CANALES DE PERCEPCIÓN

 

COVER SHEET (Datos para la portada)

 Technical Secondary School 57

Subject: English ____

Period: I

Student´s Name:_________________

Grade: ________ group: ________

Teacher´s Name: Libia I.Guevara T.

Draw (Refers to English)

THE JUDGE’S HOUSE

By Bram Stoker

Malcolm Malcolmson was a student at college. Malcolm was twenty-one and he was in his final year. Classes had finished and Malcolm was studying hard for his examinations. But Malcolm was unable to study at home.

He lived with his family and the large house was always noisy. ‘I can’t study here at home,’ Malcolm told his father. ‘It’s far too noisy. I’m going to find a quiet house in a small  country town. I’ll be alone there and I’ll be able to work hard.’

His father agreed and Malcolm packed all his books and papers into a suitcase. He took a train to a small quiet town called Benchurch. Benchurch is in the country. Malcolm

had never been there before.

Malcolm stayed the first night in a small hotel. The next morning, after breakfast, he walked round the town. In the quietest part of the town, Malcolm found a large, old house. The garden in front of the house was very untidy and the house looked empty. There was a shop not very far from the house. Malcolm went into the shop and asked about the old house.

‘Does anyone live in that old house down the street?’  Malcolm asked the man in the shop.

‘The house is empty,’ replied the man. ‘No one has lived there for many years. Go to the lawyer in the High Street.

He knows about the house. He’ll be able to help you.’ Malcolm walked back to the High Street. The lawyer’s office was near the hotel. Malcolm went into the office and met the lawyer.

‘That house has been empty for many, many years,’ the lawyer told him. ‘There is a story about the house. People say strange things about it. No one wants to live there.’

‘I am a student,’ Malcolm replied. ‘I want to study hard and I’m not worried about stories. I like that old house and I want to live there. It’s very quiet and I’ll be able to work hard at my studies.’

Malcolm gave the lawyer enough money to rent the house for a month. The lawyer handed him the keys to the house. Malcolm took the keys and walked back to the hotel. He packed his suitcase and got ready to leave.

‘I’m leaving now,’ he told the woman who owned the hotel.

‘Are you leaving the town?’ the woman asked him.

‘No,’ replied Malcolm, ‘I’m going to stay here, in Benchurch. I have found an old house. It’s very quiet and I’ll be able to work hard there. The woman asked him about the house. When Malcolm told her, she looked frightened.

‘You can’t live there,’ she said. ‘You can’t live in that house. That’s the Judge’s House.’

‘Why are you so afraid?’ Malcolm asked her. ‘What is wrong with the Judge’s House? Tell me about it.’ ‘A famous judge lived there a long time ago,’ the woman explained. ‘He was a very cruel man. He had no mercy on any criminal. He ordered the criminals to be hanged.

Many people died because he showed them no mercy.’ The woman’s face was white. She was very, very afraid. But Malcolm was busy thinking about his examinations. He did not notice the woman’s fear.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ he told her. ‘I have my work to do. I’ll be very busy. I have a lot of studying to do and many books to read. I won’t have any time to be afraid of stories.’

Malcolm said goodbye to the owner of the hotel. She looked very unhappy, but she did not say any more.

Malcolm picked up his suitcase and walked from the hotel to the Judge’s House.

Malcolm unlocked the door and went inside. The rooms were very dark. Malcolm pulled aside the dark, heavy curtains. The furniture in the rooms was old. It was all covered with sheets. The dining room was big and there was a large table in the centre. Malcolm decided to live in that one room.

I’ll work in this room and I’ll eat and sleep here, he said to himself. I do not need any of the other rooms.

He moved the chairs in the dining-room to one side. He carried a bed from a bedroom and put it beside a wall. He lit a fire and put his books on the big table. He started studying and worked until the evening. In the evening, he prepared some supper. After supper, it was beginning to get dark. The daylight was fading. Malcolm lit a lamp and put some more wood on the fire. Then he sat down again at the table and continued studying.

He worked until eleven o'clock. Then he stopped and made a pot of tea. He put some more wood on the fire. Outside the light of the lamp and the light of the fire, the room was very dark. There were dark shadows on the walls and behind the chairs. But Malcolm was happy. He was working hard.

