Creeps by Night: Chills and Thrills

And now I am not going to look up any more. I am going to stay here and look only at this sheet of paper. For I know now what she would do if I looked up again — now in the sixth hour of the next to the last day of the week. If I see her, I shall have to do her bidding... I shall have to...

I shall refuse to look at her.

But I am suddenly laughing — loudly. No, I’m not laughing — it is something laughing within me. I know why, too: it’s because of this “I will not...”

I don’t want to, and yet I know certainly that I must. I must look at her... must, must do it... and then — the rest.

I am only waiting to stretch out the torment. Yes, that is it... For these breathless sufferings are my most rapturous transports. I am writing... quickly, quickly, so that I can remain sitting here longer... in order to stretch out these seconds of torture, which carry the ecstasy of love into infinity...

More... longer...

Again this fear, again! I know that I shall look at her, that I shall get up, that I shall hang myself. But it isn’t that that I fear. Oh, no — that is sweet, that is beautiful.

But there is something else... something else associated with it — something that will happen afterward. I don’t know what it will be — but it is coming, it is certainly coming, certainly... certainly. For the joy of my torments is so infinitely great — oh, I feel it is so great that something terrible must follow it.

Only I must not think...

Let me write something, anything, no matter what. Only quickly, without thinking...

My name — Richard Bracquemont, Richard Bracquemont, Richard — oh, I can’t go any farther — Richard Bracquemont — Richard Bracquemont — now — now — I must look at her... Richard Bracquemont — I must... no... no, more — more... Richard... Richard Bracque—

The Commissioner of the IXth Ward, after failing repeatedly to get a reply to his telephone calls, came to the Hotel Stevens at five minutes after six. In Room No. 7 he found the body of the student Richard Bracquemont hanging from the window-sash, in exactly the same position as that of his three predecessors.

Only his face had a different expression; it was distorted in a horrible fear, and his eyes, wide open, seemed to be pushing themselves out of their sockets. His lips were drawn apart, but his powerful teeth were firmly and desperately clenched.

And glued between them, bitten and crushed to pieces, there was a large black spider, with curious purple dots.

On the table lay the medical student’s diary. The Commissioner read it and went immediately to the house across the street. There he discovered that the second apartment had been vacant and unoccupied for months and months...

Breakdown by L. A. G. Strong

I

He had planned it all exactly. Muriel was going up to town on the 1:52, and he was supposed to be going with her. They were to be independent of each other till half past four, when he was to meet her for tea at the Chadwickes’; and they were coming home by the 6:05.

He told Muriel to start for the station ahead of him, as he might be kept late at the office. It was a necessary part of the plan that he should not arrive on the platform till a minute or so before the train started. He had taken his ticket beforehand, at the office in the town where they knew him well, and where they entered up the number of each ticket in a ledger.

The train was in when he reached the incline leading up to the station, and the big engine, shining in the sunlight, let off important clouds of steam and uttered every now and again a raucous, sustained snort. Maurice pulled his hat over his forehead, took a platform ticket, and hurried through the barrier.

As he expected, Muriel was in the very front of the train. She gave him the inexpressive smile which she kept for public occasions. “I’ve kept a seat for you,” she said, with a hint of emphasis in her even tones, suggesting that the keeping had caused some resentment to the other occupants of the compartment. She would get her own way; but she was perhaps just as glad that he had turned up to prove that she was keeping the seat legitimately.

“Thanks.” He stood fumbling at the pockets of his overcoat, which was hanging open. Then he looked up at her with a well-feigned dismay. “Oh, Lord, I’ve nothing to read. I must get a magazine. I’ve just time.”

“Maurice — surely? The train’s just off.”

“That’s all right. I’ll get in farther down.” And he ran down the platform without waiting for further argument. General Waiting Room — this would do. He dived in, huddling down into his coat, and a minute later had the satisfaction of seeing the train slide past the yellow windows. Almost at once a little crowded local came bustling in, and it was easy to join the crowd and give up his platform ticket at the barrier; the collector was too busy to do anything but watch the hands that offered him tickets.