Summary: An inquest takes place
to investigate a suspicious death. A man, Morgan, living in the West of 1890,
is troubled by a phenomenon he cannot see. He goes hunting with a friend,
Harper and they disturb the unseen creature.
The following is from Wikipedia:
"The Damned Thing" is
written in four parts, each with a comical subtitle. The story begins in Hugh
Morgan's cabin, where local men have gathered around the battered corpse of
Hugh Morgan to hold an inquest concerning his death. William Harker, a witness
to the death, enters and is sworn in by the coroner to relate the
circumstances. William reads a prepared statement about a hunting and fishing
outing undertaken with Morgan. He and Morgan encountered a series of
disturbances that Morgan referred to as "that damned thing". During the
last encounter, Morgan fired his gun in fear, then fell to the ground and cried
out in mortal agony. Harker saw his companion moving violently and erratically,
while shouting and making disturbing cries. He thought Morgan was having
convulsions because he didn't appear to be under attack. By the time Harker
reached Morgan, Morgan was dead.
The coroner states that Morgan's
diary contains no evidence in the matter of his death. A juror implies that
Harker's testimony is symptomatic of insanity, and Harker leaves the inquest in
anger. The jury concludes that Morgan was killed by a mountain lion.
The story becomes epistolary in
nature, detailing entries from Morgan's diary. The journal covers the events
leading up to Morgan's death as he becomes aware of an invisible creature that
he is hunting. He reasons out that it lacks color or has a color that renders
it invisible but to make sure he is not crazy he plans on inviting Harker with
him when he hunts "the damned thing".
Analysis
Fighting invisible monsters is a
classic horror trope that may be traced to the invisible supernatural entities
in O'Brien's "What Was It?" (1859) and Guy de Maupassant's "The
Horla" (1887).[2] Later examples of invisibility in 19th-century fiction
include "The Plattner Story" and The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells.
In his take on the issue of
invisibility, Bierce chose to "foreground the limitations of human
senses", speculating that in the course of evolution an animal might have
arisen whose color is invisible to the human eye. When accused of plagiarizing
O'Brien, Bierce retorted that O'Brien's monster was "supernatural and
impossible", whereas he described "a wild animal that cannot be seen,
because, although opaque, like other animals, it is of invisible color".
As a result, "The Damned Thing" has been classed as science fiction
rather than as a Gothic narrative.
ENJOY!
THE
DAMNED THING
By
Ambrose Bierce
I
By THE light of a tallow candle,
which had been placed on one end of a rough table, a man was reading something
written in a book. It was an old account book, greatly worn; and the writing
was not, apparently, very legible, for the man sometimes held the page close to
the flame of the candle to get a stronger light upon it. The shadow of the book
would then throw into obscurity a half of the room, darkening a number of faces
and figures; for besides the reader, eight other men were present. Seven of
them sat against the rough log walls, silent and motionless, and, the room
being small, not very far from the table. By extending an arm any one of them
could have touched the eighth man, who lay on the table, face upward, partly
covered by a sheet, his arms at his sides. He was dead.
The man with the book was not
reading aloud, and no one spoke; all seemed to be waiting for something to
occur; the dead man only was without expectation. From the blank darkness
outside came in, through the aperture that served for a window, all the ever
unfamiliar noises of night in the wilderness—the long, nameless note of a
distant coyote; the stilly pulsing thrill of tireless insects in trees; strange
cries of night birds, so different from those of the birds of day; the drone of
great blundering beetles, and all that mysterious chorus of small sounds that
seem always to have been but half heard when they have suddenly ceased, as if
conscious of an indiscretion. But nothing of all this was noted in that
company; its members were not overmuch addicted to idle interest in matters of
no practical importance; that was obvious in every line of their rugged
faces—obvious even in the dim light of the single candle. They were evidently
men of the vicinity—farmers and woodmen.
The person reading was a trifle
different; one would have said of him that he was of the world, worldly, albeit
there was that in his attire which attested a certain fellowship with the
organisms of his environment. His coat would hardly have passed muster in San Francisco:
his footgear was not of urban origin, and the hat that lay by him on the floor
(he was the only one uncovered) was such that if one had considered it as an
article of mere personal adornment he would have missed its meaning. In
countenance the man was rather prepossessing, with just a hint of sternness;
though that he may have assumed or cultivated, as appropriate to one in
authority. For he was a coroner. It was by virtue of his office that he had
possession of the book in which he was reading; it had been found among the
dead man's effects—in his cabin, where the inquest was now taking place.
