<h2><SPAN name="THE_CREEPING_FINGERS" id="THE_CREEPING_FINGERS">THE CREEPING FINGERS</SPAN></h2>
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<p><span class="hidden">M</span>rs. Whoffin's figure resembled that of the punch-bowl behind which she
was standing: it was broad and squat, with a slight tapering at the
base. And her mind was like the punch: sweetish and characterless, with
scrappy rinds of things floating about in it. Each guest who presented a
cup received the same dipperful and the same set of remarks.</p>
<p>"Good evening. I'm <em>so</em> glad you could come! I just love hearing
ghost-stories, don't you? See that log over there?" She pointed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</SPAN></span> to a
huge gray hulk that lay at the side of the open fireplace. "That's <em>real
driftwood</em>, and it ought to give just the right kind of light. I found
it myself on the beach, and had the gardener bring it home in a
wheelbarrow. Look, it's all honeycombed with age."</p>
<p>A tall, serious-looking young man stepped forward and extended his
glass. He knew that that was the way to please her, and she was the
woman who he hoped and feared would be his mother-in-law.</p>
<p>She beamed.</p>
<p>"Do have another, Mr. Carson."</p>
<p>He did; for he was in a desperate mood. He was to leave for the city on
the early morning train, and this evening would be his last chance to
propose to Polly for several months. Somehow, despite his best efforts,
the psychological moment had never arrived.</p>
<p>Just then Polly sailed into the room, fresh and rosy, in a flutter of
white muslin. He put down the glass and hurried over to her.</p>
<p>"Good evening, Polly," he said in an ardent undertone. "Couldn't you
slip away from this crowd and take a stroll on the beach?"</p>
<p>"No, George; I'm hostess tonight." She<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</SPAN></span> shook her head, including some
airy little curls, which seemed to make light of her refusal. "We are
all to gather around the hearth and listen to the stories." Then she
added teasingly, "Besides, it is in your honor that mother is giving
this party."</p>
<p>"Yes; she's very kind, I'm sure," he said awkwardly.</p>
<p>"Think of all the trouble she has taken over that log!"</p>
<p>Carson faced her with squared jaw.</p>
<p>"Listen to me, Polly. There is something serious I want to talk to you
about. Before I leave you, I—"</p>
<p>"Polly," called Mrs. Whoffin, "isn't it time to begin?"</p>
<p>"Perhaps it is," she answered innocently. "What do you think, George?"</p>
<p>"I think the story-telling might as well begin at once," he said
stiffly.</p>
<p>A few minutes later all lights were turned out. The score of young
people had settled themselves about the room in comfortable attitudes,
some on chairs and sofas, some on cushions on the floor, while in the
midst of them sat the narrator, a girl of eighteen, who<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</SPAN></span> affected a deep
morbidity. Gazing into the fire, she began her tale as though she were
in a trance.</p>
<p>Carson sulkily picked his way after Polly toward a seat beside the
hearth. Just as he was reaching it, he tripped over something bulky.</p>
<p>"Why, that's my log!" exclaimed Mrs. Whoffin, from the back of the room.
"Dear! dear! Why hasn't anyone put it on the fire?" The story waited
while Mrs. Whoffin scurried forward and personally supervised the
placing of the log upon the andirons, and then sat down beside the
hearth opposite Polly.</p>
<p>"Do go on!" cried several voices. "You stopped in the most exciting
part."</p>
<p>The narrator, looking daggers at Mrs. Whoffin, paused long enough to
show that she didn't <em>have</em> to go on unless she wanted to, and then
resumed her tale:</p>
<p>"Suddenly, as he lay there in the haunted room, on the very bed where
the old man had been murdered, he felt an invisible hand on the
bedclothes."</p>
<p>Mrs. Whoffin shuddered, and a large black<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</SPAN></span> ant peered out of a hole in
the log to see what was going on.</p>
<p>"Then he felt a second hand more terrifying than the first."</p>
<p>Beholding his home in flames, the ant rushed back indoors to spread the
alarm. Along the highways of the interior he sped, a second Paul Revere,
rousing the sleeping insects, of which there were many.</p>
<p>"Oh!" groaned Mrs. Whoffin.</p>
<p>The exodus of Paul's friends proceeded in orderly fashion. "Larvæ and
eggs first," was their order. Carrying their infants upon their backs,
they filed out of the subway openings in steady processions.</p>
<p>"The hands clutched the covers just above his feet. Fear paralyzed him
so that he could neither move nor cry out."</p>
<p>A party of refugees applied to Mrs. Whoffin for shelter. She was so
absorbed in the story that she did not see them.</p>
<p>"Then the fingers began to creep up and up, up and up. His flesh tingled
with horror."</p>
<p>Mrs. Whoffin quivered like an aspen leaf. She breathed hard, her eyes
nearly popping. Other people began to feel creepy.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"They clutched his knee, and—"</p>
<p>Mrs. Whoffin uttered a piercing shriek, and clasped her knee with both
hands. She was invaded. Then Polly screamed, and Carson began to slap
himself on various parts of the anatomy. There was a general panic.
Girls squealed and, clambering frantically upon chairs, shook out their
lifted skirts; young men stamped about wildly, mashing ants and people's
toes in equal numbers. Mrs. Whoffin, tormented from head to foot,
galloped in circles, moaning, "Oh mercy! Oh mercy!"</p>
<p>"Save me, George!" cried Polly, clinging to his arm.</p>
<p>"Yes, darling!" he answered fervently. If the ants had been raging
bulls, he would have saved her from them; but they were ants, and their
ways were devious. He hesitated, slapping himself thoughtfully.</p>
<p>"Turn on the lights!" yelled some one.</p>
<p>"No! Don't!" screamed half a dozen shrill voices.</p>
<p>"Save me!" repeated Polly, distractedly. "I can't stand this any longer!
I'll perish!"</p>
<p>Struck with a swift inspiration, he caught her up in his arms and
started for the door.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</SPAN></span> She made no resistance. Out of the room he
carried her, then through the front hall, and down the front steps.</p>
<p>Half-way down the walk she asked:</p>
<p>"Where are you taking me?"</p>
<p>"To the ocean."</p>
<p>"Why, you clever boy!"</p>
<p>People sitting on the verandas of neighboring cottages saw in he
moonlight a sight that electrified them with horror. A powerful looking
maniac, with a helpless woman in his arms, strode across the beach and
began to wade out into the water. Hoping to save her, they ran to the
shore and put out in boats and canoes.</p>
<p>"Oh," sighed the victim, blissfully, as Carson let her down into the
water, "it feels so cool—and <em>quiet</em>!"</p>
<p>"Polly!"</p>
<p>"George!"</p>
<p>"Row harder, Doctor!" cried the steersman of the nearest boat. "He's
trying to strangle her!"</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</SPAN></span></p>
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