I can work really hard here, he said to himself. I'll do well

in the examinations.

There was an oíd wooden chair beside the fire. The chair had a high back and it looked comfortable. Malcolm sat down in this chair and drank his tea. At first, the house was very quiet. There was no noise in the room at all. But then Malcolm heard a noise. He listened carefully. The noise was getting louder.

Rats, said Malcolm to himself. The light from the fire and from my lamp frightened them away at first. Now they have become used to the light. They are no longer afraid. They have come to look at me. They want to know who I am.

The rats were everywhere. They were running across the floor and over the furniture. Malcolm heard them running under the wooden floor beneath his feet. They ran in and out of holes in the walls. They squeaked and they scratched.

Malcolm was not afraid. Rats did not frighten him. He finished drinking his tea. Then he got up and picked up the carried a bed from a bedroom and put it beside a wall. He lit a fire and put his books on the big table. He started studying and worked until the evening. In the evening, he prepared some supper. After supper, it was beginning to get dark. The daylight was fading. Malcolm lit a lamp and put some more wood on the fire. Then he sat down again at the table and continued studying.

He worked until eleven o'clock. Then he stopped and made a pot of tea. He put some more wood on the fire. Outside the light of the lamp and the light of the fire, the room was very dark. There were dark shadows on the walls and behind the chairs. But Malcolm was happy. He was working hard.

I can work really hard here, he said to himself. I'll do well in the examinations.

There was an oíd wooden chair beside the fire. The chair had a high back and it looked comfortable. Malcolm sat down in this chair and drank his tea. At first, the house was very quiet. There was no noise in the room at all. But then Malcolm heard a noise. He listened carefully. The noise was getting louder.

Rats, said Malcolm to himself. The light from the fire and from my lamp frightened them away at first. Now they have become used to the light. They are no longer afraid. They have come to look at me. They want to know who I am.

The rats were everywhere. They were running across the floor and over the furniture. Malcolm heard them running under the wooden floor beneath his feet. They ran in and out of holes in the walls. They squeaked and they scratched.

Malcolm was not afraid. Rats did not frighten him. He finished drinking his tea. Then he got up and picked up the Malcolm went back to the fire and sat down on the chair. He drank another cup of tea. Then he went back to the big table and read some more books. The noise of the rats continued, but he did not notice it.

Malcolm sat reading for hour after hour. Suddenly he looked up from his books. Something had happened. He listened carefully. The rats had stopped their noise. There was complete silence in the room. Malcolm looked at the fire. He had forgotten to put more wood on and the fire was almost out. Then Malcolm felt a sudden, cold shiver running through his body.

Malcolm looked at the high-backed chair by the fire. Something was sitting on the chair. It was an enormous rat. Malcolm had never seen such a large rat in his life. It was looking at Malcolm and it did not move. Malcolm picked up a book from the table. He raised his arm and threw the book at the rat but the rat did not move. It opened its mouth and showed its big, sharp teeth. Its gleaming red eyes looked cruel in the lamplight.

Malcolm stood up quickly. As soon as he stood up, the rat moved. It jumped from the chair to the rope of the alarm-bell. It ran up the rope and disappeared into the darkness. Immediately, the other rats carne back again. They came out of the holes in the walls. The room was once more filled with the noise of their squeaking and scratching.

Malcolm looked at his watch. It was nearly morning. He lay down with on the bed and fell asleep. When he woke up again, the sun was shining through the windows.

Malcom got up and had some breakfast. Then he went out for u long walk. He took his books and some bread and with him. It was a beautiful day and the sun was brightly. Malcolm felt happy. He walked through I he fields and then he sat down and read his books. At lunchtime he ate the bread and cheese. He sat reading all through the afternoon.

In the early evening, he carne back to the Judge's House. He heard the rats as soon as he opened the door. They were already running about and making a noise. Malcolm lit a fire and made his supper. After supper, he sat down in the chair by the fire and smoked a cigarette. Then he sat down at I he big table and went back to work.

That night, from the very beginning, the rats were not afair of Malcolm. They ran up and down the room - over and under every piece of furniture. They watched Malcolm mil of I he holes in the walls. Their little, bright eyes shone in the lamplight. But they did not trouble Malcolm. He became used to them. From time to time, he looked up from his hooks and watched them playing their games.

