With an exclamation of impatience I proceeded on my way, and as I did so I remarked that the trotting noise recommenced. Once more I halted and once more that which dogged my footsteps paused likewise. I retraced my steps for a few paces, and as I did so a snarl like that of a leopard came out of the darkness, followed by a laugh so horrible that after a moment’s dismay I take no shame to myself for saying that I wheeled round and broke into wild, unreasoning flight.
Down the dark road I dashed headlong, in a drench of cold perspiration. The hammering of my heart made breathing doubly difficult. It was a panic flight, the stampede of a terrified animal, for as I raced along that shadowed turnpike the man in me was submerged in the fear-stricken beast which lies beneath in us all.
At last, to the relief of my bursting lungs and strained legs, I came in sight of my cottage. Vaulting the fence I thundered loudly at the door, and as it happened to be open I tumbled pell-mell into the tiny hall. Picking myself up again I slammed the door, and entering the little sitting room sank into a chair. My sister was evidently in the kitchen assisting the callow maid to prepare our evening meal, and, glad that she was not there to question me, I leant back in my chair and slowly began to recover from the effects of my mad race.
But my state of comparative peace was rudely broken. I had been seated for scarcely a couple of minutes when a scratching and fumbling at the window behind me made me leap to my feet. My courage, or at least a large portion of it, had now returned, and heartily ashamed of my late conduct I grasped the heavy stick of Burmese bamboo weighted with lead I had not taken time to deposit in the hall, and advanced to the window. The scratching and fumbling continued, and with a firm hand I threw back the blind and looked out.
Well for me it was that my courage did not desert me at sight of the awful thing that met my gaze. A long, satyr-like face, demoniac in its hideousness, leered with fiendish spite into mine, white eyeballs surrounding fiery pupils rolled menacingly in a lean black countenance, above which rose small, crescent horns. The face ended in a peaked and beardless chin and the mouth opened upon gleaming fangs. Two grotesque paw-hands bristling with talons clawed the glass fiercely as if seeking to make entrance.
As I stood looking into the frenzied eyes of this demon-shape it showed signs of the liveliest eagerness to come at me. Trembling with excitement, it ravened against the thick glass, leaping to and fro like a hound hot for the chase, its red tongue flashing from side to side of the slavering mouth. Then a madness of wrath came upon me. If the brute in me had aroused inhuman fear it now kindled the flames of an anger equally beastlike, and I struck savagely at the dread thing on the other side of the window. The pane shivered with a loud crash, but as I raised my stick to strike again the appearance confronting me grew dim, and gradually melted away.
The crash of broken glass naturally alarmed my sister, who rushed into the room in consternation, asking what had happened.
‘A—a dog—a fierce dog attacked me,’ I said clumsily, my lips framing the first excuse that offered.
‘But no dog could have broken the window,’ she exclaimed, looking curiously at me.
‘The brute dashed itself against the glass, and I was so angry——’ I commenced, in more particular excuse.
‘That you lost your temper, and to get at it broke the window,’ she said, in her most caustic manner. ‘How childish—and how manlike!’
If I had ‘lost my temper’—or rather gone temporarily insane with loathing—I kept it now, and held my tongue. We patched up the window as best we might, and in the morning I strolled down to the village glazier and requested him to put in another pane. I thought I would make the errand serve a double purpose, and worked the conversation round to the church. He talked quite volubly for a while about the windows, the brasses and monuments it contained, but when I asked casually if there were any legends or stories connected with it he grew strangely reserved.
‘There be stories, sir, they say,’ he ventured, ‘but I haven’t an idea what they are about. Belike they’re as stupid as most old tales.’
Judicious inquiries in other quarters served me no better. I found the people would speak freely about their church, would even wax enthusiastic over it, but when the question of legendary matter was introduced they obstinately refused to be drawn. Of course, this merely excited my curiosity, and feeling that I was on the verge of a discovery I resolved to appeal for details to the vicar, with whom I had some slight acquaintance.
The Rev. Edward North was nearly as drowsy as his parishioners, and quite as reserved. He listened to my questionings in a dull, uninterested way, nodding now and again—to reassure me, I suppose, that he was not quite asleep.
‘I believe there was some stupid legend,’ he said at last, with an effort, ‘but what it was I really cannot say at this time of day.’
‘But no one seems to know,’ I protested. ‘Surely it’s a great loss to folklore?’
‘You won’t get it out of the folk hereabouts,’ he growled, in a manner that made me suspect that he was proud of the taciturnity of his parishioners. ‘Believe me, Mr Frain, it will be better that you do not prosecute your inquiries any further. As a matter of fact’—here he adopted a stupidly important tone, as of imparting a weighty confidence—‘they consider it highly unlucky to allude to the question at all.’
If my interest had been aroused before, it was now at fever-point.
‘But you—you do not share this superstition?’ I said. ‘Surely you can give me some inkling—help to put me on the track of the facts?’
‘I?’ he cried, quite startled. ‘No, no, Mr Frain; I tell you I am absolutely ignorant——’
‘Mr North,’ I said, ‘what is it that crawls along the roof of your church at nights and follows people in the dark?’
He paled, and collapsed backwards in his chair. Then he leaned forward and began to bluster.
‘I will have nothing to do with it, sir,’ he cried, rising in great excitement. ‘I entirely dissociate myself from your foolish inquiries. An absurd superstition! . . . Preposterous nonsense!’
‘So you say,’ I replied warmly; ‘but you know quite well that you have seen it yourself.’
‘I—seen it!’ he gasped. ‘Rubbish, sir, rubbish! . . . And if I had, let me tell you, sir, as an educated man I would have considered myself as in honour bound to hold my tongue about it.’
Rather mystified, and not a little angry, I crossed the village green to where the grey church stood aloof from the huddle of red houses. I would at least make such examination within its precincts as I thought fit and then debate with myself as to what course I should pursue. With this end in view I walked round the entire edifice, to discover if possible in what manner the hideous monster I had encountered was connected with the building. Hardly had I completed my circuit when my progress was suddenly arrested—for there, not ten feet above me, was the horrible apparition of the night before.
I started back involuntarily, but relief immediately followed upon the discovery that what I gazed on with such dismay was nothing more or less than a carven thing of stone. I had, however, no doubt but that it was the autotype of my monster, for the resemblance was startling to a degree. There was the demoniac countenance wearing a leer of such malice as had wreathed it when it gazed threateningly into mine; there were the same satyr-like features and pointed chin—only the appearance of life was wanting to make the resemblance complete.
Drawing by Colin Langeveld
For long I stood there drinking in every detail of the gruesome piece of stonework. It was situated immediately above the wall of the church exactly where it met the roof. There were other gargoyles, some with human attributes, some with animal, but obviously carved by other and less skilful hands. That in which I was interested was not, as is sometimes the case, merely a head and shoulders jutting from a block of stone, but was fully represented, with slender, half-human legs, ending in hoofs, projecting ribs and small, crescent horns. It was in every respect the beau-ideal of the medieval fiend.