The Joss: a Reversion
Copyright© 2024 by Richard Marsh
Chapter 8: The Back-Door Key.
“Look!” I said. “Look!”
“Look at what? What’s the matter with you, Pollie? Why are you glaring at me like that?”
“Don’t you see what’s at the end of it?”
She turned the bangle over.
“It isn’t pretty, but—it’s some sort of ornament, I suppose.”
“It’s that thing which was in the scrap of paper, or its double.”
“Pollie! Are you sure?”
“Certain. I’ll back myself to know that wherever it turns up.”
Taking the bracelet from her I eyed it closely. There was no mistaking the likeness; to one end was attached the very double of that painted little horror. Emily criticised it as she leant over my shoulder.
“It looks as if it were meant for a man who mostly runs to head. And what a head it is! Look at his beard, it reaches to what may be meant for feet. And his hair, it stands out from his scalp like bristles.”
“Don’t forget his eyes, how they shine. They must be painted with luminous paint, or whatever they call the stuff, which lights up in the dark. The other night they gleamed so I thought the creature was alive. And his teeth—talk about dentist’s advertisements! I believe it’s meant for one of those heathen gods who are supposed to live on babies, and that kind of thing. He looks the character to the life. But fancy your picking it up from the floor! That’s not lain there twenty years. There’s not a speck of rust upon it. It’s as bright as if it had just come off somebody’s arm.”
“Pollie, do you think there’s anybody in the house besides we two?”
“My dear, I haven’t the faintest notion; you can use your senses as well as I can, and are quite as capable of putting two and two together. One fact’s obvious, it’s not long since somebody was in this room. But we’ve the rest of the house to see; I can tell you more when we’ve seen it. Come, let’s go upstairs.”
Putting the bracelet on the table, I left the room. Emily seemed reluctant to follow. I fancy that if she had had her way she would have postponed the remainder of our voyage to later on—a good deal later on. And, on the whole, I hardly wondered, because, directly we began to go upstairs, such a noise came from above, and, indeed, from everywhere, that you would have thought the whole place was alive; and so it was—with rats. I had heard of the extraordinary noises the creatures could make, but I had never realised their capacity till then. Emily stood trembling on the bottom step.
“I daren’t go up, I daren’t.”
“Very well, then; stop where you are. I dare, and will.”
Off I started; and, as I expected, directly I moved, she rushed after me.
“Oh, Pollie, don’t leave me, don’t. I’d sooner do anything than have you leave me.”
On that top floor there were again three rooms. And again, one of them was empty. It was a sort of attic, at the back. So far as I could make out it had no window at all; it was papered over if it had one. But talk of rats! It was a larger room than the one below, and seemed to be still more crowded. We could not only hear them, we could see them. There they were, blinking at the candlelight out of the floor and walls, and even ceiling. It was a cheerful prospect. I had heard of rats, when they had got rid of everything else, eating human beings. We two could do nothing against these multitudes; I felt sure that the mere fright of being attacked would be enough to kill Emily. I said nothing to her, but I thought of it all the same.
The door next to the attic was fastened. Whether it was locked or not I could not make out. It felt as solid as if it never had been opened, and had been never meant to open. When I struck it with my knuckles, it returned no sound. That it was something else besides a mere wooden door was obvious.
“Another treasure room!” I laughed.
But Emily did not seem pleased.
“I don’t like these locked-up rooms. What is there on the other side?”
“I thought you were so fond of mystery.”
“Not mystery like this.” She lowered her voice. “For all we know there may be people inside, who, while we can’t get at them, can get at us whenever they choose.”
I laughed again; though conscious there was sense in what she said.
“Let’s go and look at the other room and see if that’s locked up too.”
But the door of that yielded at a touch. It, also, had had occupants less than twenty years ago—a good deal less. It was furnished as a bedroom. There was a chest of drawers, a washstand, toilet-table, chairs, and a bed. On the latter the bedding was in disorder; sheets, blankets, pillows tumbled anyhow, as if somebody, getting out of it in a hurry, had had no time to put it straight. There was a lamp upon the toilet table, the blackened chimney of which showed it had been smoking; even yet the smell of a smoky lamp was in the air. The drawers were all wide open. One, which had been pulled right out, was turned upside down upon the floor, as if the quickest way had been chosen to clear it of its contents.
“It looks,” said Emily, standing in the doorway, looking round her with doubtful eyes, and speaking as if she were saying something which ought to have been left unspoken, “as if someone had just got out of bed.”
Throwing the bedclothes back, I laid my hand against the sheets. It might have been my imagination, but they seemed warm, as if, since someone had been between them, they had not had time to cool. Not wishing to make her more nervous than she was already, I hardly knew how to answer her; more especially as I myself did not feel particularly comfortable. If, as appearances suggested, somebody had been inside that bed, say, within the last half-hour, who could it have been? and what had become of him or her, or them? Crossing to the dressing-table, I touched the lamp-glass. It was hot, positively hot. I could have sworn that it had been burning within the last ten minutes or quarter of an hour. That was proof positive that someone had been there—lamps do not burn unless somebody lights them, and they do not go out unless somebody puts them out. Who could it have been? The discovery—and the mystery!—so took me aback that it was all I could do to keep myself from screaming. But, as Emily was nearly off her head already, and I did not want to send her off it quite, I just managed to keep my feelings under. All the same, I did not like the aspect of things at all.
To stop her from noticing too much, I tried my best to keep on talking.
“This is our bedroom, I suppose. How do you like the look of it? Not over cheerful, is it?”
“Cheerful?” I could see she shuddered. “Does any light ever get into the room?”
Where the window ought to have been were the usual massive and immovable shutters.
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