Malcolm worked for hour after hour. Suddenly he looked up (rom his books. Once again, there was silence in the room. It was exactly like the night before. The noise of the rats had stopped completely. There, on the high-backed chair beside the fire, sat the same enormous rat. The rat looked at Malcolm with its evil eyes.

Malcolm quickly picked up a book and threw it at the rat. The book did not hit the rat and the rat did not move. Malcolm stood up and moved towards the rat. The rat ran up the rope in the same way as the night before. As soon as it had disappeared, all the other rats started to squeak and scratch. Malcolm looked at his watch. It was mid-night.

I'll have another cup of tea, he said to himself. Then I´ll get back to my books.

Malcolm put some more wood on the fire and made another pot of tea. He sat down again in the high-backed chair. He drank the tea and smoked a cigarette. Then he looked at the alarm bell rope. He reached out and touched the rope. He lifted up the end of the rope and held it in both hands. It was strong, but it also felt soft and smooth.

Malcolm had an idea. He thought of a plan to kill the enormous rat. He lifted up the end of the rope and put it on the table. Then he piled up some books and put them near him on the table.

Now I am ready for the rat, he thought to himself. When it comes again, I'll see the rope move. And I'll have these books to throw at it. This time I'll hit the rat and kill it.

Malcolm began his studies once again. He worked for about half an hour. Suddenly the rats stopped the noise. The room was silent. He looked up and saw the enormous rat. It was climbing down the rope. It jumped from the rope onto the high-backed chair. It sat on the chair and looked straight at Malcolm.

Malcolm picked up the first book on the pile. He threw it at the rat. The rat moved a little and the book did not hit it Malcolm threw a second book, then a third and a fourth. This last book hit the rat. It gave a loud squeak. Then it ran up the back of the chair, jumped onto the rope and climbed up quickly. Malcolm watched the rat in the lamplight. It bed up and came near one of the big paintings on the wall. Then it jumped from the rope to the painting. The rat disappeared into a hole in this painting. Malcolm looked at the painting carefully. He wanted to remember it.

I'II have a good look at that painting in the morning, he to himself. 'll be able to see it more clearly in the daylight.

It was now very late. Malcolm went to bed and slept well. The next morning, he woke up and felt happy. It was another sunny day.

Good, he thought to himself. I'll get out again for a long walk. I'll read my books in the open air.

While Malcolm was drinking a cup of tea, a woman carne 10 i he house. She was the cleaning woman. She had come to dust and clean the house.

‘I´m going out for a long walk,' Malcolm told the woman, ´ 'You can clean the house while I am out.'  

Before he left the house, Malcolm spoke again to the woman. He pointed up at the painting on the wall. It was Hiked the doctor. It is the one with the hole in the comer. The enormous rat had        disappeared into this hole.

Please clean this painting very carefully,' Malcolm asked the woman ´I want to see it clearly.'

Then Malcolm left the house. Again he walked through then the fields. After some time, he sat down and read more and more. He worked very hard. In the afternoon, the weather changed. The sun went behind some black clouds and it became windy.

I'll go back to the Judge's House now, thought Malcolm,It's going to rain.    

On his way back, Malcolm came to the small hotel. He decided to go in. He wanted to talk to someone. There was     a man sitting in a chair in the sitting-room. The man introduced himself to Malcolm.

'Good evening,' he said. '1 am the doctor in this tow.

And I know who you are. You are the student who is living In the Judge´s House. Are you happy there?

I am able to study gard in the house. ´ replied Malcom. ´That is the most important thing for me. I am studying for my final examinations.´

And nothing troubles you in the house? asked the doctor.

´There are hundreds of rats in the house,´ replied Malcom. ´But they not trouble very much. I am not afraid of rats. However, there is one enormous rat´ added Malcom. It´s sit on chair and looks at me evel eyes. I want to kill big rat.´

Malcom told the doctor all about the enormous rat. He described the high-backed chair and the rope od the alarm bell.

´Does the rat always come down and go up that rope?´ asked the doctor.

´Always,´replied Malcom.

