The Macabre Megapack: 25 Lost Tales from the Golden Age Page 3

  It is to accident that I am indebted for my knowledge of the little I do know on the subject. Dr. S—, of B—, was supposed to be the only person capable of un-riddling the mystery; but his obstinate silence, while it added fuel to the public curiosity, baffled it completely. That gentleman is now dead, and I see no good reason why I should conceal what he at length disclosed to me; indeed, I can assign no probable reason for his own secrecy, unless it were a fear of the world’s ridicule. For my part, I have no feelings of the sort—and I profess myself to be in a state of a most unhappy ignorance on every subject not immediately connected with the Belles Lettres. Let it be remembered at the same time, that I only “say the tale as ’twas told to me.” Dr. S—’s character, as a man of honor, will bear out it’s truth with those who knew him; and those who did not, will, perhaps, be inclined to waive a part of their skepticism, on being informed, that the facts were communicated to me on the solemn and affecting occasion of the death of his only daughter, who had accompanied him in his interview with the last of the Ormonds, and whose early fate was usually attributed to that cause.

  * * * *

  The house occupied by the Ormands was situated about two miles from the small town of B—, at a short distance from the main road. As a tall building, it was distinguished only by its extreme irregularity, for whatever might have been its original form was entirely obscured by the various additions that had from that time been patched to it, apparently without view to a general plan. The odd shapes of these additions, constructed without the slightest regard to the usual arrangements of architecture, and the huddled appearance of the whole mass, gave it a very remarkable, though unsightly, aspect; and few travelers passed the road without inquiring whether they beheld a human dwelling, and if so, what were the names and avocations of its inhabitants.

  The replies to such inquiries varied with the ages and dispositions of the informers—but in general they were dark and unsatisfactory. The house had been occupied, from a period as distant as the memory or traditions of the district extended, by a succession of individuals of the same name. An old female servant was the only inmate except for the proprietor, who himself lived in a peaceable seclusion for a length of time, varying from twenty to thirty years; and at his death, was instantaneously replaced by a successor, whose appearance was only known in the neighborhood by his attendance at church.

  There was something singular even in this meagre outline; but when the picture was duly filled up with the suspicions and surmises of the narrator, it presented an appearance that made some smile—some shudder—and some cross themselves. It was averred that lights were seen in the house at all hours of the night; that smoke was detected issuing from many parts of the roof, besides its only legitimate channel, the chimney; and that strange noises were heard by the benighted hind, who had the misfortune to pass the place at an hour when all noises, except that of sleeping aloud, are deemed incongruous and equivocal. Besides these suspicious circumstances, the new heir was generally unlike his predecessor, and of an age too far advanced to admit the idea of his being the son of the latter; while his sudden avatar, independent, as it seemed, of the usual means and modes of traveling, was enough of itself to strike the observer with astonishment.

  On these occasions—the death and accession of an Ormand—the whole countryside was in a state of ferment. In the more distant periods of society, when superstition held its sway over the higher as well as the lower classes, the popular excitation, encouraged by patrician wisdom, more than once threatened to annihilate the accursed race; and there is still in preservation a curious document, professing to be a petition to the government, for the removal of so pestilent a nest of sorcerers from a peaceable and religious neighborhood. Even the area of ground surrounding the house for a considerable space, felt the effects of its bad character; and a pond, or rather small lake in its vicinity known by the name of the Devil’s Well, whose waters were as black as night from the shadow of the encompassing rocks,—and which, besides, lay under the imputation of being bottomless—was put under a ban, as the abode of denizens more unholy than trouts or perches. In later times a coroner’s inquest was talked of, although I cannot find out upon what grounds, as the declining health of the Ormonds was perceived long before their demise. They attended church regularly; and for months before the mortal hour arrived, the process of decay was visible to every spectator. Although not one of them, in the calculation of human time, reached sixty years, the approaches of age were seen in distinct footsteps; week after week the hair grew whiter—the face more thin and sallow—and the step slower and feebler; then a Sunday would come without bringing its accustomed worshipper: then another would arrive, and present him tottering on his cane, and turning his drenched eyes in vain towards the symbols of his redemption; and on the next, a new face would be seen in the family pew of the Ormonds.

  But time, which never deepens an impression, except in poetry—

  ‘As streams their channels deeper wear—’

  gradually softened the acerbity of public opinion, if it did not bring about an entire revolution. The calm deportment, unmeddling habits, and philosophic abstraction of Ormond, disarmed the suspicion of his neighbours, and almost won their respect. The shrewder part of the young, who were in want of a patron or legacy, moved their hats to him as he passed, or picked up his cane when he let it fall; overtures (always rejected, however), were made to him by the fathers upon the subject of neighbourly communication; and at last, spinsters, trembling on the very verge of forty, would begin to wonder whether the man were married. The more adventurous of the boys, in process of time, even sought the haunted well for the purpose of angling; and their mothers although shaking their heads at their sons’ temerity, would not refuse to dress the spoil, and in some instances were even prevailed on to eat of the fish, which in their own time, had borne so equivocal a character.

