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Title: The Damned Thing

Author: Ambrose Bierce

Release date: October 24, 2007 [eBook #23172]
Most recently updated: January 24, 2013

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23172

Credits: Produced by David Widger

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAMNED
THING ***

THE DAMNED THING
By Ambrose Bierce

Reprinted by permission. From "In the Midst of Life,"

Copyright, 1898, by G. P. Putnam's Sons

Contents

I
II
II
I
I
V

I
By THE light of a tallow candle, which had been placed on one end of a
rough table, a man was reading something written in a book. It was an old
account book, greatly worn; and the writing was not, apparently, very
legible, for the man sometimes held the page close to the flame of the
candle to get a stronger light upon it. The shadow of the book would then
throw into obscurity a half of the room, darkening a number of faces and
figures; for besides the reader, eight other men were present. Seven of them
sat against the rough log walls, silent and motionless, and, the room being
small, not very far from the table. By extending an arm any one of them
could have touched the eighth man, who lay on the table, face upward,
partly covered by a sheet, his arms at his sides. He was dead.
The man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one spoke; all
seemed to be waiting for something to occur; the dead man only was
without expectation. From the blank darkness outside came in, through the
aperture that served for a window, all the ever unfamiliar noises of night in
the wilderness—the long, nameless note of a distant coyote; the stilly
pulsing thrill of tireless insects in trees; strange cries of night birds, so
different from those of the birds of day; the drone of great blundering
beetles, and all that mysterious chorus of small sounds that seem always to
have been but half heard when they have suddenly ceased, as if conscious
of an indiscretion. But nothing of all this was noted in that company; its
members were not overmuch addicted to idle interest in matters of no
practical importance; that was obvious in every line of their rugged faces—
obvious even in the dim light of the single candle. They were evidently men
of the vicinity—farmers and woodmen.
The person reading was a trifle different; one would have said of him that
he was of the world, worldly, albeit there was that in his attire which
attested a certain fellowship with the organisms of his environment. His
coat would hardly have passed muster in San Francisco: his footgear was
not of urban origin, and the hat that lay by him on the floor (he was the only
one uncovered) was such that if one had considered it as an article of mere
personal adornment he would have missed its meaning. In countenance the

man was rather prepossessing, with just a hint of sternness; though that he
may have assumed or cultivated, as appropriate to one in authority. For he
was a coroner. It was by virtue of his office that he had possession of the
book in which he was reading; it had been found among the dead man's
effects—in his cabin, where the inquest was now taking place.
When the coroner had finished reading he put the book into his breast
pocket. At that moment the door was pushed open and a young man
entered. He, clearly, was not of mountain birth and breeding: he was clad as
those who dwell in cities. His clothing was dusty, however, as from travel.
He had, in fact, been riding hard to attend the inquest.
The coroner nodded; no one else greeted him.
"We have waited for you," said the coroner. "It is necessary to have done
with this business to-night."
The young man smiled. "I am sorry to have kept you," he said. "I went
away, not to evade your summons, but to post to my newspaper an account
of what I suppose I am called back to relate."
The coroner smiled.
"The account that you posted to your newspaper," he said, "differs
probably from that which you will give here under oath."
"That," replied the other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is as you
choose. I used manifold paper and have a copy of what I sent. It was not
written as news, for it is incredible, but as fiction. It may go as a part of my
testimony under oath."
"But you say it is incredible."
"That is nothing to you, sir, if I also swear that it is true."
The coroner was apparently not greatly affected by the young man's
manifest resentment. He was silent for some moments, his eyes upon the
floor. The men about the sides of the cabin talked in whispers, but seldom
withdrew their gaze from the face of the corpse. Presently the coroner lifted
his eyes and said: "We will resume the inquest."
The men removed their hats. The witness was sworn.
"What is your name?" the coroner asked.
"William Harker."
"Age?"

"Twenty-seven."
"You knew the deceased, Hugh Morgan?"
"Yes."
"You were with him when he died?"
"Near him."
"How did that happen—your presence, I mean?"
"I was visiting him at this place to shoot and fish. A part of my purpose,
however, was to study him, and his odd, solitary way of life. He seemed a
good model for a character in fiction. I sometimes write stories."
"I sometimes read them."
"Thank you."
"Stories in general—not yours."
Some of the jurors laughed. Against a sombre background humor shows
high lights. Soldiers in the intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest in the
death chamber conquers by surprise.
"Relate the circumstances of this man's death," said the coroner. "You
may use any notes or memoranda that you please."
The witness understood. Pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket he
held it near the candle, and turning the leaves until he found the passage
that he wanted, began to read.