´Do you know what that rope is?´

´It´s a very strong and a very soft rope,´ replied Malcom. ´But I don´t know anything more about it´

The doctor looles at Malcom for few moments. Then he spoke quietly and slowly.

´When the judge was alive, he was very cruel. He condemned many criminals to death. That was the rope that the handgman used. The handgman made a noose at the end of the rope. The noose was put over the criminal´s was dead. The rope by the fire is the hangman´s rope.

Malcom and the doctor talked about the Judge´s House for about an hour. The Macom walked back to the house.

The weather had now changed completely. It had become cold and a strong was blowing. When he was inside the house,  Malcom heard the wind blowing round it.

The cleaning woman had some supper. Then he went and studies once again. Before he stared reading his book, he looked round the room. He notice the rope hanging between the high-backed chair and fireplace. He thought about the doctor´s story. This was the rope used by the hangman. Many men died this rope round their necks.

Malcolm stood up and walked over to the rope. He took, it in his hands. While he was holding the rope, he felt it move. He looked up and saw the enormous rat. It was climbing slowly down the rope. The rat suddenly saw Malcolm. It turned round and ran quickly up and disappeared into the hole in the painting. All the other rats immediately began running around again, squeaking and scratching.

Malcolm picked up the lamp and walked towards the' high-backed chair. He stood behind the chair and held the lamp high above his head. He looked at the painting. The cleaning woman had worked hard. She had cleaned off all the dust and dirt from the painting. Malcolm was able to seo the hole in the corner where the rat disappeared.

Suddenly Malcolm felt terribly afraid. His face went white. He now saw that it was a painting of a judge in his robes. The judge's face was cruel and his eyes were evil. The eyes of the judge were like the eyes of the enormous rat

Malcom held the lamp higher. Now he was able to see the whole painting. In the painting, the judge was sitting in a wooden , -backed chair. The big chair was beside a fireplace. A rope was hanging down between the chair and the fireplace. It was a long rope and in the painting it looked strong and soft.

Malcom understood. It was a panting of the room in which he was standing. The wooden, high-backed chair was the same. The fireplace was the same. The strong, soft rope was the same.

Malcom looked round the room. He looks at the fireplace and the at the rope. Then he looked at the chair. He gave a loud cry. The lamp almost fell from his hand.

The enormous rat was sitting in the chair. The rope was handing down behind it. The rat´s eyes were staring at Malcom. They were the same eyes as the judges in the painting.

Inside the room, everything was completely silent. Outside, the wind was blowing strongly. The wind made Malcom remember the town outside the house.

I am becoming foolish, Malcolm said to himself. I must forget the doctor's story. I will go back to my books and study  hard. I must be strong or I will go mad. I must stop thinking about the judge and the hangman's rope.

Malcolm looked again at the chair. The enormous rat was no longer there. It had disappeared. Malcolm sat down again at the table and began to study. He worked for about an hour. As usual, the other rats ran round the room over and under the furniture. Malcolm listened to their squeaking and scratching. Then suddenly, the noise stopped. Malcolm listened. The room was silent. The rats had disappeared. But outside, the wind was blowing more and more strongly. The rain was beating against trie Windows Malcolm looked at the fire. It was nearly out. The room was cold.

I must put more wood on the fire, he said to himself.

He stood up and suddenly he stopped. He had heard a noise in the room. It was a very quiet scratching noise. Malcolm looked round the room. He saw nothing. Then he looked up at the hangman's rope.

Malcolm was horrified. In the dim light of the lamp, Malcolm saw the enormous rat. It was holding on to the rope. It was about halfway between the high ceiling and the floor. And it was biting at the rope with its sharp, cruel teeth. It was slowly biting through the rope.

Malcolm watched in horror. As he watched, the rat went on biting the rope. Suddenly the bottom half of the rope fell on to the floor. The rat had bitten right through it.

Now the rat was holding on to the top end of the rope. Malcolm picked up a book and threw it at the rat. The book nearly hit the rat. The rat dropped from the rope and landed on the floor. Then it ran away into the darkest corner of the room.

Malcolm was now terribly afraid.

If I am in trouble, I will not be able to ring the alarm bell, he thought to himself. If anything happens to me, I will not be able to call for help.

Malcolm sat down at the table, but he was not able to read his books. The room was still silent. He looked up again at the painting. He shut his eyes and rubbed them. Then he looked at the painting once again.