  Matters had assumed this placable aspect at the time my story refers to; but the Ormond of that period did not seem destined to enjoy long the benefit of his neighbour’s moderation. His health began seriously to decline; and the appearance of old age fell with a spectred suddenness on its usual prey, a broken constitution. Week after week he dragged his emaciated form to the house of God; and very week, although lighter in itself, it was the heavier for him to drag; his eyes, formerly bright and burning, became dim and spiritless—his hand shook as it undid the clasp of the prayer-book—his voice was thin and broken, and his step feeble and unsteady: he was dying. In common cases the tongue of malice is mute, the finger of scorn dropped, and the frown of hatred relaxed in the presence of Death; but this was the precise period when the operation of all three,—and of fifty other base and foolish passions,—was commonly directed against the ill-fated representative of “The Strange Ormonds.” Every forgotten story that superstition had imagined, and bigotry believed, was drawn up in dreadful array against him; and although among the better-informed classes, compassion for the forlorn and deserted condition of the dying man, might have been the more powerful feeling; yet the old leaven of evil predominated as usual in the feelings of the mass. Dr. S— had watched with medical curiosity and interest his singularly rapid decay; and being of the number of those whose curiosity was blended with compassion, he resolved, about the time when he thought the last sands of fate were almost run, to venture of a visit of mercy, and smooth, since he could not retard, his passage to the grave. “Come Emily,” said he one day, pushing the decanter away from him, after dinner; “the poor old man must not die without somebody to wet his lips and smooth his pillow: the sight will do you no harm, and the lesson it conveys may do you good; besides, a woman never looks so well—not at the most splendid ball—not on her wedding day, all smiles and tears and blushes, as by the bedside of the sick or dying, ministering with a tender and skillful hand to their necessities, and whispering love and comfort to their souls.” Miss S—’s heart and imagination were touched by the picture which her father had intentionally presente
d; and conquering the more easily her natural timidity, she threw her shawl over her shoulders and putting her arm within his, they sallied forth in a gloomy November afternoon, on a visit in which even curiosity looked amiable, being gracefully enveloped in the mantle of charity.

  Having reached the narrow avenue leading to the house, choked up by a self-planted colony of weeds, which the infrequent footstep of man had been unable to subdue, they looked round on such a scene of neglect and desolation as only a newly discovered country could present, or an old one after the moral cycle had gone round, which returned it to second barbarism. Stumbling among heaps of stones and withered branches, and entangled in mazes of weeds and bushes, they at length reached the door, and knocked for admittance. They waited for some time in silence, and almost in darkness, but no sound answered their demand: it seemed as if it were already the house of the dead; and the chill breath of evening, as it sighed through the wilderness around, although it broke the silence, added to the sepulchral horror of the scene.

  The noise of a door opening was now heard at some distance in the interior of the building, and a sound followed, resembling the hissing of a cauldron when it boils. The visitors knocked again, and in a few seconds a window was raised, and the old female domestic inquired, in a sharp and cracked voice, what was their business. Dr. S— replied by the usual question—“Is your master at home?”

  “My master at home!” shrieked the sybil, in a tone of the utmost astonishment; “you are the first one that has asked that question in my time; and were it only from curiosity to see what you are like, I would almost be tempted to take the trouble of opening the door—and what should hinder, if it likes me? If the house of the Ormonds could ever be without a master, this is surely the interregnum.” But as she ran on mumbling in this manner, with all the garrulity of age, an expression of malice crossed her withered features, and reverting to the question,—

  “Home!” he demanded urgently—“is Ormond home?” She in sharper tone—“No, not yet, but he is fast posting—he has reached his threshold—his hand is on the latch—and, by my sooth, a hot and hearty welcome he will get!” Dr. S—, somewhat shocked by an allusion he could not misunderstand, ordered her in a peremptory tone to open the door, adding, that understanding her master was unwell, he had called, as a neighbor and a medical man, to offer his assistance.

  He had no sooner spoken the words, than the door suddenly and noiselessly opened, and a man, who had apparently been listening to the dialogue, seizing hold of the visitor’s arm, literally dragged him into the house. “If you be a medical man,” said he, ‘come in, in the name of heaven! Save his life,” he continued; “save his life but for one hour, and I will make you rich. Rich!” he added with emphasis, pressing the arm he still held with a skeleton grip, as he repeated the argument ad hominem. Miss S— followed them up the narrow staircase, and in another minute, the whole party was in the invalid’s room.

  A single glance was sufficient to convince them that assistance came too late. Ormond was sitting in an armchair, his head reclining on the back, his hands hanging lifeless by his sides, his eyes fixed and glazed, and his shrunk face covered with the waxy hue of death. Their conductor was apparently a much younger man, probably not more than thirty-five; he was tall and well-formed, but stooped much: his dress consisted of a jacket and trousers, the former without sleeves, and his bony arms were naked to the shoulders. And the circumstance of his face and hands being daubed with soot, might have given him the appearance of some inferior Vulcan of a smithy, had it not been for a redeeming expression of mental superiority in his countenance, indicated chiefly by a very commanding forehead, and remarkably bright and searching eyes.