II
"...The sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We were looking for
quail, each with a shotgun, but we had only one dog. Morgan said that our
best ground was beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, and we crossed
it by a trail through the chaparral. On the other side was comparatively
level ground, thickly covered with wild oats. As we emerged from the
chaparral, Morgan was but a few yards in advance. Suddenly, we heard, at
a little distance to our right, and partly in front, a noise as of some animal
thrashing about in the bushes, which we could see were violently agitated.
"'We've started a deer,' said. 'I wish we had brought a rifle.'
"Morgan, who had stopped and was intently watching the agitated
chaparral, said nothing, but had cocked both barrels of his gun, and was
holding it in readiness to aim. I thought him a trifle excited, which surprised
me, for he had a reputation for exceptional coolness, even in moments of
sudden and imminent peril.
"'O, come!' I said. 'You are not going to fill up a deer with quail-shot, are
you?'
"Still he did not reply; but, catching a sight of his face as he turned it
slightly toward me, I was struck by the pallor of it. Then I understood that
we had serious business on hand, and my first conjecture was that we had
'jumped' a grizzly. I advanced to Morgan's side, cocking my piece as I
moved.
"The bushes were now quiet, and the sounds had ceased, but Morgan was
as attentive to the place as before.
"'What is it? What the devil is it?' I asked.
"'That Damned Thing!' he replied, without turning his head. His voice
was husky and unnatural. He trembled visibly.
"I was about to speak further, when I observed the wild oats near the
place of the disturbance moving in the most inexplicable way. I can hardly
describe it. It seemed as if stirred by a streak of wind, which not only bent
it, but pressed it down—crushed it so that it did not rise, and this movement
was slowly prolonging itself directly toward us.

"Nothing that I had ever seen had affected me so strangely as this
unfamiliar and unaccountable phenomenon, yet I am unable to recall any
sense of fear. I remember—and tell it here because, singularly enough, I
recollected it then—that once, in looking carelessly out of an open window,
I momentarily mistook a small tree close at hand for one of a group of
larger trees at a little distance away. It looked the same size as the others,
but, being more distinctly and sharply defined in mass and detail, seemed
out of harmony with them. It was a mere falsification of the law of aerial
perspective, but it startled, almost terrified me. We so rely upon the orderly
operation of familiar natural laws that any seeming suspension of them is
noted as a menace to our safety, a warning of unthinkable calamity. So now
the apparently causeless movement of the herbage, and the slow,
undeviating approach of the line of disturbance were distinctly disquieting.
My companion appeared actually frightened, and I could hardly credit my
senses when I saw him suddenly throw his gun to his shoulders and fire
both barrels at the agitated grass! Before the smoke of the discharge had
cleared away I heard a loud savage cry—a scream like that of a wild animal
—and, flinging his gun upon the ground, Morgan sprang away and ran
swiftly from the spot. At the same instant I was thrown violently to the
ground by the impact of something unseen in the smoke—some soft, heavy
substance that seemed thrown against me with great force.
"Before I could get upon my feet and recover my gun, which seemed to
have been struck from my hands, I heard Morgan crying out as if in mortal
agony, and mingling with his cries were such hoarse savage sounds as one
hears from fighting dogs. Inexpressibly terrified, I struggled to my feet and
looked in the direction of Morgan's retreat; and may heaven in mercy spare
me from another sight like that! At a distance of less than thirty yards was
my friend, down upon one knee, his head thrown back at a frightful angle,
hatless, his long hair in disorder and his whole body in violent movement
from side to side, backward and forward. His right arm was lifted and
seemed to lack the hand—at least, I could see none. The other arm was
invisible. At times, as my memory now reports this extraordinary scene, I
could discern but a part of his body; it was as if he had been partly blotted
out—I can not otherwise express it—then a shifting of his position would
bring it all into view again.
"All this must have occurred within a few seconds, yet in that time
Morgan assumed all the postures of a determined wrestler vanquished by

superior weight and strength. I saw nothing but him, and him not always
distinctly. During the entire incident his shouts and curses were heard, as if
through an enveloping uproar of such sounds of rage and fury as I had
never heard from the throat of man or brute!
"For a moment only I stood irresolute, then, throwing down my gun, I ran
forward to my friend's assistance. I had a vague belief that he was suffering
from a fit or some form of convulsion. Before I could reach his side he was
down and quiet. All sounds had ceased, but, with a feeling of such terror as
even these awful events had not inspired, I now saw the same mysterious
movement of the wild oats prolonging itself from the trampled area about
the prostrate man toward the edge of a wood. It was only when it had
reached the wood that I was able to withdraw my eyes and look at my
companion. He was dead."