'It can't be true,' he shouted out loudly in the empty room.

He looked at the painting. The fireplace and the rope were still there. And the high-backed chair was in the too. But the high-backed chair in the painting was empty. There was no one sitting in it. The judge in the painting appeared.

Malcom slowly moved his eyes from the chair in the painting to the real chair in the room. His heart stopped beating for a few moments. His whole body felt like ice. The judge was sitting in the big, wooden high-backed chair.

The Judge's eyes were evil and his mouth was cruel. His were looking straight at Malcolm. A clock somewhere in the house struck twelve. It was midnight. Slowly the judge stood up and picked up the rope from the floor. He the loft, strong rope in his hands. Slowly he twisted the rope into a noose. He started to walk towards Malcolm.

The   judge   came   slowly   nearer.   Malcolm   moved Suddenly the judge tried to throw the noose Malcom head. Malcolm moved his head to one side. The noose missed Malcolm and the rope fell to the floor.

The judge slowly pulled the rope back. He picked it up. Once again, the noose was in his hands.

Suddenly Malcolm heard a noise. It was the alarm bell on the roof of the house. It was beginning to ring. But it was not ringing loudly. Malcolm looked up. The end of the rope which was hanging from the high ceiling was covered with rats, More and more rats were coming out of a hole in the. They were climbing down the rope. The rats were to help Malcolm. They were trying to make the alarm bell ring. But it was not yet ringing loudly.

The judge heard the alarm bell. His face twisted with anger. He came nearer to Malcolm. His eyes were looking at Malcolm. Malcolm's body felt like ice. He was to unable to move. The judge slowly came up to Malcolm. He put the noose over Malcolm's head and round his neck. He pulled the noose tighter and tighter.

The judge carried Malcolm to the-high backed chair. He stood Malcolm on the chair. Then the judge disappeared. The enormous rat suddenly appeared once again. The rat picked up the end of the rope on the floor. It ran up the wall holding the rope with its teeth. It jumped from the wall to the other end of the rope. The rats on the top end of the rope fled away in terror. They disappeared through the hole in the ceiling.

The enormous rat tied the two ends of the rope together. Then it jumped from the roper into the painting. It disappeared into thecorner of the painting.

The judge appeared once again. He stood beside Malcom. Malcom was now standing on the chair with the noose tightly round his neck. The rope went from Malcom{s neck right up to the ceiling. The judge knocked the chair away from under Malcom´s feet. Malcom´s body swung from the end of the rope. The alarm bell began to ring. It rang louder and louder.

The alarm bell rang out loudly over the small town d Benchurch. The noise woke the people up. They came running to the Judge's House. They knocked loudly on the door. But no one opened it. Then they knocked the dooJ down and went into the house.

They found Malcolm in the dining-room. His body was hanging from the end of the alarm bell rope. A man pointed up at the painting on the wall. It had not been cleaned for many years. For the first time, they were able to see the painting clearly.

'Look,' the man cried. 'It's a painting of the judge.' They all stood and looked at the painting. The judge in the painting was sitting in the big, wooden high-backet chair beside the fire. There was a smile on the judge's face It was an evil smile.

THE

BLACK CAT

BY

EDGAR ALLAN POE

FOR the most wild yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not—and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburden my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified—have tortured—have destroyed me.

Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but horror—to many they will seem less terrible than baroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the commonplace—some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary  succession of very natural causes and effects.

From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was

even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was

indulged by my parents with a great variety of pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and, in my manhood, I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable.

There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love 4 of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.

I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat.

This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent allusion to  the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise.

Not that she was ever serious upon this point—and I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered. Pluto—this was the cat’s name—was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the streets.

Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years, during which my general temperament and character—through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance—had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife. At length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets, of course, were made to feel the change in my disposition. I not only eglected, but illused them. For Pluto, however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when, by accident, or hrough affection, they came in my way. But my disease grew upon me—for what disease is like Alcohol!—and at length even Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently somewhat peevish—even Pluto began to experience the effects of my ill temper.

One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, ginnurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a penknife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.

When reason returned with the morning—when I had slept off the fumes of the night’s debauch—I experienced a sentiment half of horror, half of remorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty; but it was, at best, a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed.

