The Trap In The Great Cellar

: The House On The Borderland

I suppose I must have swooned; for, the next thing I remember, I opened

my eyes, and all was dusk. I was lying on my back, with one leg doubled

under the other, and Pepper was licking my ears. I felt horribly stiff,

and my leg was numb, from the knee, downward. For a few minutes, I lay

thus, in a dazed condition; then, slowly, I struggled to a sitting

position, and looked about me.



It had stopped raining,
but the trees still dripped, dismally. From the

Pit, came a continuous murmur of running water. I felt cold and shivery.

My clothes were sodden, and I ached all over. Very slowly, the life came

back into my numbed leg, and, after a little, I essayed to stand up.

This, I managed, at the second attempt; but I was very tottery, and

peculiarly weak. It seemed to me, that I was going to be ill, and I made

shift to stumble my way toward the house. My steps were erratic, and my

head confused. At each step that I took, sharp pains shot through

my limbs.



I had gone, perhaps, some thirty paces, when a cry from Pepper, drew

my attention, and I turned, stiffly, toward him. The old dog was trying

to follow me; but could come no further, owing to the rope, with which I

had hauled him up, being still tied 'round his body, the other end not

having been unfastened from the tree. For a moment, I fumbled with the

knots, weakly; but they were wet and hard, and I could do nothing. Then,

I remembered my knife, and, in a minute, the rope was cut.



How I reached the house, I scarcely know, and, of the days that

followed, I remember still less. Of one thing, I am certain, that, had

it not been for my sister's untiring love and nursing, I had not been

writing at this moment.



When I recovered my senses, it was to find that I had been in bed for

nearly two weeks. Yet another week passed, before I was strong enough to

totter out into the gardens. Even then, I was not able to walk so far as

the Pit. I would have liked to ask my sister, how high the water had

risen; but felt it was wiser not to mention the subject to her. Indeed,

since then, I have made a rule never to speak to her about the strange

things, that happen in this great, old house.



It was not until a couple of days later, that I managed to get across

to the Pit. There, I found that, in my few weeks' absence, there had

been wrought a wondrous change. Instead of the three-parts filled

ravine, I looked out upon a great lake, whose placid surface, reflected

the light, coldly. The water had risen to within half a dozen feet of

the Pit edge. Only in one part was the lake disturbed, and that was

above the place where, far down under the silent waters, yawned the

entrance to the vast, underground Pit. Here, there was a continuous

bubbling; and, occasionally, a curious sort of sobbing gurgle would find

its way up from the depth. Beyond these, there was nothing to tell of

the things that were hidden beneath. As I stood there, it came to me

how wonderfully things had worked out. The entrance to the place whence

the Swine-creatures had come, was sealed up, by a power that made me

feel there was nothing more to fear from them. And yet, with the

feeling, there was a sensation that, now, I should never learn anything

further, of the place from which those dreadful Things had come. It was

completely shut off and concealed from human curiosity forever.



Strange--in the knowledge of that underground hell-hole--how apposite

has been the naming of the Pit. One wonders how it originated, and when.

Naturally, one concludes that the shape and depth of the ravine would

suggest the name 'Pit.' Yet, is it not possible that it has, all along,

held a deeper significance, a hint--could one but have guessed--of the

greater, more stupendous Pit that lies far down in the earth, beneath

this old house? Under this house! Even now, the idea is strange and

terrible to me. For I have proved, beyond doubt, that the Pit yawns

right below the house, which is evidently supported, somewhere above the

center of it, upon a tremendous, arched roof, of solid rock.



It happened in this wise, that, having occasion to go down to the

cellars, the thought occurred to me to pay a visit to the great vault,

where the trap is situated; and see whether everything was as I had

left it.



Reaching the place, I walked slowly up the center, until I came to the

trap. There it was, with the stones piled upon it, just as I had seen it

last. I had a lantern with me, and the idea came to me, that now would

be a good time to investigate whatever lay under the great, oak slab.

Placing the lantern on the floor, I tumbled the stones off the trap,

and, grasping the ring, pulled the door open. As I did so, the cellar

became filled with the sound of a murmurous thunder, that rose from far

below. At the same time, a damp wind blew up into my face, bringing

with it a load of fine spray. Therewith, I dropped the trap, hurriedly,

with a half frightened feeling of wonder.



For a moment, I stood puzzled. I was not particularly afraid. The

haunting fear of the Swine-things had left me, long ago; but I was

certainly nervous and astonished. Then, a sudden thought possessed me,

and I raised the ponderous door, with a feeling of excitement. Leaving

it standing upon its end, I seized the lantern, and, kneeling down,

thrust it into the opening. As I did so, the moist wind and spray drove

in my eyes, making me unable to see, for a few moments. Even when my

eyes were clear, I could distinguish nothing below me, save darkness,

and whirling spray.



Seeing that it was useless to expect to make out anything, with the

light so high, I felt in my pockets for a piece of twine, with which to

lower it further into the opening. Even as I fumbled, the lantern

slipped from my fingers, and hurtled down into the darkness. For a brief

instant, I watched its fall, and saw the light shine on a tumult of

white foam, some eighty or a hundred feet below me. Then it was gone. My

sudden surmise was correct, and now, I knew the cause of the wet and

noise. The great cellar was connected with the Pit, by means of the

trap, which opened right above it; and the moisture, was the spray,

rising from the water, falling into the depths.



In an instant, I had an explanation of certain things, that had

hitherto puzzled me. Now, I could understand why the noises--on the

first night of the invasion--had seemed to rise directly from under my

feet. And the chuckle that had sounded when first I opened the trap!

Evidently, some of the Swine-things must have been right beneath me.



Another thought struck me. Were the creatures all drowned? Would they

drown? I remembered how unable I had been to find any traces to show

that my shooting had been really fatal. Had they life, as we understand

life, or were they ghouls? These thoughts flashed through my brain, as I

stood in the dark, searching my pockets for matches. I had the box in my

hand now, and, striking a light, I stepped to the trap door, and closed

it. Then, I piled the stones back upon it; after which, I made my way

out from the cellars.



And so, I suppose the water goes on, thundering down into that

bottomless hell-pit. Sometimes, I have an inexplicable desire to go down

to the great cellar, open the trap, and gaze into the impenetrable,

spray-damp darkness. At times, the desire becomes almost overpowering,

in its intensity. It is not mere curiosity, that prompts me; but more as

though some unexplained influence were at work. Still, I never go; and

intend to fight down the strange longing, and crush it; even as I would

the unholy thought of self-destruction.



This idea of some intangible force being exerted, may seem reasonless.

Yet, my instinct warns me, that it is not so. In these things, reason

seems to me less to be trusted than instinct.



One thought there is, in closing, that impresses itself upon me, with

ever growing insistence. It is, that I live in a very strange house; a

very awful house. And I have begun to wonder whether I am doing wisely

in staying here. Yet, if I left, where could I go, and still obtain the

solitude, and the sense of her presence, that alone make my old

life bearable?



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