Page:Weird Tales Volume 4 Number 2 (1924-05-07).djvu/77

 tigress she was at me, holding my arms and clawing me in the struggle to dissuade me from the trip. With all her puny old strength she hung on, begging, crying, that I should not go. Mammy had been my foster mother, as many a negro has been to her 'Massa's' son, and she loved me more than she did her own black children, as much as my own mother did. She knew in her old heart that I was going to worse than death and her whole soul went into the plea. She was aided in her efforts by every one in the house except my male friends and they had an idea that it was a fitting adventure for a soon-to-be bridegroom. And to top it off they had the nerve to tell me that I wouldn't carry out my boast—that I was afraid to go. Of course that clinched the case, I would have gone had I known the ghost really existed. So telling Mose, Mammy's husband, to saddle my horse, I started to the house for my pistols.

"As I was getting my guns, I told my father where I was bound and what I was going for. Of course he laughed and bade me be on my way—such was ever the way of my dad. Then to the barn where I found my friends had saddled Button for me.

"Mother, Margaret, and some of the other girls tried to persuade me to give up the mad idea of a two mile ride to the graveyard on such a mission, but I could not turn back after making such a foolish declaration in spite of the fact that I was already sick of it. I was too proud to turn back now. Amid the pleas to be careful from the women and the good natured jibes of the men, I started on my quest for a supernatural dancing partner.

"As I rode I reviewed the numerous stories which were being circulated about the ghost, all told along the same line. It seemed that on certain occasions the white figure with out-stretched arms was sure to appear and chase every lone traveler along the road which ran parallel to the cemetery. Sometimes two or three persons had seen the ghost on the same night—never together though. It only appeared to those who traveled alone.

"There was no doubt that something was seen and that it had the whole countryside aroused, not only the ignorant negroes but the whites as well. As for that something being a spirit I was doubtful, more than doubtful, I scoffed at the idea. Nevertheless as I went over the different stories a feeling came over me that I was doing something I could have just as well left to someone else. I began to get just a little nervous as I neared my objective, but though I wished myself well out of the escapade, my foolish pride would not allow me to turn back after going so far. I couldn't bear the thought of my friends' ridicule and there was nothing to do but go on with the mad adventure.

"I can see that graveyard now as plainly as I did on that night forty-two years ago, so indelibly is the picture impressed on my memory. The moon was up, but a dew-mist hung close to the ground touching everything with a weird, ghostly grayness which is made especially for such adventures. The effect of the moonlight through the mist added momentarily to the nervousness that seemed to be enveloping me. The quiet night, the sudden harsh chirp of a cricket, the throaty whine of a tree-frog, all flooded me with a sense of the unreal. I had heard the same sounds every night of my life without paying the slightest attention to them and saw no reason why they should fill me with dread and uneasiness on this night. I had a feeling of impending disaster when I entered the gates of the cemetery.

"The graveyard was located in a space of almost virgin forest. Huge old elms, bent and twisted oaks, young shrubs tangled among the graves, all covered with honeysuckle vines and Virginia creeper. The tombstones gave off a ghostly gleam of whiteness due to the fact that they were almost covered with vines—the white shining through like the bones beneath them—taking on the forms of skeletons. Here and there a gray slab shone through the trees where the mist-deadened effect of the moonbeams made them stand out—truly a monument to the dead. The mist just thick enough to bring out the loneliness and decay of the place. It was Death and the abode of the Dead.

"I rode up among the graves and stopped, first thinking to dismount and thoroughly explore the shadows on foot. But while I waited all idea of getting off my horse left me, driven out by the peculiar feeling that someone was watching me. Button was displaying an unusual amount of nervousness also and I knew that he had seen or scented something out of the ordinary. A noise here, a sudden sigh of the faint breeze, the swinging of the moss-covered limbs in front of me—everything seemed to fill me with a horrible fear, not exactly a fear, but a dread of what was to follow. My heart was in my throat, nearly choking me with its quickened expansion. I started on my round of the graves expecting every minute to see the white-clad figure, and praying that I wouldn't.

"Nothing happened and I made a complete circle of the tombs without seeing anything to account for Button's nervousness, although I always had a feeling that I was being observed. Riding up to a long coffin-like tomb on my way out I stopped Button to take my bearings and have one last look around before leaving. This tomb was about two feet high, of the same width and at least six feet long, parallel to the gravel path on which my horse stood. My wondering courage began to re-assert itself and I laughed shakily to think I had put so much stock in the superstitious stories of easily frightened negroes. Then too, I was just a little elated that I had finished my ride without anything materializing.

UDDENLY Button shied with a snort, almost unseating me. At the same instant I saw through the corner of my eye, a white figure detach itself from the tomb and leap for my horse. I could have sworn nothing was there an instant before. The figure simply came from thin air. I felt hands, bony, dead hands, tighten around my waist. My blood turned to water and my hair stood on end. My heart stopped its beat and terror seized me. Unconsciousness would have been a blessing. I tried to scream and no sound came. I tried to move my arms but horror had locked every bone in my body. I could not move. Those fearful, clammy hands were moving here and there over my body as though seeking some tender spot to settle upon.

"My horse jumped to a full run with a scream of mortal anguish that only a dying animal ever gives, a scream that sounds like the agonized cry of a woman or child in pain.

"Over my face, through my hair, crept those hands—those searching, slimy hands of horror. My head was busting with pentuppent up or pent-up [sic] fear. An unearthly shriek, like that of a lost soul, a fiendish, playful soul, exulting over its prey. The damp smell of a moldy grave burdened my gasping nostrils. I couldn't breathe.

"I pictured in my tortured mind the decayed face behind me shedding its flesh and grinning as the moldering pieces dropped at each leap of the horse. I wondered if mine would be the fate of the ghoul behind—if I too should bring terror to some living mortal. All this in a detached sort of way as though I were only a spectator.

"All this time Button was running as he had never run before. I have no recollection of coming to the house, no