In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. The socket of the lost eye presented, it is true, a frightful appearance, but he no longer appeared to suffer any pain. He went about the house as usual, but, as might be expected, fled in extreme terror at my approach. I had so much of my old heart left, as to be at first grieved by this evident dislike on the part of a creature which had once so loved me. But this feeling soon gave place to irritation. And then came, as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit of PERVERSENESS. Of this spirit philosophy takes no account. Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart—one of the indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments, which give direction to the character of Man. Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a stupid action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such? This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to my final overthrow. It was this unfathomable longing of the soul to vex itself—to offer violence to its own

nature—to do wrong for the wrong’s sake only—that urged me to continue and finally to consummate the injury I had inflicted upon the unoffending brute. One morning, in cold blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and hung it to the limb of a tree;—hung it with the tears streaming from my eyes, and with the bitterest remorse at my heart;—hung it because I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had

given me no reason of offence;—hung it because I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin—a deadly sin that would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it—if such a thing were possible—even beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and Most Terrible God.

On the night of the day on which this most cruel deed was done, I was aroused from sleep by the cry of fire. The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house was blazing. It was with great difficulty that my wife, a servant, and myself, made our escape from the conflagration. The destruction was complete. My entire worldly wealth was swallowed up, and I resigned myself thenceforward to despair.

I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity. But I am detailing a chain of facts—and wish not to leave even a possible link imperfect. On the day succeeding the fire, I visited the ruins. The walls, with one exception, had fallen in. This exception was found in a compartment wall, not very thick, which stood about the middle of the house, and against which had rested the head of my bed. The plastering had here, in great measure, resisted the action of the fire—a fact which I attributed to its having been recently spread. About this wall a dense crowd were collected, and many persons seemed to be examining a particular portion of it with very minute and eager attention. The words “strange!” “singular!” and other similar expressions, excited my curiosity. I  approached and saw, as if graven in bas-relief upon the white surface, the figure of a gigantic cat. The

impression was given with an accuracy truly marvellous.

There was a rope about the animal’s neck.  When I first beheld this apparition—for I could scarcely

regard it as less—my wonder and my terror were extreme. But at length reflection came to my aid. The cat, I remembered, had been hung in a garden adjacent to the house. Upon the alarm of fire, this garden had been immediately filled by the crowd—by some one of whom the animal must have been cut from the tree and thrown, through an open window, into my chamber. This had probably been done with the view of arousing me from sleep. The falling of other walls had compressed the victim of my cruelty into the

substance of the freshly-spread plaster; the lime of which, with the flames, and the ammonia from the carcass, had then accomplished the portraiture as I saw it.

Although I thus readily accounted to my reason, if not altogether to my conscience, for the startling fact just detailed, it did not the less fail to make a deep impression upon my fancy. For months I could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat; and, during this period, there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment that seemed, but was not, remorse. I went so far as to regret the loss of the animal, and to look about me, among the vile haunts which I now habitually frequented, for another pet of the same species, and of somewhat similar appearance, with which to supply its place.

One night as I sat, half stupefied, in a den of more than infamy, my attention was suddenly drawn to some black object, reposing upon the head of one of the immense hogsheads of gin, or of rum, which constituted the chief furniture of the apartment. I had been looking steadily at the top of this hogshead for some minutes, and what now caused me surprise was the fact that I had not sooner perceived the object thereupon. I approached it, and touched it with my hand. It was a black cat—a very large one—fully as large as Pluto, and closely resembling him in every respect but one.

Pluto had not a white hair upon any portion of his body; but this cat had a large, although indefinite splotch of white, covering nearly the whole region of the breast. Upon my touching him, he immediately arose, purred loudly, rubbed against my hand, and appeared delighted with my notice. This, then, was the very creature of which I was in search. I at once offered to purchase it of the landlord; but this person made no claim to it—knew nothing of it—had never seen it before.

I continued my caresses, and, when I prepared to go home, the animal evinced a disposition to accompany me. I permitted it to do so; occasionally stooping and patting it as I proceeded. When it reached the house it domesticated itself at once, and became immediately a great favorite with my wife.

