The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud .txt) 📕

I might be. I heard coarse voices talking outside. Then I saw that my barricade had gone, and that the opening of the hut stood clear. My revolver was still in my hand.

I heard something breathing, saw something crouched together close beside me. I held my breath, trying to see what it was. It began to move slowly, interminably. Then something soft and warm and moist passed across my hand. All my muscles contracted. I snatched my hand away. A cry of alarm began and was stifled in my throat. Then I just realised what had happened sufficiently to stay my fingers on the revolver.

“Who is that?” I said in a hoarse whisper, the revolver still pointed.

“I⁠—master.”

“Who are you?”

“They say there is no master now. But I know, I know. I carried the bodies into the sea, O walker in the sea! the bodies of those you slew. I am your slave, master.”

“Are you the one I met on the beach?” I asked.

“The same, master.”

The thing was evidently faithful enough, for it might have fallen upon me as I slept. “It is well,” I said, extending my hand for another licking kiss. I began to realise what its presence meant, and the tide of my courage flowed. “Where are the others?” I asked.

“They are mad; they are fools,” said the dog-man. “Even now they talk together beyond there. They say, ‘The master is dead. The other with the whip is dead. That other who walked in the sea is as we are. We have no master, no whips, no house of pain, any more. There is an end. We love the law, and will keep it; but there is no pain, no master, no whips forever again.’ So they say. But I know, master, I know.”

I felt in the darkness, and patted the dog-man’s head. “It is well,” I said again.

“Presently you will slay them all,” said the dog-man.

“Presently,” I answered, “I will slay them all⁠—after certain days and certain things have come to pass. Every one of them save those you spare, every one of them shall be slain.”

“What the master wishes to kill, the master kills,” said the dog-man with a certain satisfaction in his voice.

“And that their sins may grow,” I said, “let them live in their folly until their time is ripe. Let them not know that I am the master.”

“The master’s will is sweet,” said the dog-man, with the ready tact of his canine blood.

“But one has sinned,” said I. “Him I will kill, whenever I may meet him. When I say to you, ‘That is he,’ see that you fall upon him. And now I will go to the men and women who are assembled together.”

For a moment the opening of the hut was blackened by the exit of the dog-man. Then I followed and stood up, almost in the exact spot where I had been when I had heard Moreau and his staghound pursuing me. But now it was night, and all the miasmatic ravine about me was black; and beyond, instead of a green, sunlit slope, I saw a red fire, before which hunched, grotesque figures moved to and fro. Farther were the thick trees, a bank of darkness, fringed above with the black lace of the upper branches. The moon was just riding up on the edge of the ravine, and like a bar across its face drove the spire of vapour that was forever streaming from the fumaroles of the island.

“Walk by me,” said I, nerving myself; and side by side we walked down the narrow way, taking little heed of the dim things that peered at us out of the huts.

None about the fire attempted to salute me. Most of them disregarded me, ostentatiously. I looked round for the hyena-swine, but he was not there. Altogether, perhaps twenty of the beast folk squatted, staring into the fire or talking to one another.

“He is dead, he is dead! the master is dead!” said the voice of the ape-man to the right of me. “The house of pain⁠—there is no house of pain!”

“He is not dead,” said I, in a loud voice. “Even now he watches us!”

This startled them. Twenty pairs of eyes regarded me.

“The house of pain is gone,” said I. “It will come again. The master you cannot see; yet even now he listens among you.”

“True, true!” said the dog-man.

They were staggered at my assurance. An animal may be ferocious and cunning enough, but it takes a real man to tell a lie.

“The man with the bandaged arm speaks a strange thing,” said one of the beast folk.

“I tell you it is so,” I said. “The master and the house of pain will come again. Woe be to him who breaks the law!”

They looked curiously at one another. With an affectation of indifference I began to chop idly at the ground in front of me with my hatchet. They looked, I noticed, at the deep cuts I made in the turf.

Then the satyr raised a doubt. I answered him. Then one of the dappled things objected, and an animated discussion sprang up round the fire. Every moment I began to feel more convinced of my present security. I talked now without the catching in my breath, due to the intensity of my excitement, that had troubled me at first. In the course of about an hour I had really convinced several of the beast folk of the truth of my assertions, and talked most of the others into a dubious state. I kept a sharp eye for my enemy the hyena-swine, but he never appeared. Every now and then a suspicious movement would startle me, but my confidence grew rapidly. Then as the moon crept down from the zenith, one by one the listeners began to yawn (showing the oddest teeth in the light of the sinking fire), and first one and then another retired towards the dens in the ravine; and I, dreading the silence and darkness, went