n, extended
toward him. Decayed flesh--"

I read no more. Even as I lunged to my feet, with that mad book still
gripped in my hand, I heard the door of my room grind open. I screamed,
screamed in utter horror at the thing I saw there. Dead? Good God, I do
not know. It was a corpse, a dead human body, standing before me like
some propped-up thing from the grave. A face half eaten away, terrible
in its leering grin. Twisted mouth, with only a suggestion of lips,
curled back over broken teeth. Hair--writhing, distorted--like a mass of
moving, bloody coils. And its arms, ghastly white, bloodless, were
extended toward me, with open, clutching hands.

* * * * *

It was alive! Alive! Even while I stood there, crouching against the
wall, it stepped forward toward me. I saw a heavy shudder pass over it,
and the sound of its scraping feet burned its way into my soul. And
then, with its second step, the fearful thing stumbled to its knees. The
white, gleaming arms, thrown into streaks of living fire by the light of
my lamp, flung violently upwards, twisting toward the ceiling. I saw the
grin change to an expression of agony, of torment. And then the thing
crashed upon me--dead.

With a great cry of fear I stumbled to the door. I groped out of that
room of horror, stumbled along the corridor. No light. I left it behind,
on the table, to throw a circle of white glare over the decayed,
living-dead intruder who had driven me mad.

My return down those winding ramps to the lower floor was a nightmare of
fear. I remember that I stumbled, that I plunged through the darkness
like a man gone mad. I had no thought of caution, no thought of anything
except escape.

And then the lower door, and the alley of gloom. I reached the grating,
flung myself upon it and pressed my face against the bars in a futile
effort to escape. The same--as the fear-tortured man--who had--come
before--me.

I felt strong hands lifting me up. A dash of cool air, and then the
refreshing patter of falling rain.

* * * * *

It was the afternoon of the following day, December 6, when M. S. sat
across the table from me in my own study. I had made a rather hesitant
attempt to tell him, without dramatics and without dwelling on my own
lack of courage, of the events of the previous night.

"You deserved it, Dale," he said quietly. "You are a medical man,
nothing more, and yet you mock the beliefs of