 | The fiend's delight |  |
The Discomfited Demon.
I never clearly knew why I visited the old cemetery
that night. Perhaps it was to see how the
work of removing the bodies was getting on, for they
were all being taken up and carted away to a more
comfortable place where land was less valuable.
It was well enough; nobody had buried himself
there for years, and the skeletons that were now
exposed were old mouldy affairs for which it was difficult
to feel any respect. However, I put a few
bones in my pocket as souvenirs. The night was
one of those black, gusty ones in March, with great
inky clouds driving rapidly across the sky, spilling
down sudden showers of rain which as suddenly
would cease. I could barely see my way between
the empty graves, and in blundering about among
the coffins I tripped and fell headlong. A peculiar
laugh at my side caused me to turn my head, and
I saw a singular old gentleman whom I had often
noticed hanging about the Coroner's office, sitting
cross-legged upon a prostrate tombstone.
“How are you, sir?” said I, rising awkwardly to
my feet; “nice night.”
“Get off my tail,” answered the elderly party,
without moving a muscle.
“My eccentric friend,” rejoined I, mockingly,
number?”
“Certainly,” he replied, “No. 1, Marle Place,
Asphalt Avenue, Hades.”
“The devil!” sneered I.
“Exactly,” said he; “oblige me by getting off
my tail.”
I was a little staggered, and by way of rallying
my somewhat dazed faculties, offered a cigar:
“Smoke?”
“Thank you,” said the singular old gentleman,
putting it under his coat; “after dinner. Drink?”
I was not exactly prepared for this, but did not
know if it would be safe to decline, and so putting
the proffered flask to my lips pretended to swig
elaborately, keeping my mouth tightly closed the
while. “Good article,” said I, returning it. He
simply remarked, “You're a fool,” and emptied the
bottle at a gulp.
“And now,” resumed he, “you will confer a
favour I shall highly appreciate by removing your
feet from my tail.”
There was a slight shock of earthquake, and all
the skeletons in sight arose to their feet, stretched
themselves and yawned audibly. Without moving
from his seat, the old gentleman rapped the nearest
one across the skull with his gold-headed cane, and
they all curled away to sleep again.
“Sire,” I resumed, “indulge me in the impertinence
of inquiring your business here at this
hour.”
“My business is none of yours,” retorted he,
calmly; “what are you up to yourself?”
“I have been picking up some bones,” I replied,
carelessly.
“Then you are—”
“I am—”
“A Ghoul!”
“My good friend, you do me injustice. You
have doubtless read very frequently in the newspapers
of the Fiend in Human Shape whose
actions and way of life are so generally denounced.
Sire, you see before you that maligned party!”
There was a quick jerk under the soles of my
feet, which pitched me prone upon the ground.
Scrambling up, I saw the old gentleman vanishing
behind an adjacent sandhill as if the devil were
after him.
| The fiend's delight | |