Chapter 2

INSIDE

I realised, and, so to speak, mentally photographed all the little
details of the house in front of which I was standing with what almost
amounted to a gleam of preternatural perception. An instant before, the
world swam before my eyes. I saw nothing. Now I saw everything, with a
clearness which, as it were, was shocking.

Above all, I saw the open window. I stared at it, conscious, as I did
so, of a curious catching of the breath. It was so near to me; so very
near. I had but to stretch out my hand to thrust it through the
aperture. Once inside, my hand would at least be dry. How it rained out
there! My scanty clothing was soaked; I was wet to the skin! I was
shivering. And, each second, it seemed to rain still faster. My teeth
were chattering. The damp was liquefying the very marrow in my bones.

And, inside that open window, it was, it must be, so warm, so dry!

There was not a soul in sight. Not a human being anywhere near. I
listened; there was not a sound. I alone was at the mercy of the sodden
night. Of all God’s creatures the only one unsheltered from the
fountains of Heaven which He had opened. There was not one to see what
I might do; not one to care. I need fear no spy.

Perhaps the house was empty; nay, probably. It was my plain duty to
knock at the door, rouse the inmates, and call attention to their
oversight,--the open window. The least they could do would be to reward
me for my pains. But, suppose the place was empty, what would be the use
of knocking? It would be to make a useless clatter. Possibly to disturb
the neighbourhood, for nothing. And, even if the people were at home, I
might go unrewarded. I had learned, in a hard school, the world’s
ingratitude. To have caused the window to be closed--the inviting
window, the tempting window, the convenient window!--and then to be no
better for it after all, but still to be penniless, hopeless, hungry,
out in the cold and the rain--better anything than that. In such a
situation, too late, I should say to myself that mine had been the
conduct of a fool. And I should say it justly too. To be sure.

Leaning over the low wall I found that I could very easily put my hand
inside the room. How warm it was in there! I could feel the difference
of temperature in my fingertips. Very quietly I stepped right over the
wall. There was just room to stand in comfort between the window and
the wall. The ground felt to the foot as if it were cemented. Stooping
down, I peered through the opening. I could see nothing. It was black
as pitch inside. The blind was drawn right up; it seemed incredible
that anyone could be at home, and have gone to bed, leaving the blind
up, and the window open. I placed my ear to the crevice. How still it
was! Beyond doubt, the place was empty.

I decided to push the window up another inch or two, so as to enable me
to reconnoitre. If anyone caught me in the act, then there would be an
opportunity to describe the circumstances, and to explain how I was
just on the point of giving the alarm. Only, I must go carefully. In
such damp weather it was probable that the sash would creak.

Not a bit of it. It moved as readily and as noiselessly as if it had
been oiled. This silence of the sash so emboldened me that I raised it
more than I intended. In fact, as far as it would go. Not by a sound
did it betray me. Bending over the sill I put my head and half my body
into the room. But I was no forwarder. I could see nothing. Not a
thing. For all I could tell the room might be unfurnished. Indeed, the
likelihood of such an explanation began to occur to me. I might have
chanced upon an empty house. In the darkness there was nothing to
suggest the contrary. What was I to do?

Well, if the house was empty, in such a plight as mine I might be said
to have a moral, if not a legal, right, to its bare shelter. Who, with
a heart in his bosom, would deny it me? Hardly the most punctilious
landlord. Raising myself by means of the sill I slipped my legs into
the room.

The moment I did so I became conscious that, at any rate, the room was
not entirely unfurnished. The floor was carpeted. I have had my feet on
some good carpets in my time; I know what carpets are; but never did I
stand upon a softer one than that. It reminded me, somehow, even then,
of the turf in Richmond Park,--it caressed my instep, and sprang
beneath my tread. To my poor, travel-worn feet, it was luxury after the
puddly, uneven road. Should I, now I had ascertained that the room
was, at least, partially furnished, beat a retreat? Or should I push my
researches further? It would have been rapture to have thrown off my
clothes, and to have sunk down, on the carpet, then and there, to
sleep. But,--I was so hungry, so famine-goaded; what would I not have
given to have lighted on something good to eat!

I moved a step or two forward, gingerly, reaching out with my hands,
lest I struck, unawares, against some unseen thing. When I had taken
three or four such steps, without encountering an obstacle, or, indeed,
anything at all, I began, all at once, to wish I had not seen the
house; that I had passed it by; that I had not come through the window;
that I were safely out of it again. I became, on a sudden, aware, that
something was with me in the room. There was nothing, ostensible, to
lead me to such a conviction; it may be that my faculties were
unnaturally keen; but, all at once, I knew that there was something
there. What was more, I had a horrible persuasion that, though
unseeing, I was seen; that my every movement was being watched.

What it was that was with me I could not tell; I could not even guess.
It was as though something in my mental organisation had been stricken
by a sudden paralysis. It may seem childish to use such language; but I
was overwrought, played out; physically speaking, at my last counter;
and, in an instant, without the slightest warning, I was conscious of a
very curious sensation, the like of which I had never felt before, and
the like of which I pray that I never may feel again,--a sensation of
panic fear. I remained rooted to the spot on which I stood, not daring
to move, fearing to draw my breath. I felt that the presence with me in
the room was something strange, something evil.

I do not know how long I stood there, spell-bound, but certainly for
some considerable space of time. By degrees, as nothing moved, nothing
was seen, nothing was heard, and nothing happened, I made an effort to
better play the man. I knew that, at the moment, I played the cur. And
endeavoured to ask myself of what it was I was afraid. I was shivering
at my own imaginings. What could be in the room, to have suffered me to
open the window and to enter unopposed? Whatever it was, was surely to
the full as great a coward as I was, or why permit, unchecked, my
burglarious entry. Since I had been allowed to enter, the probability
was that I should be at liberty to retreat,--and I was sensible of a
much keener desire to retreat than I had ever had to enter.

