force by breaking open the grave.
We discussed if we ought not to try to do something about it; but the idea of getting a priest to exorcise the place would have been received at Weylands about as frostily as a tart at one of Queen Victoria’s tea parties; and even to mention the matter would have meant disclosing the fact that I had broken the one and only rule in the place; so we decided that we had better not say anything about it to anybody.
Unlike the affair of the burglar, there is no sequel to throw further light on the matter. Unlike that, too, it made a lasting impression on me. The first I had accepted as a natural fright, and the eager interests of childhood soon blanketed it in my mind; but that was far from being the case after my midnight fit of terror near the Abbey. For weeks afterwards I dreamed of it every few nights. I used to wake up moaning, struggling and bathed in a cold sweat. It was not till end of term came, bringing the excitements of the holidays, that those beastly dreams grew more infrequent and finally ceased altogether.
Yet I never forgot the feeling that contact with unseen evilgave me; and my reason for describing my experience at Weylands so fully is to make it quite clear that I cannot be mistaken now. In spite of the passing of the years I recognised it again instantly that first night, now just on six weeks ago, when I woke to find the full moon streaming in under the curtain and saw upon the band of light that abominable, undulating shadow.
Five times since then I have known the same awful sensation; a second time early in April, and four times early this month. Soon after the cessation of both bouts, when my nerves have had a chance to settle down again, I have debated with myself endlessly whether it can be some form of nightmare that afflicts me, or a type of periodic lunacy. If it were not for that earlier contact of mine with disembodied evil in the Abbey cemetery, I might still be hesitant about definitely rejecting both those theories. But I am now fully convinced that it can be neither. I am
not
suffering from nightmares, and I am
not
going mad. But I may yet be driven mad—if I am forced to remain here during another full moon and these Satanic attacks upon me develop again with renewed force.
Evening
Helmuth has just left me. The mystery of Julia’s silence is now explained, but in a manner that fills me with new distress and apprehension. He asked me if I had heard from her lately, and on my saying that I hadn’t, he said:
‘I don’t suppose you are likely to for a bit. I had a letter from your Uncle Paul today, in which he says that she was near having a breakdown from war-strain and her doctor has ordered her complete rest. So he got special permission from the security people for them to reside in the banned area on the west coast of Scotland, and a week ago he took her up to the house on Mull. Even if she feels up to writing, all letters coming out of the area are held up for ten days or more in the censor’s office; so don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from her for another two or three weeks.’
Three weeks! A new moon is due on the 17th, and on the 25th she will enter the quarter in which she becomes such a menace tome. I had
counted
on Julia arranging for me to be moved from here long before that. What
am
I to do? How can I save myself? If only I could get back the full use of my legs for a single hour!
Wednesday, 13th May
I spent a restless night, worrying quite a bit about Julia; but, I’ll confess, as charity begins at home, that I was worrying a darn’ sight more about myself, and racking my brains for some possible means of getting away from Llanferdrack, now that there is no hope of her intervention.
I considered writing to Uncle Paul and my other Trustees, but if I don’t tell them the truth they are bound to reply that while the war is on I could not possibly be better situated than I am, with Helmuth to look after me and so well out
We discussed if we ought not to try to do something about it; but the idea of getting a priest to exorcise the place would have been received at Weylands about as frostily as a tart at one of Queen Victoria’s tea parties; and even to mention the matter would have meant disclosing the fact that I had broken the one and only rule in the place; so we decided that we had better not say anything about it to anybody.
Unlike the affair of the burglar, there is no sequel to throw further light on the matter. Unlike that, too, it made a lasting impression on me. The first I had accepted as a natural fright, and the eager interests of childhood soon blanketed it in my mind; but that was far from being the case after my midnight fit of terror near the Abbey. For weeks afterwards I dreamed of it every few nights. I used to wake up moaning, struggling and bathed in a cold sweat. It was not till end of term came, bringing the excitements of the holidays, that those beastly dreams grew more infrequent and finally ceased altogether.
Yet I never forgot the feeling that contact with unseen evilgave me; and my reason for describing my experience at Weylands so fully is to make it quite clear that I cannot be mistaken now. In spite of the passing of the years I recognised it again instantly that first night, now just on six weeks ago, when I woke to find the full moon streaming in under the curtain and saw upon the band of light that abominable, undulating shadow.
Five times since then I have known the same awful sensation; a second time early in April, and four times early this month. Soon after the cessation of both bouts, when my nerves have had a chance to settle down again, I have debated with myself endlessly whether it can be some form of nightmare that afflicts me, or a type of periodic lunacy. If it were not for that earlier contact of mine with disembodied evil in the Abbey cemetery, I might still be hesitant about definitely rejecting both those theories. But I am now fully convinced that it can be neither. I am
not
suffering from nightmares, and I am
not
going mad. But I may yet be driven mad—if I am forced to remain here during another full moon and these Satanic attacks upon me develop again with renewed force.
Evening
Helmuth has just left me. The mystery of Julia’s silence is now explained, but in a manner that fills me with new distress and apprehension. He asked me if I had heard from her lately, and on my saying that I hadn’t, he said:
‘I don’t suppose you are likely to for a bit. I had a letter from your Uncle Paul today, in which he says that she was near having a breakdown from war-strain and her doctor has ordered her complete rest. So he got special permission from the security people for them to reside in the banned area on the west coast of Scotland, and a week ago he took her up to the house on Mull. Even if she feels up to writing, all letters coming out of the area are held up for ten days or more in the censor’s office; so don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from her for another two or three weeks.’
Three weeks! A new moon is due on the 17th, and on the 25th she will enter the quarter in which she becomes such a menace tome. I had
counted
on Julia arranging for me to be moved from here long before that. What
am
I to do? How can I save myself? If only I could get back the full use of my legs for a single hour!
Wednesday, 13th May
I spent a restless night, worrying quite a bit about Julia; but, I’ll confess, as charity begins at home, that I was worrying a darn’ sight more about myself, and racking my brains for some possible means of getting away from Llanferdrack, now that there is no hope of her intervention.
I considered writing to Uncle Paul and my other Trustees, but if I don’t tell them the truth they are bound to reply that while the war is on I could not possibly be better situated than I am, with Helmuth to look after me and so well out
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