Project Gutenberg's The House on the Borderland, by William Hope Hodgson
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The House on the Borderland
Author: William Hope Hodgson
Release Date: November 10, 2003 [EBook #10002]
Last updated: January 19, 2009
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE ON THE BORDERLAND ***
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sjaani and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE HOUSE ON THE BORDERLAND
William Hope Hodgson
_From the Manuscript discovered in 1877 by Messrs. Tonnison and
Berreggnog in the Ruins that lie to the South of the Village of
Kraighten, in the West of Ireland. Set out here, with Notes_.
TO MY FATHER
_(Whose feet tread the lost aeons)_
Open the door,
And listen!
Only the wind's muffled roar,
And the glisten
Of tears 'round the moon.
And, in fancy, the tread
Of vanishing shoon--
Out in the night with the Dead.
"Hush! And hark
To the sorrowful cry
Of the wind in the dark.
Hush and hark, without murmur or sigh,
To shoon that tread the lost aeons:
To the sound that bids you to die.
Hush and hark! Hush and Hark!"
_Shoon of the Dead_
AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION TO THE MANUSCRIPT
Many are the hours in which I have pondered upon the story that is set
forth in the following pages. I trust that my instincts are not awry
when they prompt me to leave the account, in simplicity, as it was
handed to me.
And the MS. itself--You must picture me, when first it was given into my
care, turning it over, curiously, and making a swift, jerky examination.
A small book it is; but thick, and all, save the last few pages, filled
with a quaint but legible handwriting, and writ very close. I have the
queer, faint, pit-water smell of it in my nostrils now as I write, and
my fingers have subconscious memories of the soft, "cloggy" feel of the
long-damp pages.
I read, and, in reading, lifted the Curtains of the Impossible that
blind the mind, and looked out into the unknown. Amid stiff, abrupt
sentences I wandered; and, presently, I had no fault to charge against
their abrupt tellings; for, better far than my own ambitious phrasing,
is this mut
|