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

Late in the afternoon of the next day three men and a boy approached the Breede house from that point of the compass toward which the boy had fled the preceding night.  The men were in high spirits; they talked very loudly and laughed.  They made facetious and good-humored ironical remarks to the boy about his adventure, which evidently they did not believe in.  The boy accepted their raillery with seriousness, making no reply.  He had a sense of the fitness of things and knew that one who professes to have seen a dead man rise from his seat and blow out a candle is not a credible witness.

Arriving at the house and finding the door unlocked, the party of investigators entered without ceremony.  Leading out of the passage into which this door opened was another on the right and one on the left.  They entered the room on the left—­the one which had the blank front window.  Here was the dead body of a man.

It lay partly on one side, with the forearm beneath it, the cheek on the floor.  The eyes were wide open; the stare was not an agreeable thing to encounter.  The lower jaw had fallen; a little pool of saliva had collected beneath the mouth.  An overthrown table, a partly burned candle, a chair and some paper with writing on it were all else that the room contained.  The men looked at the body, touching the face in turn.  The boy gravely stood at the head, assuming a look of ownership.  It was the proudest moment of his life.  One of the men said to him, “You’re a good ’un”—­a remark which was received by the two others with nods of acquiescence.  It was Scepticism apologizing to Truth.  Then one of the men took from the floor the sheet of manuscript and stepped to the window, for already the evening shadows were glooming the forest.  The song of the whip-poor-will was heard in the distance and a monstrous beetle sped by the window on roaring wings and thundered away out of hearing.  The man read: