HORRORS by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub

THE CARETAKER'S STORY

Edith Olivier

The caretaker did not finish his story, but his last lines were written more indelibly before my eyes than if they had been inscribed by pen and ink.

When I advertised for a caretaker for my seaside cottage, I was delighted to get a reply from my most level headed and reliable friend, Jem West. Anyone he recommended would be satisfactory.

Jem wrote that Horter, who applied for my post, had been for several years the skipper of his cutter, and he only got rid of him when he got rid of the boat itself.

'Since then,' the letter went on, 'he has had two long voyages, both of which ended tragically in shipwreck. Once he was the only man saved. It hit him very hard, and he lost his nerve and wants to give up the sea. He'll suit you perfectly, for he's as honest as the day, and a handy man in every way.'

When I saw Jem at the club a day or two later, I asked him whether he thought it wise to put a man who had lost his nerve into an absolutely empty house on a very lonely bit of coast. It would have been another thing if Horter had a wife, but, as it was, he would be day and night entirely alone in the house.

Jem didn't agree. He said that Horter's nerves were perfectly sound except for sea-going. That shipwreck ha, knocked him out because, it seemed, one of the crew had been his greatest friend, and Horter had got it into his head that he was in some way responsible for the man's death.

"He's got hold of some old seaman's superstition, an he's been reading The Ancient Mariner as well. He is a bit crazy on that one point, but otherwise he is a very steady old fellow, and I think a year or two on shore will put him right."

I interviewed Horter and liked the man, though he struck me as having lost his nerve rather badly. Not that he was at all jumpy. On the contrary, his manner was quiet and calm, but throughout our conversation no shadow of a smile crossed his face. He wore an expression of unchanging melancholy, and his sad eyes seemed to look through without seeing me. He was rather a remarkable-looking man with about him something of the decayed dandy. For instance, he wore an old shirt made of very fine and expensive silk, the sleeves of which had been cut off an inch or two above the elbow, allowing the frayed ends to hang loosely upon his arm. Instead of a belt, he had knotted an old Free Forester tie around his waist, and his spotlessly clean white duck trousers must have cost a lot when he bought them. Horter had delicate, refined features, though a receding chin gave a weak look to the lower part of his face. But for that, he would have been a handsome man. The deep-set eyes were of a clear blue, and the aquiline nose was finely cut.

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