I had to put the greatest amount of pressure upon myself before I could
summon up sufficient courage to enable me to even turn my head upon my
shoulders,--and the moment I did so I turned it back again. What
constrained me, to save my soul I could not have said,--but I was
constrained. My heart was palpitating in my bosom; I could hear it
beat. I was trembling so that I could scarcely stand. I was overwhelmed
by a fresh flood of terror. I stared in front of me with eyes in which,
had it been light, would have been seen the frenzy of unreasoning fear.
My ears were strained so that I listened with an acuteness of tension
which was painful.

Something moved. Slightly, with so slight a sound, that it would
scarcely have been audible to other ears save mine. But I heard. I was
looking in the direction from which the movement came, and, as I
looked, I saw in front of me two specks of light. They had not been
there a moment before, that I would swear. They were there now. They
were eyes,--I told myself they were eyes. I had heard how cats’ eyes
gleam in the dark, though I had never seen them, and I said to myself
that these were cats’ eyes; that the thing in front of me was nothing
but a cat. But I knew I lied. I knew that these were eyes, and I knew
they were not cats’ eyes, but what eyes they were I did not know,--nor
dared to think.

They moved,--towards me. The creature to which the eyes belonged was
coming closer. So intense was my desire to fly that I would much rather
have died than stood there still; yet I could not control a limb; my
limbs were as if they were not mine. The eyes came on,--noiselessly. At
first they were between two and three feet from the ground; but, on a
sudden, there was a squelching sound, as if some yielding body had been
squashed upon the floor. The eyes vanished,--to reappear, a moment
afterwards, at what I judged to be a distance of some six inches from
the floor. And they again came on.

So it seemed that the creature, whatever it was to which the eyes
belonged, was, after all, but small. Why I did not obey the frantic
longing which I had to flee from it, I cannot tell; I only know, I
could not. I take it that the stress and privations which I had lately
undergone, and which I was, even then, still undergoing, had much to do
with my conduct at that moment, and with the part I played in all that
followed. Ordinarily I believe that I have as high a spirit as the
average man, and as solid a resolution; but when one has been dragged
through the Valley of Humiliation, and plunged, again and again, into
the Waters of Bitterness and Privation, a man can be constrained to a
course of action of which, in his happier moments, he would have deemed
himself incapable. I know this of my own knowledge.

Slowly the eyes came on, with a strange slowness, and as they came they
moved from side to side as if their owner walked unevenly. Nothing
could have exceeded the horror with which I awaited their
approach,--except my incapacity to escape them. Not for an instant did
my glance pass from them,--I could not have shut my eyes for all the
gold the world contains!--so that as they came closer I had to look
right down to what seemed to be almost the level of my feet. And, at
last, they reached my feet. They never paused. On a sudden I felt
something on my boot, and, with a sense of shrinking, horror, nausea,
rendering me momentarily more helpless, I realised that the creature
was beginning to ascend my legs, to climb my body. Even then what it
was I could not tell,--it mounted me, apparently, with as much ease as
if I had been horizontal instead of perpendicular. It was as though it
were some gigantic spider,--a spider of the nightmares; a monstrous
conception of some dreadful vision. It pressed lightly against my
clothing with what might, for all the world, have been spider’s legs.
There was an amazing host of them,--I felt the pressure of each
separate one. They embraced me softly, stickily, as if the creature
glued and unglued them, each time it moved.

Higher and higher! It had gained my loins. It was moving towards the
pit of my stomach. The helplessness with which I suffered its invasion
was not the least part of my agony,--it was that helplessness which we
know in dreadful dreams. I understood, quite well, that if I did but
give myself a hearty shake, the creature would fall off; but I had not
a muscle at my command.

As the creature mounted its eyes began to play the part of two small
lamps; they positively emitted rays of light. By their rays I began to
perceive faint outlines of its body. It seemed larger than I had
supposed. Either the body itself was slightly phosphorescent, or it was
of a peculiar yellow hue. It gleamed in the darkness. What it was there
was still nothing to positively show, but the impression grew upon me
that it was some member of the spider family, some monstrous member, of
the like of which I had never heard or read. It was heavy, so heavy
indeed, that I wondered how, with so slight a pressure, it managed to
retain its hold,--that it did so by the aid of some adhesive substance
at the end of its legs I was sure,--I could feel it stick. Its weight
increased as it ascended,--and it smelt! I had been for some time aware
that it emitted an unpleasant, foetid odour; as it neared my face it
became so intense as to be unbearable.

It was at my chest. I became more and more conscious of an
uncomfortable wobbling motion, as if each time it breathed its body
heaved. Its forelegs touched the bare skin about the base of my neck;
they stuck to it,--shall I ever forget the feeling? I have it often in
my dreams. While it hung on with those in front it seemed to draw its
other legs up after it. It crawled up my neck, with hideous slowness, a
quarter of an inch at a time, its weight compelling me to brace the
muscles of my back. It reached my chin, it touched my lips,--and I
stood still and bore it all, while it enveloped my face with its huge,
slimy, evil-smelling body, and embraced me with its myriad legs. The
horror of it made me mad. I shook myself like one stricken by the
shaking ague. I shook the creature off. It squashed upon the floor.
Shrieking like some lost spirit, turning, I dashed towards the window.
As I went, my foot, catching in some obstacle, I fell headlong to the
floor.

Picking myself up as quickly as I could I resumed my flight,--rain or
no rain, oh to get out of that room! I already had my hand upon the
sill, in another instant I should have been over it,--then, despite my
hunger, my fatigues, let anyone have stopped me if they could!--when
someone behind me struck a light.