Page:Weird Tales v02n04 (1923-11).djvu/34

Rh have known members of my family to prove their right to the name by being able to play the violin.

"My uncle was a maker of violins as well as a composer. Such was his skill in this direction that he acquired a good bit of property before he finally disappeared. I was but a child at the time, and can just remember his habit of taking his violin with him to the forests where, in a sort of outdoor laboratory, he would study and test the acoustic properties of different woods. From the last expedition of this kind he never returned.

"At the age of ten I received an invitation to visit my grandfather at his estate, 'Lion's Lair'-so named on account of two large stone lions that marked the entrance to the house. I knew not, at the time, why the invitation was extended to me alone, but I was got ready, and I hastened to visit the old man.

"Perhaps his increased loneliness, since the disappearance of Uncle Joel, made him wish to have the namesake, who so strongly resembled his son, near. Anyway, after a long journey, tiresome for its monotony of scenery and method of travel, I arrived at 'The House of the Lions,' as it was sometimes called.

"I will not bore you with a description of the magnificent situation of this old house, nor how for miles, before it is reached over undulating hills, its great white columns and broad red roof appear against its mountain background as some classic structure of ancient time. But I will tell you that, casting my glance back and down over the broad sweep of hill and valley and woodland with the shadows of sunset creeping across them, I was impressed with its utter loneliness and comparative isolation.

"Grandfather himself met me-not, in his bluff hearty manner of my earlier memories, but in a sort of timid abstracted manner. Young as I was, I noted the change, suspected the cause, and forbore comments that would hurt and questions that would reopen old wounds. I suspected, though I never knew otherwise till later on in my visit, that he had never learned the fate of my uncle. Otherwise, my grandfather bore few outward marks of his grief.

"Not to burden my story with irrelevant details, I was assigned a room that had been Uncle Joel's, and soon the days began to pass in a manner befitting the association of age and childhood-my grandfather reading, day-dreaming, or telling me stories in my quieter moments, and I in exploring the grounds or listening to his stories. No other associates we had except a man-of-all-work and his wife, who was my grandfather's housekeeper.

"These, however did not count, as they seemed to have been trained to respect Grandfather's grief and to hold themselves aloof. Questions I had in plenty, for in my explorations about the grounds I had discovered in the family burying-plot a grave more newly made than the others and a fairly worn trail that led back further into the mountain.

"But I restrained my curiosity for the reason I have already given and for the reason that Grandfather had the air of one whose confidence would be hard to force."

the close of my visit, however, the even tenor of our way began to change. Grandfather had become more and more restless, walking up and down the long porch or about the grounds, or gazing up into the mountain.

"I, on the other hand, had found other fields to explore and now daily amused myself by rummaging among the odd pieces of old furniture, books, arms of the Revolution, and clothing that I had found in the great old garret. There was one old chest, however, that had thus far resisted my efforts to open. It was a quaint, oddly-carved chest that reminded me of some of the stories Grandfather had told me. Visions of treasures passed before my mental sight, and I at once determined to ask Grandfather for the key or the secret or what ever it was that opened it. I rushed down and found Grandfather pacing restlessly up and down the porch.

"Grandfather,' I began, 'that old carved chest in the garret-'

"I stopped, transfixed by the look in his eyes and by the grip upon my arm.

"Joel;' he gasped, out at length in a horrified whisper, 'did you have you what have you done?'

"I was badly frightened at his manner.

"Joel, what have you done?" he repeated, giving me a shake.

"'N-nothing; I only wanted the key.'

"His fierce grip upon my arm relaxed and fell away.

"'You did not find it, then-the spring, I mean?' he asked more calmly, even kindly, as he realized something of my fright.

""No, sir. Won't you open it for me?' I added, encouraged by his kinder tone.

"Joel;' He almost shrieked this, and his face went white. 'No-never! I could not! And yet--' He paused, irresolute, as he struggled for control. 'And yet it may be merely my fancy after all. Yes, that is surely it. How could the dead-' Here his voice fell in incoherent soliloquy and finally ceased altogether, while his head gradually sank in thought.

"Yes,' he continued, after a moment, as to himself, 'I will-I will. This horror from the mountain-if I can prove my fancy-I will. Come!' He turned suddenly to me. I will open it for you and let you know something of what I have lived in the past three years. Come!' He turned resolutely toward the garret and I dared not disobey.

"We were soon by the chest, and I can see him yet as, with pale face and trembling hand, he touched the spring. The lid rose slowly as if loath to give up its secret. Forgetting my momentary fright, I hastened forward with the eagerness and ignorance of youth.

"Listen! Do you not hear it?' he asked.

""I hear nothing, Grandfather.'

"My eyes were bent upon a small coffin-shaped box in the chest. A groan behind me drew my attention to Grandfather. He, too, was looking at that box, and the terrible appearance of his face I shall never forget as long as I live.

"Pale before, his face was now as the face of a corpse-a greenish pale. The veins were swollen like cords under the skin upon his forehead, perspiration was on his brow, his breath came in gurgling gasps, and his eyes were so distended If I have ever seen a madman under as to seem bursting from their sockets. the throes of a horrible hallucination, I saw one then. With a shriek of terror, I jumped from the chest and dashed toward the head of the stairs.

"'Joel, stop!' came in a ghostly voice from Grandfather.

"In spite of my terror, I paused long enough to glance over my shoulder at Grandfather. He calmed himself with an effort and, shudderingly picking up the box, followed me. I hastened down, feeling that I was followed by something unearthly-a gruesome Thing.

"At the bottom of the steps Grandfather led the way into the library and, placing the box upon the table, he motioned me to a chair.

"You remember your Uncle Joel, do you not?' he asked.

"I nodded.

"You have wondered, perhaps, why I, an old man with nothing in common with your youth, should have invited you here to this lonely spot. Perhaps you thought that, with your Uncle Joel gone, I was lonely and wished you to