When the coroner had finished
reading he put the book into his breast pocket. At that moment the door was
pushed open and a young man entered. He, clearly, was not of mountain birth and
breeding: he was clad as those who dwell in cities. His clothing was dusty,
however, as from travel. He had, in fact, been riding hard to attend the
inquest.
The coroner nodded; no one else
greeted him.
"We have waited for you,"
said the coroner. "It is necessary to have done with this business
to-night."
The young man smiled. "I am
sorry to have kept you," he said. "I went away, not to evade your
summons, but to post to my newspaper an account of what I suppose I am called back
to relate."
The coroner smiled.
"The account that you posted
to your newspaper," he said, "differs probably from that which you
will give here under oath."
"That," replied the
other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is as you choose. I used manifold
paper and have a copy of what I sent. It was not written as news, for it is
incredible, but as fiction. It may go as a part of my testimony under
oath."
"But you say it is
incredible."
"That is nothing to you,
sir, if I also swear that it is true."
The coroner was apparently not
greatly affected by the young man's manifest resentment. He was silent for some
moments, his eyes upon the floor. The men about the sides of the cabin talked
in whispers, but seldom withdrew their gaze from the face of the corpse.
Presently the coroner lifted his eyes and said: "We will resume the
inquest."
The men removed their hats. The
witness was sworn.
"What is your name?"
the coroner asked.
"William Harker."
"Age?"
"Twenty-seven."
"You knew the deceased, Hugh
Morgan?"
"Yes."
"You were with him when he
died?"
"Near him."
"How did that happen—your
presence, I mean?"
"I was visiting him at this
place to shoot and fish. A part of my purpose, however, was to study him, and
his odd, solitary way of life. He seemed a good model for a character in
fiction. I sometimes write stories."
"I sometimes read
them."
"Thank you."
"Stories in general—not
yours."
Some of the jurors laughed.
Against a sombre background humor shows high lights. Soldiers in the intervals
of battle laugh easily, and a jest in the death chamber conquers by surprise.
"Relate the circumstances of
this man's death," said the coroner. "You may use any notes or
memoranda that you please."
The witness understood. Pulling a
manuscript from his breast pocket he held it near the candle, and turning the
leaves until he found the passage that he wanted, began to read.
II
"...The sun had hardly risen
when we left the house. We were looking for quail, each with a shotgun, but we
had only one dog. Morgan said that our best ground was beyond a certain ridge
that he pointed out, and we crossed it by a trail through the chaparral. On the
other side was comparatively level ground, thickly covered with wild oats. As
we emerged from the chaparral, Morgan was but a few yards in advance. Suddenly,
we heard, at a little distance to our right, and partly in front, a noise as of
some animal thrashing about in the bushes, which we could see were violently
agitated.
"'We've started a deer,'
said. 'I wish we had brought a rifle.'
"Morgan, who had stopped and
was intently watching the agitated chaparral, said nothing, but had cocked both
barrels of his gun, and was holding it in readiness to aim. I thought him a
trifle excited, which surprised me, for he had a reputation for exceptional
coolness, even in moments of sudden and imminent peril.
"'O, come!' I said. 'You are
not going to fill up a deer with quail-shot, are you?'
"Still he did not reply;
but, catching a sight of his face as he turned it slightly toward me, I was
struck by the pallor of it. Then I understood that we had serious business on
hand, and my first conjecture was that we had 'jumped' a grizzly. I advanced to
Morgan's side, cocking my piece as I moved.
"The bushes were now quiet,
and the sounds had ceased, but Morgan was as attentive to the place as before.
"'What is it? What the devil
is it?' I asked.
"'That Damned Thing!' he
replied, without turning his head. His voice was husky and unnatural. He
trembled visibly.
"I was about to speak
further, when I observed the wild oats near the place of the disturbance moving
in the most inexplicable way. I can hardly describe it. It seemed as if stirred
by a streak of wind, which not only bent it, but pressed it down—crushed it so
that it did not rise, and this movement was slowly prolonging itself directly
toward us.
