Produced by David Widger













THE DAMNED THING



By Ambrose Bierce



Reprinted by permission. From "In the Midst of Life," copyright, 1898,

by G. P. Putnam's Sons









I



By THE light of a tallow candle, which had been placed on one end of a

rough table, a man was reading something written in a book. It was an

old account book, greatly worn; and the writing was not, apparently,

very legible, for the man sometimes held the page close to the flame of

the candle to get a stronger light upon it. The shadow of the book would

then throw into obscurity a half of the room, darkening a number of

faces and figures; for besides the reader, eight other men were present.

Seven of them sat against the rough log walls, silent and motionless,

and, the room being small, not very far from the table. By extending an

arm any one of them could have touched the eighth man, who lay on the

table, face upward, partly covered by a sheet, his arms at his sides. He

was dead.



The man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one spoke; all

seemed to be waiting for something to occur; the dead man only was

without expectation. From the blank darkness outside came in, through

the aperture that served for a window, all the ever unfamiliar noises

of night in the wilderness--the long, nameless note of a distant coyote;

the stilly pulsing thrill of tireless insects in trees; strange cries of

night birds, so different from those of the birds of day; the drone of

great blundering beetles, and all that mysterious chorus of small sounds

that seem always to have been but half heard when they have suddenly

ceased, as if conscious of an indiscretion. But nothing of all this was

noted in that company; its members were not overmuch addicted to idle

interest in matters of no practical importance; that was obvious in

every line of their rugged faces--obvious even in the dim light of the

single candle. They were evidently men of the vicinity--farmers and

woodmen.



The person reading was a trifle different; one would have said of him

that he was of the world, worldly, albeit there was that in his

attire which attested a certain fellowship with the organisms of his

environment. His coat would hardly have passed muster in San Francisco:

his footgear was not of urban origin, and the hat that lay by him on

the floor (he was the only one uncovered) was such that if one had

considered it as an article of mere personal adornment he would have

missed its meaning. In countenance the man was rather prepossessing,

with just a hint of sternness; though that he may have assumed or

cultivated, as appropriate to one in authority. For he was a coroner. It

was by virtue of his office that he had possession of the book in which

he was reading; it had been found among the dead man's effects--in his

cabin, where the inquest was now taking place.



When the coroner had finished reading he put the book into his breast

pocket. At that moment the door was pushed open and a young man entered.

He, clearly, was not of mountain birth and breeding: he was clad as

those who dwell in cities. His clothing was dusty, however, as from

travel. He had, in fact, been riding hard to attend the inquest.



The coroner nodded; no one else greeted him.



"We have waited for you," said the coroner. "It is necessary to have

done with this business to-night."



The young man smiled. "I am sorry to have kept you," he said. "I went

away, not to evade your summons, but to post to my newspaper an account

of what I suppose I am called back to relate."



The coroner smiled.



"The account that you posted to your newspaper," he said, "differs

probably from that which you will give here under oath."



"That," replied the other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is as

you choose. I used manifold paper and have a copy of what I sent. It was

not written as news, for it is incredible, but as fiction. It may go as

a part of my testimony under oath."



"But you say it is incredible."



"That is nothing to you, sir, if I also swear that it is true."



The coroner was apparently not greatly affected by the young man's

manifest resentment. He was silent for some moments, his eyes upon the

floor. The men about the sides of the cabin talked in whispers, but

seldom withdrew their gaze from the face of the corpse. Presently the

coroner lifted his eyes and said: "We will resume the inquest."



The men removed their hats. The witness was sworn.



"What is your name?" the coroner asked.



"William Harker."



"Age?"



"Twenty-seven."



"You knew the deceased, Hugh Morgan?"



"Yes."



"You were with him when he died?"



"Near him."



"How did that happen--your presence, I mean?"



"I was visiting him at this place to shoot and fish. A part of my

purpose, however, was to study him, and his odd, solitary way of life.

He seemed a good model for a character in fiction. I sometimes write

stories."



"I sometimes read them."



"Thank you."



"Stories in general--not yours."



Some of the jurors laughed. Against a sombre background humor shows high

lights. Soldiers in the intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest in

the death chamber conquers by surprise.



"Relate the circumstances of this man's death," said the coroner. "You

may use any notes or memoranda that you please."



The witness understood. Pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket

he held it near the candle, and turning the leaves until he found the

passage that he wanted, began to read.









II



"...The sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We were looking for

quail, each with a shotgun, but we had only one dog. Morgan said that

our best ground was beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, and we

crossed it by a trail through the _chaparral_. On the other side was

comparatively level ground, thickly covered with wild oats. As we

emerged from the _chaparral_, Morgan was but a few yards in advance.

Suddenly, we heard, at a little distance to our right, and partly in

front, a noise as of some animal thrashing about in the bushes, which we

could see were violently agitated.



"'We've started a deer,' said. 'I wish we had brought a rifle.'



