October 31 is a great day to reread some horror short stories by Ambrose Bierce. Both of these tales were very influential to future horror, fantasy, and science fiction writers.
...I noted not whither I had strayed until a
sudden chill wind striking my face revived in me a sense of my
surroundings. I observed with astonishment that everything
seemed unfamiliar. On every side of me stretched a bleak and
desolate expanse of plain, covered with a tall overgrowth of sere
grass, which rustled and whistled in the autumn wind with heaven
knows what mysterious and disquieting suggestion. Protruded at
long intervals above it, stood strangely shaped and somber-
colored rocks, which seemed to have an understanding with one
another and to exchange looks of uncomfortable significance, as
if they had reared their heads to watch the issue of some
foreseen event. A few blasted trees here and there appeared as
leaders in this malevolent conspiracy of silent expectation.
Moxon
was speaking with unusual animation and earnestness. As he paused I
heard in an adjoining room known to me as his 'machine-shop,' which no
one but himself was permitted to enter, a singular thumping sound, as
of someone pounding upon a table with an open hand. Moxon heard it at
the same moment and, visibly agitated, rose and hurriedly passed into
the room whence it came. I thought it odd that anyone else should be in
there, and my interest in my friend -- with doubtless a touch of
unwarrantable curiosity -- led me to listen intently, though, I am
happy to say, not at the keyhole. There were confused sounds, as of a
struggle or scuffle; the floor shook. I distinctly heard hard breathing
and a hoarse whisper which said 'Damn you!' Then all was silent, and
presently Moxon reappeared and said, with a rather sorry smile:
'Pardon me for leaving you so abruptly. I have a machine in there that lost its temper and cut up rough.'
Fixing my eyes steadily upon his left cheek, which was traversed by four parallel excoriations showing blood, I said:
'How would it do to trim its nails?'
'Pardon me for leaving you so abruptly. I have a machine in there that lost its temper and cut up rough.'
Fixing my eyes steadily upon his left cheek, which was traversed by four parallel excoriations showing blood, I said:
'How would it do to trim its nails?'
