The Upstairs Room | Part 3

The Upstairs Room | Part 1
The Upstairs Room | Part 2
Their fearful ratemade the danger inescapable, as if the house itself would collapseupon him. The footsteps, which remained eerily soft even as they grew near, came directly to his room and the door was thrown open with a terrible force. Absalom cried out, a squall of bewilderment and horror, and he flung himself backwards as a figure, white and blurred, sped into the room and presented its face, unformed and featureless, to that of the terrified man. In doing so it lowered its jaw, opening a cavernous hole in the middle of the face, one that might have passed for a mouth of some description, but was more accurately observed as a gaping crimson wound; and from this hideous aperture issued a long, echoing howl of anger that grasped the very heart within Absalom and shook it, pummelled it, tore at it.
Absalom felt the pain but it was not so severe that it could surmount his panic. He grabbed at the sheets and raised them above his head, turned his face away, kicked at the shapeless form with his legs, floundering like a man in a turbulent sea. Weeping, he thrust the sheets away from him so that they enveloped the monstrosity, and threw himself onto the floor. Seeking the most traditional solace he reached for the light, fumbled desperately for the switch. The dark was expelled, the silence returned, and Absalom looked at his bed to seethe bundled, sodden sheets in their disarray.
There is nothing more to tell of the house, for Absalom did not wait any longer. He dressed in the clothes that were to hand, grabbed only those valuables that lay within reach, and left the house at once. He checked into a hotel on the sea front where he spent a sleepless but undisturbed night, and the next day informed the letting agent that he too would be cancelling his arrangement on the house and forfeiting his payment. It need hardly be said that the agent, surprised though he was at the repeated turn of events, began to see the property as a highly productive asset.
I saw Absalom about a week later and remarked on the fact that he looked pale and seemed restless. Naturally he did not go into any detail, but explained that he had not been sleeping well and that the arrangements with his house were proving to be more inconvenient than he had expected. As it happened, my wife and I were planning to travel and so I offered him the use of our house for the duration. It was a pleasant, detached property, 18 th centuryin origin and tastefully renovated so that its historic features were not compromised by any modern necessities. It was quiet; he could have the runof the place; it seemed a perfect situation for him.
Absalom seemed genuinely grateful for the offer and moved in a couple of days later, once we had left for Italy. Everything seemed to go well; he settled in, took his time to getto know the house and the village, explored the countryside; so he was thoroughly refreshed before he sat down to work. By the fifth evening he was sleeping well, happier in his mind, and while heremained unable to explain the events that had occurred, he was at least able to come to terms with them.
As he prepared to go to bed thatnight he was minded to fetch something from his jacket, though later he could not recollect what this might have been, for the intention seemed not to have been provoked by any thought of his own; and as he searched the pocket he felt something that he had not expected to find. Placing his hand inside he withdrew the same key that he had seen on two previous occasions; firstly, in one of the upstairs rooms of that despicable house, and secondly in the drawer of the desk, even though it was not possible for it to have moved there. The same impossibility presented itself to him now. Thekey, he knew, had been left behind. It was inconceivable that he would have picked it up. Furthermore, he had worn the jacket and felt in its pockets on several occasions since moving into our house, and knew for certain that it had not been there. And yet here it was, once again lying on the palm of his nervous hand.
He retired to bed and waited. There were no sounds from within the house, and he had not expected any. The presence did not live there. It lived elsewhere and it would have to travel. Absalom knew that it would not take long, for he knew the furious pace at which it moved, and it was with a weary acceptance that he turned his head to the window and heard, faintly in the distance, the sound of running footsteps coming along the lane;and though they did not becomeloud, it was with an unwaveringcertainty that he understood them to be coming nearer, as they moved at an alarming and astonishing speed towards him.
*
I first wrote this story some years ago, not with the intention of having it published, but only so that I could document what seemed to be a singular chain of events that hadno equal in my experience. While the manuscript was principally for my own benefit, occasionally allowed it to be shown to close friends, usually at tipsy dinner parties when the subject of conversation would stray onto matters of a curious nature.
Those few people who read the account all remarked upon the fact that the story is apparently unfinished. It stands to reason that Absalom must have spoken to me after the strange encounter at my own house, elsehow did I know that he had once again heard the footsteps? For that matter, how had I learned of the strange events that preceded it? The simple answer might be that the story ends as it does in the interest of literary style; an effort to avoid what otherwise might be an anti-climax. At least one reader, though, posed the more intriguing alternative: Are Absalom and I the same person?
As a matter of mischief I refusedto answer this question for a long time, but am now moved todeclare the truth, for I regret to see Absalom’s obituary in this morning’s newspapers. In stating this I realise that I am removing his anonymity, but there is no threat to his reputation now and it seems unnecessary to keep up the pretence. Nevertheless, for the sake of consistency I shall call him by the same name for the short remainder of this account and say that Absalom died of natural causes on the remote Scottish island to which he had moved many years ago. There, now you know all. It was he that was Absalom. The press had speculated on his sudden withdrawal from public life; now it would seem appropriate to consider that he had chosen to live in a place where he was surrounded by water, and where no footsteps could cross.