For my own part, I soon found a dislike to it arising within me. This was just the reverse of what I had anticipated; but—I know not how or why it was—its evident fondness for myself rather disgusted and annoyed me. By slow degrees, these feelings of disgust and annoyance rose into the bitterness of hatred. I avoided the creature; a certain sense of shame, and the remembrance of my former deed of cruelty, preventing me from physically abusing it. I did not, for some weeks, strike, or otherwise violently ill use it; but gradually—very gradually—I came to look upon it with unutterable loathing, and to flee silently from its odious presence, as from the breath of a pestilence.

What added, no doubt, to my hatred of the beast, was the discovery, on the morning after I brought it home, that, like Pluto, it also had been deprived of one of its eyes. This circumstance, however, only endeared it to my wife, who, as I have already said, possessed, in a high degree, that humanity of feeling which had once been my distinguishing trait, and the source of many of my simplest and purest pleasures.

With my aversion to this cat, however, its partiality for myself seemed to increase. It followed my footsteps with a pertinacity which it would be difficult to make the reader comprehend. Whenever I sat, it would crouch beneath my chair, or spring upon my knees, covering me with its loathsome caresses. If I arose to walk it would get between my feet and thus nearly throw me down, or, fastening its long and sharp claws in my dress, clamber, in this manner, to my breast. At such times, although I longed to destroy it with  a blow, I was yet withheld from so doing, partly by a memory of my former crime, but chiefly—let me confess it at once—by absolute dread of the beast.

This dread was not exactly a dread of physical evil— and yet I should be at a loss how otherwise to define it. I am almost ashamed to own—yes, even in this felon’s cell, I am almost ashamed to own—that the terror and horror with which the animal inspired me, had been heightened by one of the merest chimeras it would be possible to conceive. My wife had called my attention, more than once, to the character of the mark of white hair, of which I have spoken, and which constituted the sole visible difference between the

strange beast and the one I had destroyed. The reader will remember that this mark, although large, had been originally very indefinite; but, by slow degrees—degrees nearly imperceptible, and which for a long time my reason struggled to reject as fanciful—it had, at length, assumed a rigorous distinctness of outline. It was now the representation of an object that I shudder to name—and for this, above all, I loathed, and dreaded, and would have rid myself of the monster had I dared—it was now, I say, the image of a hideous—of a ghastly thing—of the GALLOWS!— oh, mournful and terrible engine of Horror and of Crime—of Agony and of Death !

And now was I indeed wretched beyond the wretchedness of mere Humanity. And a brute beast—whose fellow I had contemptuously destroyed—a brute beast to work out for me—for me, a man fashioned in the image of the High God—so much of insufferable woe! Alas! Neither by day nor by night knew I the blessing of rest any more! During the former the creature left me no moment alone, and in the latter I started hourly from dreams of unutterable fear to find the hot breath of the thing upon my face, and its vast

weight—an incarnate nightmare that I had no power to shake off—incumbent eternally upon my heart!

Beneath the pressure of torments such as these the feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed. Evil

thoughts became my sole intimates—the darkest and most evil of thoughts. The moodiness of my usual temper increased to hatred of all things and of all mankind; while from the sudden, frequent, and ungovernable outbursts of a fury to which I now blindly abandoned myself, my uncomplaining wife, alas, was the most usual and the most patient of sufferers.

One day she accompanied me, upon some household errand, into the cellar of the old building which our poverty compelled us to inhabit. The cat followed me down the steep stairs, and, nearly throwing me headlong, exasperated me to madness. Uplifting an axe, and forgetting, in my wrath, the childish dread which had hitherto stayed my hand, I aimed a blow at the animal, which, of course, would have proved

instantly fatal had it descended as I wished. But this blow was arrested by the hand of my wife. Goaded by the interference into a rage more than demoniacal, I withdrew my arm from her grasp and buried the axe in her brain. She fell dead upon the spot without a groan.

This hideous murder accomplished, I set myself forthwith, and with entire deliberation, to the task of concealing the body. I knew that I could not remove it from the house, either by day or by night, without the risk of being observed by the neighbors. Many projects entered my mind.

