The Haunting of Toby Jugg Read Online Free PDF

bird, as it is not the right shape, and its movementsare unlike those that either would make. Yet something does. Something that comes out of the night and climbs up on to my window-sill, so that its dark bulk is silhouetted by the moon.
    Owing to the comparative narrowness of the band of light I can never see the whole shadow at one time; but it seems to be thrown by a large ball-like body with a number of waving limbs. To be honest, I have come to the conclusion that it is an octopus.
    I know it must sound as if I am a raving lunatic, to say that I believe an octopus is trying to get in at my window; but there it is. Unless I tell the truth to myself the whole point of keeping this journal is lost, and to continue it would be futile. As, too, I have never even seen the Thing itself, it must appear as if I am a pretty wet type to allow myself to be frightened by a shadow, however inexplicable its presence where no shadow should be, and however sinister its form and movements; but that is very far from being the worst part of the business.
    The terrifying thing is, that the brute is not only haunting but hunting me. It moves up and down, up and down, in stealthy little runs, floundering from one window-sill to another and back again. And I
know
that in a blind, fumbling way it is trying to get in.
    Yet even that is not the ultimate horror. It cannot possibly be a real octopus; a beast that one could slash at with a knife, and, if one were strong enough, blind and kill. It
must
be some intangible malefic force that has succeeded in materialising itself in hideous animal form.
    Of that I am certain. For the sight of its shadow does not fill me with a normal, healthy fear; it makes my eyes start from my head and my limbs become weak as water. Its effect upon me is both different and worse than if I were brought face to face with a man-eating tiger. That is why I am positive that it can only be something unutterably evil.
    Once I wake and see that unholy weaving pattern of darkness, furtively moving to and fro across the silvery band of light, I simply cannot drag my eyes away from it. Sometimes I try to force myself to ignore it, but I never succeed for more than a moment. I long to put my head under the bedclothes; but I dare not. If I did the Thing might get in while I was not looking, andbe upon me before I even had a chance to scream for help.
    So I am compelled to lie there sweating with terror, my gaze riveted upon it and dreading every moment to hear one of the window-panes crack under its pressure; until at last the moon goes down and its foul shadow is blotted out. Only then can I relax. Sometimes, if I am lucky, towards morning I fall into the troubled sleep of mental exhaustion; at others my tired brain revolves round endless futile speculations, until the pale light of dawn creeps beneath the curtain.
    But what is the Thing? Why does it come? Is it a Satanic entity that has battened and waxed strong upon thought-forms, thrown out at the time of some abominable crime committed long ago in the nearby ruin? If so, why is it not content to remain there haunting the scene of the crime? Why should it leave its lair and try to invade this modern house? Or can it be a monster that has been deliberately ordered up out of the Pit to attack me? If so, again why? And by whom?
    Surely pretty well anyone would be more worthy of the Devil’s attention than I am in my present state? Yet I
know
that it is I, and no one else, that the brute is out to get. Sometimes its shadow blurs and quivers a little, and I know then, just as surely as I know that my name is Toby Jugg, that it is trembling with a kind of repulsive lust. Some chord deep in my sub-conscious vibrates to the waves it sends out, and my flesh creeps anew from the positive knowledge that it is activated by one single, all-absorbing thought—the urge to wrap itself about my body, suck out my soul and destroy me utterly. But why? Why? Why? Why me? Why me? Why