Fanthorpe, R L - Supernatural Stories by Unknown Author

Author:Unknown Author
Language: eng
Format: epub

Dalton was frightened as he had never been frightened before. Dalton was not a man who frightened easily . . .

A strange, weird, eerie silence descended upon the room. It was like the silence of a midnight churchyard ; it was like the silence of a dark, empty, lonely ocean. It was like the silence of night; it was like the silence of death . ..

There was fear riding on the silence. Dalton held his breath for a few moments, wondering what to do, wondering if there was anything he could do; wondering if there was anything anybody could do, except wait and see what happened. He stood for long minutes, with his head cocked on one side like a listening bird.

Would that voice call again? Would he hear that strange, faint, faraway call for help ? Perhaps he was imagining it . . . ? Perhaps the whole thing was in his mind ? He made a great effort to force his nerves under control. Suddenly he felt like a drink, he had a bottle of dinner wine, a cheap white wine, in the cupboard. He walked swiftly across to the cupboard, took out the bottle, and with a rather shaky hand poured half a tumbler full, splashing some on the cupboard door as he did so. He replaced the bottle, corked it and shut the cupboard door. He drank the wine in the glass at a single gulp. It went down fast and strong.

“Agh!” he breathed a heavy sigh of relief; he was getting some measure of control back again, the wine was beginning to spread all over his body. He was feeling considerably better, not by any means completely better, but certainly better than he had felt. The feeling of intense cold still hung in the room and the silence seemed, if anything, to have grown more intense. He set the tumbler down and the noise of the glass on the woodwork sounded thunderous. It seemed a sacrilege to break that silence. Deliberately he challenged the silence, for Dalton was the kind of man who would be willing to challenge almost any-thing. He picked the glass up and set it down again. He laughed at himself, laughed out loud at the stupid, futile little act. He didn’t like the silence so he was banging a glass on the wooden surface of a sideboard, just to challenge, to break, the silence. He was acting in the way that an angry child acts when it has flown into a tantrum, and is beating its little spoon on the tray in front of its high chair. He took the glass into the kitchen and washed it up. He was halfway back when he heard the voice again.

“Help!"

Faint, faraway, distant; Dalton felt himself trembling uncontrollably. What was it all about? What was happening and above all, why was it happening to him? What did it mean, what could it mean? Either his mind was cracking, or there were things in this house beside and above mortal explanation.

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