Something About Spiders E-Book

John S. Glasby

• Herausgeber: Black Cat Weekly
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 69

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Ellen Grossen thought she could handle the solitude of the isolated mansion, even with her sickly husband Andrew's bizarre tales about spiders and souls. But when Andrew's lawyer, Brander, warned her about staying alone, Ellen dismissed his concerns. As a storm raged outside, an eerie tension filled the house, and Ellen began to sense something watching her. The discovery of Andrew's obsession with spider cults and his belief in the transmigration of souls left Ellen teetering on the edge of fear and disbelief. Now, with Andrew's death, the spiders are closing in, and Ellen must confront a horrifying reality...

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

SOMETHING ABOUT SPIDERS by John S. Glasby

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 1961, 2012 by John S. Glasby.

Originally published in Supernatural Stories No. 45 (1961).

Reprinted by permission of the author and the author’s agent,Cosmos Literary Agency (U.K.)

Published by Black Cat Weekly.

blackcatweekly.com

SOMETHING ABOUT SPIDERSby John S. Glasby

Shadows. And in the shadows, something which moved and had shape. The spider came out into the open, poised on the edge of the rail which angled into the corner of the room. Here, where the shadows lay thick and huge, it balanced delicately for long moments, eyes staring, unwinkingly, into the room. Then it lowered itself gently from the rail on the end of a slender, almost invisible, strand of silk, hung swaying on the end, moving back and forth as the draught caught it…

* * * *

“I still think you’re being extremely foolish, Mrs. Grossen.” Brander downed the rest of his drink and placed a glass on the table, beside the ring of moisture which it had made a few moments before. “Living in this huge house alone—with him.”

Ellen Grossen looked up. “You speak as though he were already dead,” she said sharply. She was a slender young woman a little over thirty, whose good looks were overshadowed by something else, by some, quality—an air of authority. A woman who knew her own mind and who was not afraid to stick by her decisions. Now she sat straight and tall in her chair and waited for the other to continue, faintly amused, but not offended.

“I know he isn’t dead, Ellen. But at least, get someone here to stay with you. It isn’t right, that you should be alone here. Good Lord, the nearest house is more than three miles away and the nearest village more than twice the distance. And in weather like this, you couldn’t get help if anything did happen.”

“What do you think will happen?” She eyed him shrewdly. “If Andrew becomes worse I can always phone for Doctor Wembridge. He could get here in less than twenty minutes.”

“Perhaps,” admitted the other doubtfully. “But I was not thinking of that entirely.”

She sipped her drink slowly while the thunder roared and rolled like an insane animal outside. There was an occasional flicker of lightning, visible even through the heavy curtains which had been drawn across the windows more than an hour earlier. The storm had blown up suddenly, bringing the short afternoon to an abrupt close, so that the night seemed to follow so closely on the heels of the swiftly fading daylight that there was not even the usual short wintry dusk.

“You’re thinking of those ridiculous stories which have been going around the countryside. Surely you know there isn’t a word of truth in them. Andrew started them himself.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Of course. You have been his lawyer for the past fifteen years, Charles. You ought to know the way he acts as well as I do. If you want my opinion, he’s lying up there in that confounded room, in the pitch darkness, listening to the storm raging outside, loving every minute of it, and laughing at us down here, knowing that we’re talking about him, knowing that he’s got us just where he wants us.”

Brander looked at her for a long moment, shocked by her words. He hesitated for a moment, then pushed his glass forward. “I think I will take that other drink,” he said shortly, and got to his feet. He poured himself an extra large whiskey, brought it back with him and sat a little closer to the fire blazing in the hearth, as if he had been seized by a sudden chill.

Grossen laughed a little shrilly. “I know what you’re thinking, Charles. That the solitude here has made me a little mad. But you’re wrong. Actually, what it has done, is to make me see things a little more clearly than I ever did before.”

Brander thrust more tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, struck a match and inhaled deeply. He flicked the spent match into the fire before speaking “why don’t you let me have a heart-to-heart talk with him. Even in his present condition, I think I could persuade him to alter that ridiculous clause in the will. Even if I can’t, I’m positive it would never stand up in a court of law. No man in his right mind would insist that his wife should remain in a house like this, with no servants, until he died. They would state immediately that such a condition was the outcome of a disturbed mind.”

“You don’t honestly believe that, do you? No—” she added swiftly, as he made to open his mouth and protest, “—and besides, I’ve quite made up my mind. I’m not afraid to stay here. He didn’t frighten me with his old tales, with all that superstitious nonsense he used to talk.” She leaned forward and flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette into the tray. “When a man has been engaged in such bizarre work as Andrew for the best part of thirty-five years, it’s bound to have some effect on him. He even actually believes half of these vague tales he used to tell.”

The other leaned back in his chair and studied his drink for several months, before saying: “How long had you known Andrew before you married him, Ellen?”

“Almost a year—why?”

“Just curious. The great difference in your ages. He’s almost sixty-four and you’re not yet thirty-one.”

Grossen’s mouth tightened stubbornly. “I don’t know what it is you’re getting at Charles but I don’t like it.”

“Just my legal mind working overtime.” The other laughed easily. “I was only trying to establish some facts. I’ve known Andrew a good deal longer than you have. We were at university together over thirty years ago. In spite of my present position, he was always the brilliant one. Too brilliant, I think. He used to delve into things which were possibly best left alone.”

“I know what you’re getting at—but you’re wrong. Completely wrong.”

Brander smiled, a little sadly. “No, Ellen,” he said firmly, almost reprovingly. “You’re the one who’s wrong. I only wish I could make you see how wrong you really are.”

“You believe that there is some truth in those odd ideas he used to have?”

“I’m not sure. I only know that it isn’t wise for you to remain in this house alone with him.” Brander deliberately made his voice emphatic.

“Nonsense. I’ve nursed him for the past seven months and the end can’t be long delayed. Besides, do you expect me to throw away the best part of half a million pounds, just because you think it’s dangerous for me to stay here for another few days. He can’t last longer than that and then, just you watch me live!”

A peal of thunder, louder than the others, crashed against the sky outside, seeming to tear a huge rent in the heavens.

Brander shivered and sat close to the blazing fire. He looked shocked by what the other had said, although deep down inside, he realised that he must have known this had been coming for several years now. Andrew had been away from home for long periods, roaming the world for the weird and bizarre, leaving his young and beautiful wife to pine here, in this vast, rambling house. No woman, in her right mind, would stick with a man like that for nothing.

“So it’s the money you’re after, Ellen?” He half smiled. “You know, I never thought you were such a scheming woman.”

“Do I shock you?” she asked archly, raising her delicately pencilled brows.

“Not really. I suppose I’ve known this for quite a long time now. It makes sense, I suppose. After all, half a million pounds is enough to make many men commit murder; so it makes sense that you would want to carry out his last wishes about staying here alone.”

The clock in the hall outside struck a mournful seven o’clock, the deep, sepulchral tones chasing each other along the dark, shadowed corridor. Brander felt a tiny shiver run through him and the muscles of his face seemed suddenly cold and stiff. A log crackled in the wide hearth and a shower of red sparks cascaded up the chimney and out into the night.

“Is anything wrong?” asked Grossen. “You look white and strange, almost as though you’ve seen a ghost.”