"Nothing that I had ever
seen had affected me so strangely as this unfamiliar and unaccountable
phenomenon, yet I am unable to recall any sense of fear. I remember—and tell it
here because, singularly enough, I recollected it then—that once, in looking
carelessly out of an open window, I momentarily mistook a small tree close at
hand for one of a group of larger trees at a little distance away. It looked
the same size as the others, but, being more distinctly and sharply defined in
mass and detail, seemed out of harmony with them. It was a mere falsification
of the law of aerial perspective, but it startled, almost terrified me. We so
rely upon the orderly operation of familiar natural laws that any seeming
suspension of them is noted as a menace to our safety, a warning of unthinkable
calamity. So now the apparently causeless movement of the herbage, and the
slow, undeviating approach of the line of disturbance were distinctly
disquieting. My companion appeared actually frightened, and I could hardly
credit my senses when I saw him suddenly throw his gun to his shoulders and
fire both barrels at the agitated grass! Before the smoke of the discharge had
cleared away I heard a loud savage cry—a scream like that of a wild animal—and,
flinging his gun upon the ground, Morgan sprang away and ran swiftly from the
spot. At the same instant I was thrown violently to the ground by the impact of
something unseen in the smoke—some soft, heavy substance that seemed thrown
against me with great force.
"Before I could get upon my
feet and recover my gun, which seemed to have been struck from my hands, I
heard Morgan crying out as if in mortal agony, and mingling with his cries were
such hoarse savage sounds as one hears from fighting dogs. Inexpressibly terrified,
I struggled to my feet and looked in the direction of Morgan's retreat; and may
heaven in mercy spare me from another sight like that! At a distance of less
than thirty yards was my friend, down upon one knee, his head thrown back at a
frightful angle, hatless, his long hair in disorder and his whole body in
violent movement from side to side, backward and forward. His right arm was
lifted and seemed to lack the hand—at least, I could see none. The other arm
was invisible. At times, as my memory now reports this extraordinary scene, I
could discern but a part of his body; it was as if he had been partly blotted
out—I can not otherwise express it—then a shifting of his position would bring
it all into view again.
"All this must have occurred
within a few seconds, yet in that time Morgan assumed all the postures of a
determined wrestler vanquished by superior weight and strength. I saw nothing
but him, and him not always distinctly. During the entire incident his shouts
and curses were heard, as if through an enveloping uproar of such sounds of
rage and fury as I had never heard from the throat of man or brute!
"For a moment only I stood
irresolute, then, throwing down my gun, I ran forward to my friend's
assistance. I had a vague belief that he was suffering from a fit or some form
of convulsion. Before I could reach his side he was down and quiet. All sounds
had ceased, but, with a feeling of such terror as even these awful events had
not inspired, I now saw the same mysterious movement of the wild oats
prolonging itself from the trampled area about the prostrate man toward the
edge of a wood. It was only when it had reached the wood that I was able to
withdraw my eyes and look at my companion. He was dead."
III
The coroner rose from his seat and
stood beside the dead man. Lifting an edge of the sheet he pulled it away,
exposing the entire body, altogether naked and showing in the candle light a
clay-like yellow. It had, however, broad maculations of bluish-black, obviously
caused by extravasated blood from contusions. The chest and sides looked as if
they had been beaten with a bludgeon. There were dreadful lacerations; the skin
was torn in strips and shreds.
The coroner moved round to the
end of the table and undid a silk handkerchief, which had been passed under the
chin and knotted on the top of the head. When the handkerchief was drawn away
it exposed what had been the throat. Some of the jurors who had risen to get a
better view repented their curiosity, and turned away their faces. Witness
Harker went to the open window and leaned out across the sill, faint and sick.
Dropping the handkerchief upon the dead man's neck, the coroner stepped to an
angle of the room, and from a pile of clothing produced one garment after
another, each of which he held up a moment for inspection. All were torn, and
stiff with blood. The jurors did not make a closer inspection. They seemed
rather uninterested. They had, in truth, seen all this before; the only thing
that was new to them being Harker's testimony.
"Gentlemen," the
coroner said, "we have no more evidence, I think. Your duty has been
already explained to you; if there is nothing you wish to ask you may go
outside and consider your verdict."
The foreman rose—a tall, bearded
man of sixty, coarsely clad.
"I should like to ask one
question, Mr. Coroner," he said. "What asylum did this yer last
witness escape from?"
"Mr. Harker," said the
coroner, gravely and tranquilly, "from what asylum did you last
escape?"
Harker flushed crimson again, but
said nothing, and the seven jurors rose and solemnly filed out of the cabin.
