous, and at length I

told them what lay so heavy at my heart.

Mademoiselle laughed, but I fancied that Madame Perrodon looked

anxious.

"By-the-by," said Mademoiselle, laughing, "the long lime tree

walk, behind Carmilla's bedroom window, is haunted!"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Madame, who probably thought the theme

rather inopportune, "and who tells that story, my dear?"

"Martin says that he came up twice, when the old yard gate was

being repaired, before sunrise, and twice saw the same female

figure walking down the lime tree avenue."

"So he well might, as long as there are cows to milk in the

river fields," said Madame.

"I daresay; but Martin chooses to be frightened, and never did I

see fool more frightened."

"You must not say a word about it to Carmilla, because she can

see down that walk from her room window," I interposed, "and she

is, if possible, a greater coward than I."

Carmilla came down rather later than usual that day.

"I was so frightened last night," she said, so soon as were

together, "and I am sure I should have seen something dreadful if

it had not been for that charm I bought from the poor little

hunchback whom I called such hard names. I had a dream of something

black coming round my bed, and I awoke in a perfect horror, and I

really thought, for some seconds, I saw a dark figure near the

chimney-piece, but I felt under my pillow for my charm, and the

moment my fingers touched it, the figure disappeared, and I felt

quite certain, only that I had it by me, that something frightful

would have made its appearance, and, perhaps, throttled me, as it

did those poor people we heard of.

"Well, listen to me," I began, and recounted my adventure, at

the recital of which she appeared horrified.

"And had you the charm near you?" she asked, earnestly.

"No, I had dropped it into a china vase in the drawing room, but

I shall certainly take it with me tonight, as you have so much

faith in it."

At this distance of time I cannot tell you, or even understand,

how I overcame my horror so effectually as to lie alone in my room

that night. I remember distinctly that I pinned the charm to my

pillow. I fell asleep almost immediately, and slept even more

soundly than usual all night.

Next night I passed as well. My sleep was delightfully deep and

dreamless.

But I wakened with a sense of lassitude and melancholy, which,

however, did not exceed a degree that was almost luxurious.

"Well, I told you so," said Carmilla, when I described my quiet

sleep, "I had such delightful sleep myself last night; I pinned the

charm to the breast of my nightdress. It was too far away the night

before. I am quite sure it was all fancy, except the dreams. I used

to think that evil spirits made dreams, but our doctor told me it

is no such thing. Only a fever passing by, or some other malady, as

they often do, he said, knocks at the door, and not being able to

get in, passes on, with that alarm."

"And what do you think the charm is?" said I.

"It has been fumigated or immersed in some d**g, and is an

antidote against the malaria," she answered.

"Then it acts only on the body?"

"Certainly; you don't suppose that evil spirits are frightened

by bits of ribbon, or the perfumes of a druggist's shop? No, these

complaints, wandering in the air, begin by trying the nerves, and

so infect the brain, but before they can seize upon you, the

antidote repels them. That I am sure is what the charm has done for

us. It is nothing magical, it is simply natural."

I should have been happier if I could have quite agreed with

Carmilla, but I did my best, and the impression was a little losing

its force.

For some nights I slept profoundly; but still every morning I

felt the same lassitude, and a languor weighed upon me all day. I

felt myself a changed girl. A strange melancholy was stealing over

me, a melancholy that I would not have interrupted. Dim thoughts of

death began to open, and an idea that I was slowly sinking took

gentle, and, somehow, not unwelcome, possession of me. If it was

sad, the tone of mind which this induced was also sweet.

Whatever it might be, my soul acquiesced in it.

I would not admit that I was ill, I would not consent to tell my

papa, or to have the doctor sent for.

Carmilla became more devoted to me than ever, and her strange

paroxysms of languid adoration more frequent. She used to gloat on

me with increasing ardor the more my strength and spirits waned.

This always shocked me like a momentary glare of insanity.

Without knowing it, I was now in a pretty advanced stage of the

strangest illness under which mortal ever suffered. There was an

unaccountable fascination in its earlier symptoms that more than

reconciled me to the incapacitating effect of that stage of the

malady. This fascination increased for a time, until it reached a

certain point, when gradually a sense of the horrible mingled

itself with it, deepening, as you shall hear, until it discolored

and perverted the whole state of my life.

