The Archer in the Arras: and Other Stories by Lewis Spence

Author:Lewis Spence [Spence, Lewis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Supernatural, Horror, Short Stories
ISBN: OCLC: 6830172
Publisher: Grant & Murray, Edinburgh
Published: 1932-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

THE CARPET WITH A HUNDRED EYES

DON ELIGIO’S apartment, vast, bleak, almost intolerably forbidding in the gloomy starkness of its colonial atmosphere, oppressed me at first sight as no room has ever done before or since. As the great folding doors swung open to give me entrance I recoiled, at the impulse of some suddenly awakened instinct—gave back at the sight of the high grey walls with their crumbling plaster escutcheons, the dreary half-light made by the thick canopies which obscured even the ardent Mexican sunshine, the monstrous shadows thrown by the ponderous carven furnishings.

But although the appearance of the great, sombre room chilled and repulsed me I was so fearful of leaving it without the promise of employment, so desperately afraid to step back into the sunshine where hunger and want awaited me, that I overcame the aversion I felt, and, grim as the place undoubtedly was, forced myself to look upon it as a possible refuge from the wretchedness without.

I had replied to Don Eligio Lacerda’s advertisement for an English secretary, and somewhat to my surprise had received a note requesting me to call at his house at Chapultepec, one of the suburbs of Mexico City. It was a massive but rambling building, evidently dating from colonial times, situated almost in the shadow of the Hill of Grasshoppers. Without delay I was shown into Don Eligio’s presence. His desk was placed almost in the centre of the great room, and as I entered he raised his head sharply, and stared at me with lustreless eyes. As I crossed the very considerable space which

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separated us I had a good opportunity for examining my would-be employer. Never had I seen a face so intensely pale, or eyes so lifeless. In contrast with the unnatural pallor of the features were the lean, brown hands which lay folded in front of him. He did not rise in the usual courteous Mexican fashion, but leant forward in his seat, still regarding me with that dull, lack-lustre stare.

“It is true that I desire an English secretary,” he said, in answer to my question, and looking up at me with his heavy, sleepful eyes. “Tell me your history.”

I gave him a brief outline of a very ordinary experience. In my eagerness, I remember, I laid stress upon the small triumphs of a public school and university career, told him how the lure of Mexico had been strong upon me from boyhood, and how on arriving in the country I had been robbed of the little I possessed by unscrupulous mining agents. As I spoke his eyes took in every detail of my appearance, and when I had finished he closed them for a moment, as if in thought. In the fear of rejection I anxiously scanned his features. A feeling of revulsion seized me as I gazed on the white profile, with its dreadful resemblance to a death-mask. Suddenly he opened his eyes, and a furrow, deep and decisive, appeared on his high brow.

“You will suit me,” he said, in a low, rapid voice.

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