Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, 1883-03-08


and gone. My father had reached the allotted
span of life. I, too, was gray-haired man.
And now our preparations were complete, save
the one allimportant ingredient of human
blood!
And then it was first that the face appeared,
and began its accursed whisperings and NUT
terings close to my ear. 1t said:
"You are close to success. Human blood is
all that is needed. Your father is an old man.
He cannot live more than few years at the
most. None will know of his death; it is
years since he has been seen abroad. Even
now he is absorbed in a calculation. Strike!
strike! and gold and glory and fame are yours,
and yours alone"
Horri6ed, I stopped my ears and shrieked
aloud in my agony.
The face disappeared, and the hateful voice
was still.
My father finished his calculation, and came
from his laboratory despondent. He told me
that blood was all that was necessary; that our
preparations were complete save that. He
sought his room with heavy step.
Instantly the face appeared. And ah, what
a face! l cannot describe it. Like the head
of Satyr, with the harsh, discordant voice of
a Devil. Always pitched in low key, it re-
peated its arguments. Fame, wealth, power,
and now it added the inducement of love. The
love of beautiful women should be mine.
And all for one blow with knife. A catch
ing OF the red torrent in philtre, and then
success-success beyond my widest hopes and
dreams.
Impelled by the voice, I unconsciously found
myself at the door of my fathers room. A red
mist seemed to come over my eyes. | heard
the voice saying:
"Gold, love, power"
remember striking violently with something
I had in my hand. Then have dim recollec-
ton of kneeling at the side of the sofa, beside my
fathers form strange that he did not move or
utter cry) and holding a vial to catch the
blood that was gushing from his side.
1t was done!
| ran back into the laboratory, my hands
reeking with the blood of my murdered father.
Yet l was but intent upon making the final test.
| was about to pour the contents of the vial
into the cauldron, when the face appeared
The voice again made itself heard. But oh,
how different its tone! Now in menacing
accents, it cried:
"Murderer, murderer"
A great fear seized me. For the first time l
realized my crime. l dropped the vial. 1t
broke, and the sickening smell of warm blood
smote my soul, and SO fled from the house like
a madman. And the voice pursued me, Shrek
ing, "Murderer! murderer" Whichever way
| turned, the face was in front of me.
Day dawned, and found me far from the
house. Still the voice and face were my con-
slant companions-now threatening me with
instant death, now gloating over my agony, and
me long continuance of it.
AT nightfall l found myself again at the
house. What led me there know not.
Strange, there were people there. lhere
stood the magistrate Of the town, consulting
over my fathers body. Something impelled
me to call out:
81 am the murderer; did it. Ha! hal"
1t seems like dream-my arrest-my being
lodged here in the Jail. And the face and voice
are always with me. AS mortal time passes. 7
am told have been here for three mont, );
that have been i'll; that am now dying. 1t
seems an eternity.
The face has never left me. Often have l
tried to strangle ito stop the accursed voice
that has never ceased 70 cry, "Murderer par
ricide!" and to paint the tortures of the
damned to me.
am getting weaker; my life is drawing to
a close. Oh, for oblivion! for rest from my
fate! l defy your gibbering voice. I defy
your distorted face. In death defy you.