  He stood for some moments in the middle of the room, gazing on the strangers with a bewildered air, like one altogether unused to the presence of his kind. The graceful and feminine form of the young lady seemed in particular to attract his admiration, and when she had drawn off her glove, he touched her hand, as one would examine a bauble, leaving on the fair skin the marks of his own sooty fingers, while his eyes became radiant with almost boyish delight. Starting suddenly, however, he turned away, and approached the chair of the invalid, where Dr. S—, assisted by the old woman, was engaged in the few offices of kindness which his situation required or admitted of.

  “Make haste!” said the dying man, with a feeble gesture of impatience, as he recognized his apprentice.

  “It is impossible,” replied the other; “you must live for at least half an hour! But I will go and try again.”

  “Then I will live!” said Ormond; but a rattling noise in his throat interrupted his words, and gave the lie to his assertion.

  “Is it fair,” he continued with renewed energy, ‘that after a whole lifetime of labor, I should be half an hour late for my reward?”

  “Hush, master dear!” said the comforting beldame, in a low, hypocritical whine. “Remember that a better man than you—aye, the beginner of you all—was three centuries too soon for his reward; be thankful for the length you have gone, and die in peace.”

  “Hag!” said Ormond, with the feeble fury of the dying; “I tell you I will not die; no, not till I please—not till it wills me to let forth the spirit!” Then, in the frenzy which sometimes precedes dissolution, he imagined Dr. S— to be, in real and palpable presence, that inevitable enemy, whom he dreaded and defied; and springing from his chair with the last effort of departing life, he grappled at his throat. “I will not die!” he shrieked: “You have no power; do you not know me? I am Ormond—the foe of Death, destined before the foundations of the world, to trample on and subdue him!” Then, feeling his strength departing, his defiance was changed into supplication, and he implored piteously the grace of one half hour.

  At this instant a rushing noise was heard without, and the apprentice burst into the room, his long dark hair floating back over his forehead, his frame filled with an elasticity which gave his motion the appearance of flying; and a whole bonfire of triumph in his eyes. “Oh, save me!” cried the old man, as the hand of death relaxed his hold. “Die!” said the apprentice-heir, throwing him back violently into the seat—and with a deep suspiration Ormond yielded up the ghost.

  Surprised and shocked at this extraordinary scene, Dr. S— and his daughter looked on in silence, and almost in consternation. The apprentice had already left the apartment, and the old woman, lifting up her master’s body, laid it on a table in the middle of the room, and without removing the dress, employed herself busily in closing the eyes and stretching the limbs, which gradually stiffened into the rigidity of death. She then lighted a number of candles, which were in sconces around the room, till it became as clear as day. The apprentice—or rather, the new Ormond—now reappeared, carrying a salver, apparently of massive gold, supporting a covered goblet of the same metal, and a large syringe. His appearance was the same as before, and joy and triumph still burned in his eyes.

  On uncovering the goblet, a thick black vapor escaped, and a sweet but faint smell was perceived. Having filled the syringe, he raised the head of the corpse and injected the contents of the instrument into its mouth; and having repeated this operation three times, he then bathed the eyes with the same liquid.

  Some minutes ensued, during which no sound or motion was heard in the room, save the trembling of the operator, whose whole frame was shaken in the intensity of expectation. At length he clasped his hands and uttered a cry of joy. The wax-like hue of death disappeared from the face of the corpse, and the glow of life returned; the wrinkles of care were smoothed, and the furrows of time filled up; the white lips became red, and the grey hair black; and, as if by enchantment, the countenance of the dead was once more the home of youth and manly beauty! Is it the breath of life which inflates the chest? Is it an act of the living will that raises the hand—unveils the eye—and opens the lips? God knows. The hand drops, the eye closes, and the lips are again sealed—and forever.

  A dark vapor was perceived rising from the bo
dy, which instantaneously assumed the discolored appearance which sometimes attends death by poison; in another moment; in another moment a small blue light was observed issuing from the mouth and nostrils, and speedily the whole corpse was in flames.

  Miss S—, at this dreadful spectacle, rendered more appalling by the motion of the cracking skin and shrinking sinews which gave an appearance of life to the burning body, fainted into the arms of her father, who, as he carried her out of the house, heard the despairing shriek of the new Ormond at this conclusion to his hard apprenticeship, and the transmitted labors of three hundred years; and the sound seemed like a death-cry smothered in the blood of the victims. In a few minutes the whole house was on fire, and the neighbors crowded to the spot. The flames were seen of different colors in different parts of the building; and small quantities of combustible material successively exploded as the fire reached them, like the minute guns of a wreck at sea. A human form was seen flitting from place to place amidst the conflagration, not to save, but to destroy; and when all was consumed, it was observed moving with supernatural swiftness towards the rocks which overhung the Devil’s Well.

  This was conjectured to be the last of the Ormonds; and the next morning every search that humanity could suggest was made for him; the rocks were examined—the woods—the glens; the lake, at length, was dragged—and all in vain—