Literary Recreations, Number I [pp. 628-640]

Literary Recreations. [SEPTEMBER,
The appearance of the heavens had during the day prog- p
nosticated a November storm, which commenced in the t
evening. Ragged clouds came flying and boiling through i
the welkin, leaving crevices here and there through which K
the moonlight struggled for admission to the earth, and mot- h
tied the dark clouds with streaks and patches of silver. h
The family had collected in the stove-room with hearts and p
faces somewhat gloomy, from the portentous aspect of the t
out-door world. When they had seated themselves at the hl
supper-table, the increased uproar of the elements caused t
divers remarks of a saddening character. Winkelman, Il
whose extensive and multifarious reading furnished him i
with abundant materials, had often amused the family on
these occasions with stories and anecdotes, selected on this f
evening a harrowing tale of shipwreck, piracy and murder, e
which seized so strongly upon the imaginations of his audi- d
tors, that every sudden noise startled them. They had not f
risen from the table, when a loud report like that of a gun d
was heard in the kitchen chimney; followed instantly by a
cloud of soot and ashes which soon filled the room. A dozen n
shrieks were uttered at once by the women and children; t
and every soul sprang at the same timne for the stove-room: i
old Stopel bellowing out- X
"Blitz and donner! There he comes, sure enough!" i
They had scarcely reached the stove-room, before a se- r
cond explosion was heard in the same chimney. Unfortu- g
nately the lamp was on the supper-table in the kitchen, 1
which was now more densely filled with smoke, soot, and f
ashes. Winkelman had gone up to his room, and no one c
except Katrina would venture to fetch the lamp. She re-
turned to the kitchen, but all was dark there; and she was p
unable to find the lanip which had been somehow extin- s
guished. While they were all huddled together in the dark
stove-room, a succession of loud reports was heard in divers
parts of the house. One seemed to come from the cellar d
under the kitchen-another from the kitchen-loft-a third r
from the garret of the house-a fourth from the closet under s
the stairs-and several more from other places. t
Before these alarming sounds had ceased, a tempestuous s
wind accompanied with rain, began to sing about the eaves
of the house, as November winds are wont to do. But this 1
usual song of the winds was now accompanied by music so i
extraordinary, that the excited minds of the household plau- i
sibly conceived it to be supernatural. Before the blast of,
wind grew violent, a plaintive note, varying every second, 1
came nobody could tell whence: when a sudden gust of c
wind struck the house, this note of lamentation instantly,
changed to a shrill scream. This was immediately joined
by another scream on a sharper key, and apparently in a a
different quarter: then a third and fourth; presently several j
others struck in, as if the air about the house was filled
with shrieking ghosts. As the fitful gusts of wind varied.,
so did these unearthly sounds; when the storm lulled a
moment, they softened down to notes as sweetly musical, e
as a concert of melting voices in a dirge: but when the I
storm raged again, they instantly changed to the shrillest s
screams of agonizing terror.
While the family stood shuddering, and some of them
screaming in concert with the storm-spirits, Winkelman o
came down with his large lantern-for the house was so
full of wind, that a common light might have been blown out
on the stairs. This lantern was close, having only a glassdoor to let the light issue; and this was now so nearly covered up by a metal-door fitting over it, that it shed but a
faint glimmer through the room.
"Who are they that scream so about the house," said
Winkelman: "I never heard such screams; what is the
matter?"
Becky Feuerbuch, a superstitious old mnaid, had been
looking through a window into the tempestuous atmosphere,
and had her answer ready for Winkelman's question. She
pronounced in accents of terror, that the storm had raised
he ghosts out of the grave-yard, and th at she saw them fly -
ng about the house and scream ing in the wind. Josh
Krebs then looked through the opposite window next to the
high-road, but soon drew back in a great fright, saying that
he saw murder going on in the road, and that the screams
proceeded from the ghosts of the murdered, which were
aking refuge in the house. He was in earnest; for he took
his lantern, lighted its candle, and retreated to the barn on
he opposite side from the murder-stained road. Thus he
hoped to avoid the ghosts. Katrina followed him into the
itchen; and finding the lamp on the table, kindled it: but
bhen she brought it into the stove-room it increased the
fright of the family; for it burnt with a dull blue flame and
emitted a strong odor of brimstone-a sure sign that the
devil was in the house. But even this sort of light was afforded but a few minutes, for it gradually faded into utter
darkness.
No sooner were they left in the dark again, by Winkelmain's return to his room and the dying out of the lamp,
tban a voice issued apparently from the wall of the room,
n tones as loud and deep as thunder. Even the piping
wind and shrieking ghosts seemed to hush at the sound.
At first it was like the continued roar of a lion in the midnight forests of Africa. Presently it began to assume a degree of distinctness; in a few seconds more, the ears of the
isteners thought the changing volumes of sound began to
form themselves into words, and that the same words were
often repeated. As they grew more distinct, the word
Stophel was first recognized; then the complete name, Stophel Seidenstricker; finally, Stophel himself, who had been
sitting in mulish sullenness on his chair, had his listening
ear impressively filled with the words "Stophel Seidenstricker sign the paper; Stophel Sei:lenstricker sign the paper:" and winding up, after seven
repetitions, with the awful annunciation-," If you don't
sign the paper, I will carry you off to-night and put you into
the fire-pit." Then the voice ceased, and the wind and the
shrieks resumed their violence.
Winkelman came in, a moment afterwards, bearing his
lantern closed as before. After asking who had been shouiting with such a terrific voice, and how they came to be all
in the dark again, he set his lantern upon a shelf on one
side of the room, opening the door of it, so as to let the
light shine over the company. They were startled by the
dazzling brilliancy of the light, and by the singular impression that it made on the eye. It was a strange sort of light,
and most unaccountably strange was its effect. The dazzling effulgence of the lantern was reflected from every ot)ject in the room, in one uniform bright yellow. No other
color was seen. All things were yellow, frightfully yellow.
Every face shone with a cadaverous, and more than a cadaverous yellow. Clothes of every hue had changed into a
yellow, brighter than saffron dye. The black stove was yellow; the dingy white wall was yellow. Stophel junior's
sky-blue linsey coat was yellow; Becky Feuerbuch's flaming red handkerchief was yellow; the green coat of Winkelman; the brown coat of Stophel; the maniy-striped gown
of Molly —all were yellow, yellow as hickory leaves in October. Dismay filled almost every heart ill a moment;
Becky, and half a dozen others, uttered a scream.
"What is the matter?" asked Winkelman, who had his
face towards the window and seemed not to have noticed
the phenomenon.
" He-i-i-ih I" screamed Becky again: "tGracious me!
Don't you see that wve are all dead corpses? Hei-i-ih!"
Stophel looked at Molly: Molly's naturally red face was
now so yellow, that never was pumpkin yellower. Molly
looked at Stophel; Stophel's brown knotty visage —eyes,
hair, teeth, tongue, (for his mouth and eyes were both w ide
open,) were more than ochry, more than carroty yellow.
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