The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce — Volume 2: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians

In extinguishing his meagre allowance of candle Mr. Jarette’s object was to preserve it against some unforeseen need.  He may have thought, too, or half thought, that the darkness would be no worse at one time than another, and if the situation became insupportable it would be better to have a means of relief, or even release.  At any rate it was wise to have a little reserve of light, even if only to enable him to look at his watch.

No sooner had he blown out the candle and set it on the floor at his side than he settled himself comfortably in the arm-chair, leaned back and closed his eyes, hoping and expecting to sleep.  In this he was disappointed; he had never in his life felt less sleepy, and in a few minutes he gave up the attempt.  But what could he do?  He could not go groping about in absolute darkness at the risk of bruising himself—­at the risk, too, of blundering against the table and rudely disturbing the dead.  We all recognize their right to lie at rest, with immunity from all that is harsh and violent.  Jarette almost succeeded in making himself believe that considerations of this kind restrained him from risking the collision and fixed him to the chair.

While thinking of this matter he fancied that he heard a faint sound in the direction of the table—­what kind of sound he could hardly have explained.  He did not turn his head.  Why should he—­in the darkness?  But he listened—­why should he not?  And listening he grew giddy and grasped the arms of the chair for support.  There was a strange ringing in his ears; his head seemed bursting; his chest was oppressed by the constriction of his clothing.  He wondered why it was so, and whether these were symptoms of fear.  Then, with a long and strong expiration, his chest appeared to collapse, and with the great gasp with which he refilled his exhausted lungs the vertigo left him and he knew that so intently had he listened that he had held his breath almost to suffocation.  The revelation was vexatious; he arose, pushed away the chair with his foot and strode to the centre of the room.  But one does not stride far in darkness; he began to grope, and finding the wall followed it to an angle, turned, followed it past the two windows and there in another corner came into violent contact with the reading-stand, overturning it.  It made a clatter that startled him.  He was annoyed.  “How the devil could I have forgotten where it was?” he muttered, and groped his way along the third wall to the fireplace.  “I must put things to rights,” said he, feeling the floor for the candle.

Having recovered that, he lighted it and instantly turned his eyes to the table, where, naturally, nothing had undergone any change.  The reading-stand lay unobserved upon the floor:  he had forgotten to “put it to rights.”  He looked all about the room, dispersing the deeper shadows by movements of the candle in his hand, and crossing over to the door tested it by turning and pulling the knob with all his strength.  It did not yield and this seemed to afford him a certain satisfaction; indeed, he secured it more firmly by a bolt which he had not before observed.  Returning to his chair, he looked at his watch; it was half-past nine.  With a start of surprise he held the watch at his ear.  It had not stopped.  The candle was now visibly shorter.  He again extinguished it, placing it on the floor at his side as before.

Mr. Jarette was not at his ease; he was distinctly dissatisfied with his surroundings, and with himself for being so.  “What have I to fear?” he thought.  “This is ridiculous and disgraceful; I will not be so great a fool.”  But courage does not come of saying, “I will be courageous,” nor of recognizing its appropriateness to the occasion.  The more Jarette condemned himself, the more reason he gave himself for condemnation; the greater the number of variations which he played upon the simple theme of the harmlessness of the dead, the more insupportable grew the discord of his emotions.  “What!” he cried aloud in the anguish of his spirit, “what! shall I, who have not a shade of superstition in my nature—­I, who have no belief in immortality—­I, who know (and never more clearly than now) that the after-life is the dream of a desire—­shall I lose at once my bet, my honor and my self-respect, perhaps my reason, because certain savage ancestors dwelling in caves and burrows conceived the monstrous notion that the dead walk by night?—­that—­” Distinctly, unmistakably, Mr. Jarette heard behind him a light, soft sound of footfalls, deliberate, regular, successively nearer!