The-Crawling-Death-Chapter-02

THE exhilarating rush through the clean, sparkling air soon banished the senseless feeling of uneasiness I had been harboring, and I gave myself up to the enjoyment of the ride. Life may hold better things than a perfect going automobile, a good country road and a bright June day, but I don’t know where they are or what.

Hedgewood was situated about ten miles from town, but we reached our destination all too soon. As we approached the property we slowed down in order to get a better view. The land had a front-
age on the road of about one thousand feet, and ran back for perhaps twice that distance. It was, so far as we could see, entirely surrounded with a high and im-
penetrable hedge fence broken only at the entrance by two square stone col-
umns, which supported a heavy iron gate.

Through the bars of this gate we could see a man at work among the shrubbery. “Hello!” I called.

The man looked up, and upon my sig-
nal came reluctantly toward us. He was a young fellow of twenty or thereabouts, with a rather stupid expression which gave way to distrust when I demanded entrance.

“You can’t come in here,” he said. “This is private property.”

“Yes, I know,” I answered, “but Mr. Ormond has put the place in my care.” Upon my answer, he slowly produced a key, and inserting it in the padlock swung back the massive gates.

“Do you live here?” I asked.

“No, sir, I work here in the mornin’s taking care of the grounds, but I’m goin’ to quit. It’s too skeery.”

“Well, it won’t be so lonesome after this. There will be some people down to-
morrow to take possession. And by the way,” I added, “I wish you would help us fix up things at the house before they come. Jump in.”

He shook his head vigorously.

“You couldn’t get me in that house. It’s bad enough out here.”

“What’s the trouble?” I asked.

“I ain’t had no trouble, and I ain’t huntin’ any. I’d find it quick enough if I went in there.” He jerked his thumb toward the house.

“What would you find?” I asked, smiling.

He came closer to the car, his dull face looking ludicrous under its mask of ter-
ror.

“Ha’nts,” he whispered, “big, hairy things that crawl around the floors like rats or spiders. Only they ain’t, they’re hands!”

With a snort of disgust, I threw in the clutch and we darted toward the house, leaving the rustic staring after us with his scythe suspended in mid-air. The front part of the grounds was covered with a heavy growth of forest trees, amid which, and about fifteen hundred feet from the entrance, stood the house.

It was a massive structure of Colonial style, and in a good state of preservation in spite of the fact that it had been built in Revolutionary days. We pulled up at the wide veranda, and, leaving Jim in the machine, I ran up the steps and finding, after some trouble, the proper key, I threw open the door and entered the large central hall.

The house was dark and stuffy. Jim joining me at this moment, we went from room to room raising the shades and win-
dows. We had both experienced a feel-
ing of depression upon first entering the house, but this soon wore off under the refreshing influence of the light and air. The rooms were large, with high ceilings, and well furnished, most of them in the fashion of a by-gone day, but the living room and library and several of the bed-
rooms were fitted out in the most modern style.

On the library table I found an envel-
ope which contained a key and a letter addressed to me, which read as follows:

“Mr. Richard Hayden,

“Dear Sir: You will remember when I left Hedgewood in your charge, with instructions to find a suitable tenant, that I requested that neither you nor your tenant should enter the room with the red-paneled door. I now wish to emphasize that request, and to remind you that you gave me your word of honor that my wishes in this respect would be obeyed to the letter.

“I am enclosing the key to the room to be placed with the others you have, and which you will give to your prospective tenant with the same instructions you have received. It is unnecessary for me to explain why I do this except to say that I expect you to use the same care in selecting a tenant as I trust I have shown in choosing an agent. It is a mere matter of honor, or the sure penalty that follows a breach of honor.

“Yours very truly,
“JOHN ORMOND.”

“Well,” I said, as I strung the key on the ring with the others, “this is a nice Blue Beard proposition to put up to a practical business man. The old fellow is plumb crazy.”

It was while we were on the second floor, going from room to room and open-
ing the windows, that I had my first view of the door with the red panels. Jim was close to it at the time, in fact had started for it, when I called:

“You can’t get in there, Jim; that door is locked.” He continued, however, and, reaching the door, turned the knob. I saw him twist his body, and give a sud-
den wrench. He turned as I ran up, with a puzzled look on his face.

“Try that knob, Dick,” he said.

“No use, Jim; the door is locked, and, at any rate, I have orders not to allow anyone in that room. It is Mr. Ormond’s private apartment.”

“Try the knob, anyway,” he insisted. I carelessly took hold of the knob and gave it a slight turn. I dropped it and looked at Jim; his eyes had a queer look in them.

“What do you make of it?”

“Nonsense, Jim; come away,” and I took him by the arm and started with him down the hall.

“Dick,” he said, stopping short, “there is some one in that room!”

“You’re crazy, man. The knob is rusty from disuse. Now get busy. I’ll go down and try again to get the boy, and you start in to dust some of the furni-
ture. We’ve got a big job in front of us if we want to get back before dark.”

I had been gone about ten minutes and was returning with the boy, whom I had persuaded after some effort and a gener-
ous tip to help us in the house, when I heard a roar from Jim on the second floor. At the same instant I noticed that the bunch of keys, which I had left on the library table, had disappeared. At Jim’s cry the boy with me ran down the steps and across the lawn, while I mounted to the second floor, two steps at a time.

My suspicions were verified for, as I reached the landing, I saw Jim’s figure pressed against the door with the red panels, which was part way open, and en-
deavoring vainly to crowd through the small aperture. I called to him sharply and ran hurriedly to pull him away, when suddenly he uttered a shriek, this time of fear, and, releasing his hold, fell backward to the floor with a crash. And the partly opened door closed and snapped.