III
The coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man. Lifting an
edge of the sheet he pulled it away, exposing the entire body, altogether
naked and showing in the candle light a clay-like yellow. It had, however,
broad maculations of bluish-black, obviously caused by extravasated blood
from contusions. The chest and sides looked as if they had been beaten with
a bludgeon. There were dreadful lacerations; the skin was torn in strips and
shreds.
The coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silk
handkerchief, which had been passed under the chin and knotted on the top
of the head. When the handkerchief was drawn away it exposed what had
been the throat. Some of the jurors who had risen to get a better view
repented their curiosity, and turned away their faces. Witness Harker went
to the open window and leaned out across the sill, faint and sick. Dropping
the handkerchief upon the dead man's neck, the coroner stepped to an angle
of the room, and from a pile of clothing produced one garment after
another, each of which he held up a moment for inspection. All were torn,
and stiff with blood. The jurors did not make a closer inspection. They
seemed rather uninterested. They had, in truth, seen all this before; the only
thing that was new to them being Harker's testimony.
"Gentlemen," the coroner said, "we have no more evidence, I think. Your
duty has been already explained to you; if there is nothing you wish to ask
you may go outside and consider your verdict."
The foreman rose—a tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely clad.
"I should like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner," he said. "What asylum
did this yer last witness escape from?"
"Mr. Harker," said the coroner, gravely and tranquilly, "from what asylum
did you last escape?"
Harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven jurors rose
and solemnly filed out of the cabin.
"If you have done insulting me, sir," said Harker, as soon as he and the
officer were left alone with the dead man, "I suppose I am at liberty to go?"

"Yes."
Harker started to leave, but paused, with his hand on the door latch. The
habit of his profession was strong in him—stronger than his sense of
personal dignity. He turned about and said:
"The book that you have there—I recognize it as Morgan's diary. You
seemed greatly interested in it; you read in it while I was testifying. May I
see it? The public would like—"
"The book will cut no figure in this matter," replied the official, slipping
it into his coat pocket; "all the entries in it were made before the writer's
death."
As Harker passed out of the house the jury reentered and stood about the
table on which the now covered corpse showed under the sheet with sharp
definition. The foreman seated himself near the candle, produced from his
breast pocket a pencil and scrap of paper, and wrote rather laboriously the
following verdict, which with various degrees of effort all signed:
"We, the jury, do find that the remains come to their death at the hands of
a mountain lion, but some of us thinks, all the same, they had fits."

IV
In the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are certain interesting entries
having, possibly, a scientific value as suggestions. At the inquest upon his
body the book was not put in evidence; possibly the coroner thought it not
worth while to confuse the jury. The date of the first of the entries
mentioned can not be ascertained; the upper part of the leaf is torn away;
the part of the entry remaining is as follows:
"... would run in a half circle, keeping his head turned always toward the
centre and again he would stand still, barking furiously. At last he ran away
into the brush as fast as he could go. I thought at first that he had gone mad,
but on returning to the house found no other alteration in his manner than
what was obviously due to fear of punishment.
"Can a dog see with his nose? Do odors impress some olfactory centre
with images of the thing emitting them? . . .
"Sept 2.—Looking at the stars last night as they rose above the crest of
the ridge east of the house, I observed them successively disappear—from
left to right. Each was eclipsed but an instant, and only a few at the same
time, but along the entire length of the ridge all that were within a degree or
two of the crest were blotted out. It was as if something had passed along
between me and them; but I could not see it, and the stars were not thick
enough to define its outline. Ugh! I don't like this. . . ."
Several weeks' entries are missing, three leaves being torn from the book.
"Sept. 27.—It has been about here again—I find evidences of its
presence every day. I watched again all of last night in the same cover, gun
in hand, double-charged with buckshot. In the morning the fresh footprints
were there, as before. Yet I would have sworn that I did not sleep—indeed, I
hardly sleep at all. It is terrible, insupportable! If these amazing experiences
are real I shall go mad; if they are fanciful I am mad already.
"Oct. 3.—I shall not go—it shall not drive me away. No, this is my house,
my land. God hates a coward....
"Oct. 5.—I can stand it no longer; I have invited Harker to pass a few
weeks with me—he has a level head. I can judge from his manner if he

thinks me mad.
"Oct. 7.—I have the solution of the problem; it came to me last night—
suddenly, as by revelation. How simple—how terribly simple!
"There are sounds that we can not hear. At either end of the scale are
notes that stir no chord of that imperfect instrument, the human ear. They
are too high or too grave. I have observed a flock of blackbirds occupying
an entire treetop—the tops of several trees—and all in full song. Suddenly
—in a moment—at absolutely the same instant—all spring into the air and
fly away. How? They could not all see one another—whole treetops
intervened. At no point could a leader have been visible to all. There must
have been a signal of warning or command, high and shrill above the din,
but by me unheard. I have observed, too, the same simultaneous flight when
all were silent, among not only blackbirds, but other birds—quail, for
example, widely separated by bushes—even on opposite sides of a hill.
"It is known to seamen that a school of whales basking or sporting on the
surface of the ocean, miles apart, with the convexity of the earth between
them, will sometimes dive at the same instant—all gone out of sight in a
moment. The signal has been sounded—too grave for the ear of the sailor at
the masthead and his comrades on the deck—who nevertheless feel its
vibrations in the ship as the stones of a cathedral are stirred by the bass of
the organ.
"As with sounds, so with colors. At each end of the solar spectrum the
chemist can detect the presence of what are known as 'actinic' rays. They
represent colors—integral colors in the composition of light—which we are
unable to discern. The human eye is an imperfect instrument; its range is
but a few octaves of the real 'chromatic scale' I am not mad; there are colors
that we can not see.
"And, God help me! the Damned Thing is of such a color!"

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