"Morgan, who had stopped and was intently watching the agitated

chaparral, said nothing, but had cocked both barrels of his gun, and was

holding it in readiness to aim. I thought him a trifle excited, which

surprised me, for he had a reputation for exceptional coolness, even in

moments of sudden and imminent peril.



"'O, come!' I said. 'You are not going to fill up a deer with

quail-shot, are you?'



"Still he did not reply; but, catching a sight of his face as he

turned it slightly toward me, I was struck by the pallor of it. Then I

understood that we had serious business on hand, and my first conjecture

was that we had 'jumped' a grizzly. I advanced to Morgan's side, cocking

my piece as I moved.



"The bushes were now quiet, and the sounds had ceased, but Morgan was as

attentive to the place as before.



"'What is it? What the devil is it?' I asked.



"'That Damned Thing!' he replied, without turning his head. His voice

was husky and unnatural. He trembled visibly.



"I was about to speak further, when I observed the wild oats near the

place of the disturbance moving in the most inexplicable way. I can

hardly describe it. It seemed as if stirred by a streak of wind, which

not only bent it, but pressed it down--crushed it so that it did not

rise, and this movement was slowly prolonging itself directly toward us.



"Nothing that I had ever seen had affected me so strangely as this

unfamiliar and unaccountable phenomenon, yet I am unable to recall any

sense of fear. I remember--and tell it here because, singularly enough,

I recollected it then--that once, in looking carelessly out of an open

window, I momentarily mistook a small tree close at hand for one of a

group of larger trees at a little distance away. It looked the same size

as the others, but, being more distinctly and sharply defined in mass

and detail, seemed out of harmony with them. It was a mere falsification

of the law of aerial perspective, but it startled, almost terrified me.

We so rely upon the orderly operation of familiar natural laws that any

seeming suspension of them is noted as a menace to our safety, a warning

of unthinkable calamity. So now the apparently causeless movement of the

herbage, and the slow, undeviating approach of the line of disturbance

were distinctly disquieting. My companion appeared actually frightened,

and I could hardly credit my senses when I saw him suddenly throw his

gun to his shoulders and fire both barrels at the agitated grass! Before

the smoke of the discharge had cleared away I heard a loud savage

cry--a scream like that of a wild animal--and, flinging his gun upon the

ground, Morgan sprang away and ran swiftly from the spot. At the same

instant I was thrown violently to the ground by the impact of something

unseen in the smoke--some soft, heavy substance that seemed thrown

against me with great force.



"Before I could get upon my feet and recover my gun, which seemed to

have been struck from my hands, I heard Morgan crying out as if in

mortal agony, and mingling with his cries were such hoarse savage sounds

as one hears from fighting dogs. Inexpressibly terrified, I struggled to

my feet and looked in the direction of Morgan's retreat; and may heaven

in mercy spare me from another sight like that! At a distance of less

than thirty yards was my friend, down upon one knee, his head thrown

back at a frightful angle, hatless, his long hair in disorder and his

whole body in violent movement from side to side, backward and forward.

His right arm was lifted and seemed to lack the hand--at least, I

could see none. The other arm was invisible. At times, as my memory

now reports this extraordinary scene, I could discern but a part of his

body; it was as if he had been partly blotted out--I can not otherwise

express it--then a shifting of his position would bring it all into view

again.



"All this must have occurred within a few seconds, yet in that time

Morgan assumed all the postures of a determined wrestler vanquished by

superior weight and strength. I saw nothing but him, and him not always

distinctly. During the entire incident his shouts and curses were heard,

as if through an enveloping uproar of such sounds of rage and fury as I

had never heard from the throat of man or brute!



"For a moment only I stood irresolute, then, throwing down my gun, I

ran forward to my friend's assistance. I had a vague belief that he was

suffering from a fit or some form of convulsion. Before I could reach

his side he was down and quiet. All sounds had ceased, but, with a

feeling of such terror as even these awful events had not inspired, I

now saw the same mysterious movement of the wild oats prolonging itself

from the trampled area about the prostrate man toward the edge of

a wood. It was only when it had reached the wood that I was able to

withdraw my eyes and look at my companion. He was dead."









III



The coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man. Lifting

an edge of the sheet he pulled it away, exposing the entire body,

altogether naked and showing in the candle light a clay-like yellow. It

had, however, broad maculations of bluish-black, obviously caused by

extravasated blood from contusions. The chest and sides looked as if

they had been beaten with a bludgeon. There were dreadful lacerations;

the skin was torn in strips and shreds.



The coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silk

handkerchief, which had been passed under the chin and knotted on the

top of the head. When the handkerchief was drawn away it exposed what

had been the throat. Some of the jurors who had risen to get a better

view repented their curiosity, and turned away their faces. Witness

Harker went to the open window and leaned out across the sill, faint and

sick. Dropping the handkerchief upon the dead man's neck, the coroner

stepped to an angle of the room, and from a pile of clothing produced

one garment after another, each of which he held up a moment for

inspection. All were torn, and stiff with blood. The jurors did not

make a closer inspection. They seemed rather uninterested. They had, in

truth, seen all this before; the only thing that was new to them being

Harker's testimony.