The first change I experienced was rather agreeable. It was very

near the turning point from which began the descent of Avernus.

Certain vague and strange sensations visited me in my sleep. The

prevailing one was of that pleasant, peculiar cold thrill which we

feel in bathing, when we move against the current of a river. This

was soon accompanied by dreams that seemed interminable, and were

so vague that I could never recollect their scenery and persons, or

any one connected portion of their action. But they left an awful

impression, and a sense of exhaustion, as if I had passed through a

long period of great mental exertion and danger.

After all these dreams there remained on waking a remembrance of

having been in a place very nearly dark, and of having spoken to

people whom I could not see; and especially of one clear voice, of

a female's, very deep, that spoke as if at a distance, slowly, and

producing always the same sensation of indescribable solemnity and

fear. Sometimes there came a sensation as if a hand was drawn

softly along my cheek and neck. Sometimes it was as if warm lips

kissed me, and longer and longer and more lovingly as they reached

my throat, but there the caress fixed itself. My heart beat faster,

my breathing rose and fell rapidly and full drawn; a sobbing, that

rose into a sense of strangulation, supervened, and turned into a

dreadful convulsion, in which my senses left me and I became

unconscious.

It was now three weeks since the commencement of this

unaccountable state.

My sufferings had, during the last week, told upon my

appearance. I had grown pale, my eyes were dilated and darkened

underneath, and the languor which I had long felt began to display

itself in my countenance.

My father asked me often whether I was ill; but, with an

obstinacy which now seems to me unaccountable, I persisted in

assuring him that I was quite well.

In a sense this was true. I had no pain, I could complain of no

bodily derangement. My complaint seemed to be one of the

imagination, or the nerves, and, horrible as my sufferings were, I

kept them, with a morbid reserve, very nearly to myself.

It could not be that terrible complaint which the peasants

called the oupire, for I had now been suffering for three weeks,

and they were seldom ill for much more than three days, when death

put an end to their miseries.

Carmilla complained of dreams and feverish sensations, but by no

means of so alarming a kind as mine. I say that mine were extremely

alarming. Had I been capable of comprehending my condition, I would

have invoked aid and advice on my knees. The narcotic of an

unsuspected influence was acting upon me, and my perceptions were

benumbed.

I am going to tell you now of a dream that led immediately to an

odd discovery.

One night, instead of the voice I was accustomed to hear in the

dark, I heard one, sweet and tender, and at the same time terrible,

which said, "Your mother warns you to beware of the assassin." At

the same time a light unexpectedly sprang up, and I saw Carmilla,

standing, near the foot of my bed, in her white nightdress, bathed,

from her chin to her feet, in one great stain of blood.

I wakened with a shriek, possessed with the one idea that

Carmilla was being murdered. I remember springing from my bed, and

my next recollection is that of standing on the lobby, crying for

help.

Madame and Mademoiselle came scurrying out of their rooms in

alarm; a lamp burned always on the lobby, and seeing me, they soon

learned the cause of my terror.

I insisted on our knocking at Carmilla's door. Our knocking was

unanswered.

It soon became a pounding and an uproar. We shrieked her name,

but all was vain.

We all grew frightened, for the door was locked. We hurried

back, in panic, to my room. There we rang the bell long and

furiously. If my father's room had been at that side of the house,

we would have called him up at once to our aid. But, alas! he was

quite out of hearing, and to reach him involved an excursion for

which we none of us had courage.

Servants, however, soon came running up the stairs; I had got on

my dressing gown and slippers meanwhile, and my companions were

already similarly furnished. Recognizing the voices of the servants

on the lobby, we sallied out together; and having renewed, as

fruitlessly, our summons at Carmilla's door, I ordered the men to

force the lock. They did so, and we stood, holding our lights

aloft, in the doorway, and so stared into the room.

We called her by name; but there was still no reply. We looked

round the room. Everything was undisturbed. It was exactly in the

state in which I had left it on bidding her good night. But

Carmilla was gone.