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."Just fool 'round.""How far off are your nearest neighbors?" I asked."Don't no neighbors never come here," he stated."Say they're afeared of the ghosts."I was not at all startled; the place had all those aspects which lead to a house being called haunted.I was struck by his odd matter-of-fact way of speaking - it was as if he had said they were afraid of a cross dog."Do you ever see any ghosts around here?" I continued."Never see 'em," he answered, as if I had mentioned tramps or partridges."Never hear 'em.Sort o' feel 'em 'round sometimes.""Are you afraid of them?" I asked."Nope," he declared."I ain't skeered o' ghosts; I'm skeered o' nightmares.Ever have nightmares?""Very seldom," I replied."I do," he returned."Allus have the same nightmare - big sow, big as a steer, trying to eat me up.Wake up so skeered I could run to never.Nowheres to run to.Go to sleep, and have it again.Wake up worse skeered than ever.Dad says it's buckwheat cakes in summer.""You must have teased a sow some time," I said."Yep," he answered."Teased a big sow wunst, holding up one of her pigs by the hind leg.Teased her too long.Fell in the pen and got bit up some.Wisht I hadn't 'a' teased her.Have that nightmare three times a week sometimes.Worse'n being burnt out.Worse'n ghosts.Say, I sorter feel ghosts around now."He was not trying to frighten me.He was as simply stating an opinion as if he had spoken of bats or mosquitoes.I made no reply, and found myself listening involuntarily.My pipe went out.I did not really want another, but felt disinclined for bed as yet, and was comfortable where I was, while the smell of the ailanthus blossoms was very disagreeable.I filled my pipe again, lit it, and then, as I puffed, somehow dozed off for a moment.I awoke with a sensation of some light fabric trailed across my face.The boy's position was unchanged."Did you do that?" I asked sharply."Ain't done nary thing," he rejoined."What was it?""It was like a piece of mosquito-netting brushed over my face.""That ain't netting," he asserted; "that's a veil.That's one of the ghosts.Some blow on you; some touch you with their long, cold fingers.That one with the veil she drags acrosst your face - well, mostly I think it's ma."He spoke with the unassailable conviction of the child in "We Are Seven." I found no words to reply, and rose to go to bed."Good night," I said."Good night," he echoed."I'll set out here a spell yet."I lit a match, found the candle I had stuck on the corner of the shabby little bureau, and undressed.The bed had a comfortable husk mattress, and I was soon asleep.I had the sensation of having slept some time when I had a nightmare - the very nightmare the boy had described.A huge sow, big as a dray horse, was reared up on her forelegs over the foot-board of the bed, trying to scramble over to me.She grunted and puffed, and I felt I was the food she craved.I knew in the dream that it was only a dream, and strove to wake up.Then the gigantic dream-beast floundered over the footboard, fell across my shins, and I awoke.I was in darkness as absolute as if I were sealed in a jet vault, yet the shudder of the nightmare instantly subsided, my nerves quieted; I realized where I was, and felt not the least panic.I turned over and was asleep again almost at once.Then I had a real nightmare, not recognizable as a dream, but appallingly real - an unutterable agony of reasonless horror.There was a Thing in the room; not a sow, nor any other namable creature, but a Thing.It was as big as an elephant, filled the room to the ceiling, was shaped like a wild boar, seated on its haunches, with its forelegs braced stiffly in front of it.It had a hot, slobbering, red mouth, full of big tusks, and its jaws worked hungrily.It shuffled and hunched itself forward, inch by inch, till its vast forelegs straddled the bed.The bed crushed up like wet blotting-paper, and I felt the weight of the Thing on my feet, on my legs, on my body, on my chest.It was hungry, and I was what it was hungry for, and it meant to begin on my face.Its dripping mouth was nearer and nearer.Then the dream-helplessness that made me unable to call or move suddenly gave way, and I yelled and awoke.This time my terror was positive and not to be shaken off.It was near dawn: I could descry dimly the cracked, dirty window-panes.I got up, lit the stump of my candle and two fresh ones, dressed hastily, strapped my ruined valise, and put it on the porch against the wall near the door.Then I called the boy.I realized quite suddenly that I had not told him my name or asked his.I shouted "Hello!" a few times, but won no answer.I had had enough of that house.I was still permeated with the panic of the nightmare [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]