Short Fiction by Arthur Machen (ebook reader .txt) 📕
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Arthur Machen was a Welsh man of letters who wrote his most famous work in the late 1890s and early 1900s. While his body of work is wide, he’s perhaps best known for his supernaturally-flavored proto-horror short stories. The Great God Pan—perhaps his most famous work—along with “The Inmost Light” and The White People deeply influenced later writers like H. P. Lovecraft. Stephen King has gone so far as to call The Great God Pan “maybe the best [horror story] in the English language.”
Besides his horror short stories, Machen also wrote a handful of post World War I supernatural shorts. One of these, “The Bowmen,” was published in a popular newspaper and was implied to be non-fiction, leading to the creation of the “Angels of Mons” urban legend. This collection includes several other World War I short stories published by Machen.
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- Author: Arthur Machen
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“I can’t tell you about Hampton; I should never finish talking. I was there one evening, not long before they closed the gates, and there were very few people about. But the grey-red, silent, echoing courts, and the flowers falling into dreamland as the night came on, and the dark yews and shadowy-looking statues, and the far, still stretches of water beneath the avenues; and all melting into a blue mist, all being hidden from one’s eyes, slowly, surely, as if veils were dropped, one by one, on a great ceremony! Oh! my dear, what could it mean? Far away, across the river, I heard a soft bell ring three times, and three times, and again three times, and I turned away, and my eyes were full of tears.
“I didn’t know what it was when I came to it; I only found out afterwards that it must have been Hampton Court. One of the men in the office told me he had taken an A.B.C. girl there, and they had great fun. They got into the maze and couldn’t get out again, and then they went on the river and were nearly drowned. He told me there were some spicy pictures in the galleries; his girl shrieked with laughter, so he said.”
Mary quite disregarded this interlude.
“But you told me you had made a map. What was it like?”
“I’ll show it you some day, if you want to see it. I marked down all the places I had gone to, and made signs—things like queer letters—to remind me of what I had seen. Nobody but myself could understand it. I wanted to draw pictures, but I never learnt how to draw, so when I tried nothing was like what I wanted it to be. I tried to draw a picture of that town on the hill that I came to on the evening of the first day; I wanted to make a steep hill with houses on top, and in the middle, but high above them, the great church, all spires and pinnacles, and above it, in the air, a cup with rays coming from it. But it wasn’t a success. I made a very strange sign for Hampton Court, and gave it a name that I made up out of my head.”
The Darnells avoided one another’s eyes as they sat at breakfast the next morning. The air had lightened in the night, for rain had fallen at dawn; and there was a bright blue sky, with vast white clouds rolling across it from the southwest, and a fresh and joyous wind blew in at the open window; the mists had vanished. And with the mists there seemed to have vanished also the sense of strange things that had possessed Mary and her husband the night before; and as they looked out into the clear light they could scarcely believe that the one had spoken and the other had listened a few hours before to histories very far removed from the usual current of their thoughts and of their lives. They glanced shyly at one another, and spoke of common things, of the question whether Alice would be corrupted by the insidious Mrs. Murry, or whether Mrs. Darnell would be able to persuade the girl that the old woman must be actuated by the worst motives.
“And I think, if I were you,” said Darnell, as he went out, “I should step over to the stores and complain of their meat. That last piece of beef was very far from being up to the mark—full of sinew.”
IIIIt might have been different in the evening, and Darnell had matured a plan by which he hoped to gain much. He intended to ask his wife if she would mind having only one gas, and that a good deal lowered, on the pretext that his eyes were tired with work; he thought many things might happen if the room were dimly lit, and the window opened, so that they could sit and watch the night, and listen to the rustling murmur of the tree on the lawn. But his plans were made in vain, for when he got to the garden gate his wife, in tears, came forth to meet him.
“Oh, Edward,” she began, “such a dreadful thing has happened! I never liked him much, but I didn’t think he would ever do such awful things.”
“What do you mean? Who are you talking about? What has happened? Is it Alice’s young man?”
“No, no. But come in, dear. I can see that woman opposite watching us: she’s always on the look out.”
“Now, what is it?” said Darnell, as they sat down to tea. “Tell me, quick! you’ve quite frightened me.”
“I don’t know how to begin, or where to start. Aunt Marian has thought that there was something queer for weeks. And then she found—oh, well, the long and short of it is that Uncle Robert has been carrying on dreadfully with some horrid girl, and aunt has found out everything!”
“Lord! you don’t say so! The old rascal!
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