Sketches New and Old by Mark Twain

last I roused my energies and snatched the covers back to their place and

held them with a strong grip. I waited. By and by I felt a faint tug,

and took a fresh grip., The tug strengthened to a steady strain–it grew

stronger and stronger. My hold parted, and for the third time the

blankets slid away. I groaned. An answering groan came from the foot of

the bed! Beaded drops of sweat stood upon my forehead. I was more dead

than alive. Presently I heard a heavy footstep in my room–the step of

an elephant, it seemed to me–it was not like anything human. But it was

moving from me–there was relief in that. I heard it approach the door–

pass out without moving bolt or lock–and wander away among the dismal

corridors, straining the floors and joists till they creaked again as it

passed–and then silence reigned once more.

When my excitement had calmed, I said to myself, “This is a dream–simply

a hideous dream.” And so I lay thinking it over until I convinced myself

that it was a dream, and then a comforting laugh relaxed my lips and I

was happy again. I got up and struck a light; and when I found that the

locks and bolts were just as I had left them, another soothing laugh

welled in my heart and rippled from my lips. I took my pipe and lit it,

and was just sitting down before the fire, when-down went the pipe out of

my nerveless fingers, the blood forsook my cheeks, and my placid

breathing was cut short with a gasp! In the ashes on the hearth, side by

side with my own bare footprint, was another, so vast that in comparison

mine was but an infant’s! Then I had had a visitor, and the elephant

tread was explained.

I put out the light and returned to bed, palsied with fear. I lay a long

time, peering into the darkness, and listening. –Then I heard a grating

noise overhead, like the dragging of a heavy body across the floor; then

the throwing down of the body, and the shaking of my windows in response

to the concussion. In distant parts of the building I heard the muffled

slamming of doors. I heard, at intervals, stealthy footsteps creeping in

and out among the corridors, and up and down the stairs. Sometimes these

noises approached my door, hesitated, and went away again. I heard the

clanking of chains faintly, in remote passages, and listened while the

clanking grew nearer–while it wearily climbed the stairways, marking

each move by the loose surplus of chain that fell with an accented rattle

upon each succeeding step as the goblin that bore it advanced. I heard

muttered sentences; half-uttered screams that seemed smothered violently;

and the swish of invisible garments, the rush of invisible wings. Then I

became conscious that my chamber was invaded–that I was not alone.

I heard sighs and breathings about my bed, and mysterious whisperings.

Three little spheres of soft phosphorescent light appeared on the ceiling

directly over my head, clung and glowed there a moment, and then dropped

–two of them upon my face and one upon the pillow. They, spattered,

liquidly, and felt warm. Intuition told me they had–turned to gouts of

blood as they fell–I needed no light to satisfy myself of that. Then I

saw pallid faces, dimly luminous, and white uplifted hands, floating

bodiless in the air–floating a moment and then disappearing.

The whispering ceased, and the voices and the sounds, anal a solemn

stillness followed. I waited and listened. I felt that I must have

light or die. I was weak with fear. I slowly raised myself toward a

sitting posture, and my face came in contact with a clammy hand!

All strength went from me apparently, and I fell back like a stricken

invalid. Then I heard the rustle of a garment it seemed to pass to the

door and go out.

When everything was still once more, I crept out of bed, sick and feeble,

and lit the gas with a hand that trembled as if it were aged with a

hundred years. The light brought some little cheer to my spirits. I sat

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