"If you have done insulting
me, sir," said Harker, as soon as he and the officer were left alone with
the dead man, "I suppose I am at liberty to go?"
"Yes."
Harker started to leave, but
paused, with his hand on the door latch. The habit of his profession was strong
in him—stronger than his sense of personal dignity. He turned about and said:
"The book that you have
there—I recognize it as Morgan's diary. You seemed greatly interested in it;
you read in it while I was testifying. May I see it? The public would
like—"
"The book will cut no figure
in this matter," replied the official, slipping it into his coat pocket;
"all the entries in it were made before the writer's death."
As Harker passed out of the house
the jury reentered and stood about the table on which the now covered corpse
showed under the sheet with sharp definition. The foreman seated himself near
the candle, produced from his breast pocket a pencil and scrap of paper, and
wrote rather laboriously the following verdict, which with various degrees of
effort all signed: "We, the jury, do find that the remains come to their
death at the hands of a mountain lion, but some of us thinks, all the same,
they had fits."
IV
In the diary of the late Hugh
Morgan are certain interesting entries having, possibly, a scientific value as
suggestions. At the inquest upon his body the book was not put in evidence;
possibly the coroner thought it not worth while to confuse the jury. The date
of the first of the entries mentioned can not be ascertained; the upper part of
the leaf is torn away; the part of the entry remaining is as follows: "...
would run in a half circle, keeping his head turned always toward the centre
and again he would stand still, barking furiously. At last he ran away into the
brush as fast as he could go. I thought at first that he had gone mad, but on
returning to the house found no other alteration in his manner than what was
obviously due to fear of punishment.
"Can a dog see with his
nose? Do odors impress some olfactory centre with images of the thing emitting
them? . . .
"Sept 2.—Looking at the
stars last night as they rose above the crest of the ridge east of the house, I
observed them successively disappear—from left to right. Each was eclipsed but
an instant, and only a few at the same time, but along the entire length of the
ridge all that were within a degree or two of the crest were blotted out. It
was as if something had passed along between me and them; but I could not see
it, and the stars were not thick enough to define its outline. Ugh! I don't
like this. . . ."
Several weeks' entries are
missing, three leaves being torn from the book.
"Sept. 27.—It has been about
here again—I find evidences of its presence every day. I watched again all of
last night in the same cover, gun in hand, double-charged with buckshot. In the
morning the fresh footprints were there, as before. Yet I would have sworn that
I did not sleep—indeed, I hardly sleep at all. It is terrible, insupportable!
If these amazing experiences are real I shall go mad; if they are fanciful I am
mad already.
"Oct. 3.—I shall not go—it
shall not drive me away. No, this is my house, my land. God hates a coward....
"Oct. 5.—I can stand it no
longer; I have invited Harker to pass a few weeks with me—he has a level head.
I can judge from his manner if he thinks me mad.
"Oct. 7.—I have the solution
of the problem; it came to me last night—suddenly, as by revelation. How
simple—how terribly simple!
"There are sounds that we
can not hear. At either end of the scale are notes that stir no chord of that
imperfect instrument, the human ear. They are too high or too grave. I have
observed a flock of blackbirds occupying an entire treetop—the tops of several
trees—and all in full song. Suddenly—in a moment—at absolutely the same
instant—all spring into the air and fly away. How? They could not all see one
another—whole treetops intervened. At no point could a leader have been visible
to all. There must have been a signal of warning or command, high and shrill
above the din, but by me unheard. I have observed, too, the same simultaneous
flight when all were silent, among not only blackbirds, but other birds—quail,
for example, widely separated by bushes—even on opposite sides of a hill.
"It is known to seamen that
a school of whales basking or sporting on the surface of the ocean, miles
apart, with the convexity of the earth between them, will sometimes dive at the
same instant—all gone out of sight in a moment. The signal has been sounded—too
grave for the ear of the sailor at the masthead and his comrades on the
deck—who nevertheless feel its vibrations in the ship as the stones of a
cathedral are stirred by the bass of the organ.
"As with sounds, so with
colors. At each end of the solar spectrum the chemist can detect the presence
of what are known as 'actinic' rays. They represent colors—integral colors in
the composition of light—which we are unable to discern. The human eye is an
imperfect instrument; its range is but a few octaves of the real 'chromatic
scale' I am not mad; there are colors that we can not see.
"And, God help me! the
Damned Thing is of such a color!"