"Gentlemen," the coroner said, "we have no more evidence, I think. Your

duty has been already explained to you; if there is nothing you wish to

ask you may go outside and consider your verdict."



The foreman rose--a tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely clad.



"I should like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner," he said. "What asylum

did this yer last witness escape from?"



"Mr. Harker," said the coroner, gravely and tranquilly, "from what

asylum did you last escape?"



Harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven jurors

rose and solemnly filed out of the cabin.



"If you have done insulting me, sir," said Harker, as soon as he and the

officer were left alone with the dead man, "I suppose I am at liberty to

go?"



"Yes."



Harker started to leave, but paused, with his hand on the door latch.

The habit of his profession was strong in him--stronger than his sense

of personal dignity. He turned about and said:



"The book that you have there--I recognize it as Morgan's diary. You

seemed greatly interested in it; you read in it while I was testifying.

May I see it? The public would like--"



"The book will cut no figure in this matter," replied the official,

slipping it into his coat pocket; "all the entries in it were made

before the writer's death."



As Harker passed out of the house the jury reentered and stood about the

table on which the now covered corpse showed under the sheet with sharp

definition. The foreman seated himself near the candle, produced

from his breast pocket a pencil and scrap of paper, and wrote rather

laboriously the following verdict, which with various degrees of effort

all signed:



"We, the jury, do find that the remains come to their death at the hands

of a mountain lion, but some of us thinks, all the same, they had fits."









IV



In the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are certain interesting entries

having, possibly, a scientific value as suggestions. At the inquest upon

his body the book was not put in evidence; possibly the coroner thought

it not worth while to confuse the jury. The date of the first of the

entries mentioned can not be ascertained; the upper part of the leaf is

torn away; the part of the entry remaining is as follows:



"... would run in a half circle, keeping his head turned always toward

the centre and again he would stand still, barking furiously. At last he

ran away into the brush as fast as he could go. I thought at first that

he had gone mad, but on returning to the house found no other alteration

in his manner than what was obviously due to fear of punishment.



"Can a dog see with his nose? Do odors impress some olfactory centre

with images of the thing emitting them? . . .



"Sept 2.--Looking at the stars last night as they rose above the

crest of the ridge east of the house, I observed them successively

disappear--from left to right. Each was eclipsed but an instant, and

only a few at the same time, but along the entire length of the ridge

all that were within a degree or two of the crest were blotted out. It

was as if something had passed along between me and them; but I could

not see it, and the stars were not thick enough to define its outline.

Ugh! I don't like this. . . ."



Several weeks' entries are missing, three leaves being torn from the

book.



"Sept. 27.--It has been about here again--I find evidences of its

presence every day. I watched again all of last night in the same cover,

gun in hand, double-charged with buckshot. In the morning the fresh

footprints were there, as before. Yet I would have sworn that I did not

sleep--indeed, I hardly sleep at all. It is terrible, insupportable! If

these amazing experiences are real I shall go mad; if they are fanciful

I am mad already.



"Oct. 3.--I shall not go--it shall not drive me away. No, this is _my_

house, my land. God hates a coward....



"Oct. 5.--I can stand it no longer; I have invited Harker to pass a few

weeks with me--he has a level head. I can judge from his manner if he

thinks me mad.



"Oct. 7.--I have the solution of the problem; it came to me last

night--suddenly, as by revelation. How simple--how terribly simple!



"There are sounds that we can not hear. At either end of the scale are

notes that stir no chord of that imperfect instrument, the human ear.

They are too high or too grave. I have observed a flock of blackbirds

occupying an entire treetop--the tops of several trees--and all in full

song. Suddenly--in a moment--at absolutely the same instant--all

spring into the air and fly away. How? They could not all see one

another--whole treetops intervened. At no point could a leader have been

visible to all. There must have been a signal of warning or command,

high and shrill above the din, but by me unheard. I have observed,

too, the same simultaneous flight when all were silent, among not only

blackbirds, but other birds--quail, for example, widely separated by

bushes--even on opposite sides of a hill.



"It is known to seamen that a school of whales basking or sporting on

the surface of the ocean, miles apart, with the convexity of the earth

between them, will sometimes dive at the same instant--all gone out of

sight in a moment. The signal has been sounded--too grave for the ear

of the sailor at the masthead and his comrades on the deck--who

nevertheless feel its vibrations in the ship as the stones of a

cathedral are stirred by the bass of the organ.



"As with sounds, so with colors. At each end of the solar spectrum the

chemist can detect the presence of what are known as 'actinic'

rays. They represent colors--integral colors in the composition of

light--which we are unable to discern. The human eye is an imperfect

instrument; its range is but a few octaves of the real 'chromatic scale'

I am not mad; there are colors that we can not see.



"And, God help me! the Damned Thing is of such a color!"