At one period I thought of cutting the corpse into minute fragments, and destroying them by fire. At another, I resolved to dig a grave for it in the floor of the cellar. Again, I deliberated about casting it in the well in the yard—about packing it in a box, as if merchandise, with the usual arrangements, and so getting a porter to take it from the house. Finally I hit upon what I considered a far better expedient than either of these. I determined to wall it up in the cellar, as the monks of the Middle Ages are recorded to have walled up their victims.

For a purpose such as this the cellar was well adapted. Its walls were loosely constructed, and had lately been plastered throughout with a rough plaster, which the dampness of the atmosphere had prevented from hardening.

Moreover, in one of the walls was a projection, caused by a false chimney, or fireplace, that had been filled up and made to resemble the rest of the cellar. I made no doubt that I could readily displace the bricks at this point, insert the corpse, and wall the whole up as before, so that no eye could

detect any thing suspicious.

And in this calculation I was not deceived. By means of a crowbar I easily dislodged the bricks, and, having carefully deposited the body against the inner wall, I propped it in that position, while with little trouble, I re-laid the whole structure as it originally stood. Having procured mortar, sand, and hair, with every possible precaution, I prepared a plaster which could not be distinguished from the old, and with this I very carefully went over the new brickwork.

When I had finished, I felt satisfied that all was right. The wall did not present the slightest appearance of having been disturbed. The rubbish on the floor was picked up with the minutest care. I looked around triumphantly, and said to myself: “Here at least, then, my labor has not been in vain.” My next step was to look for the beast which had been the cause of so much wretchedness; for I had, at length, firmly resolved to put it to death. Had I been able to meet with it at the moment, there could have been no doubt of its

fate; but it appeared that the crafty animal had been alarmed at the violence of my previous anger, and forbore to present itself in my present mood. It is impossible to describe or to agine the deep, the blissful sense of relief which the absence of the detested creature occasioned in my bosom. It did not make its appearance during the night; and thus for one night, at least, since its introduction into the house, I  soundly and tranquilly slept; aye, slept even with the burden of murder upon my soul.

The second and the third day passed, and still my tormentor came not. Once again I breathed as a free man. The monster, in terror, had fled the premises for ever! I should behold it no more! My happiness was supreme! The guilt of my dark deed disturbed me but little. Some few inquiries had been made, but these had been readily answered. Even a search had been instituted—but of course nothing was to be discovered. I looked upon my future felicity as secured.

Upon the fourth day of the assassination, a party of the police came, very unexpectedly, into the house, and proceeded again to make rigorous investigation of the premises. Secure, however, in the inscrutability of my place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment whatever. The officers bade me accompany them in their search. They left no nook or corner unexplored. At length, for the third or fourth time, they descended into the cellar. I quivered not in a muscle. My heart beat calmly as that of one who slumbers in innocence. I walked the cellar from end to end. I folded my arms upon my bosom, and roamed easily to and fro. The police were thoroughly satisfied and prepared to depart. The glee at my heart was too strong to be restrained. I burned to say if but one word, by way of triumph, and to render doubly sure their assurance of my guiltlessness.

“Gentlemen,” I said at last, as the party ascended the steps, “I delight to have allayed your suspicions. I wish you all health and a little more courtesy. By the bye, gentlemen, this—this is a very well-constructed house,” (in the rabid desire to say something easily, I scarcely knew what I uttered at all),—“I may say an excellently well-constructed house.

These walls—are you going, gentlemen?—these walls are solidly put together”; and here, through the mere frenzy of bravado, I rapped heavily with a cane which I held in my hand, upon that very portion of the brickwork behind which stood the corpse of the wife of my bosom.

But may God shield and deliver me from the fangs of the Arch-Fiend! No sooner had the reverberation of my blows sunk into silence, than I was answered by a voice from within the tomb!—by a cry, at first muffled and broken, like the sobbing of a child, and then quickly swelling into one long, loud, and continuous scream, utterly anomalous and inhuman—a howl—a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such as might have arisen only out of hell, conjointly from the throats of the dammed in their agony and of the demons that exult in the damnation.

Of my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swooning, I staggered to the opposite wall. For one instant the party upon the stairs remained motionless, through extremity of terror and awe. In the next a dozen stout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily. The corpse, already greatly decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before the eyes of the spectators. Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder, and whose informing voice had consigned me to the hangman. I had walled the monster up within the tomb.