confide in her! In anyone! But I can’t. I must fight and wait this out alone.
Aug. 5th. There has been little or no change in our relationship. He still remains aloof.
Today my wife came to my room to see how I was feeling. She stood in such a position that looking into the mirror was unavoidable. She stood before the mirror arranging her hair. She noticed nothing out of the ordinary, but he was still there. Damn him! He was still there, and this time he snarled in triumph at me.
One other remarkable thing. My wife hadn’t seen the thing there in the mirror, but neither had I seen her reflection. It was the same with Peter, my valet, and Anna, the maid. Anna would have dusted the mirror had I not stopped her. I must take no chances. A close scrutiny might reveal him to them, and they must not know—they must not know!
*
Aug. 6th. Three days. Three days of hell! That’s what it has been since I discovered that damned thing. How he tortures me! He has begun to mock me. When he thinks he has given an extraordinarily clever impersonation he shakes with laughter. I can’t hear him laugh. But I see him. And that’s worse. I can’t stand it much longer!
Aug. 7th. We never know how much we can stand until we go through some ordeal such as I am now undergoing. But I feel that my nerve is near the breaking-point.
I have locked the door of my room. Anna leaves a tray outside my door. Sometimes I eat the food she brings, but more often I don’t. My wife begs me to let her in, but I tell her to go away. I’m afraid to tell her—I’m afraid to tell anyone. I know what they do with people who have “hallucinations”. No, I can’t tell. Neither can I leave. God knows why, but I can’t.
Aug. 8th. It was the day before yesterday that I mentioned his mocking me. Today—I tremble at the thought—he is beginning to resemble me! This morning I looked in the mirror and discovered that he had discarded his rags and was now dressed in one of my suits. I ran to the wardrobe and discovered his clothes hanging where mine had been. I turned and faced him. He laughed and pointed toward my hands and feet. They were bloated beyond recognition. I dare not guess how far this change has gone. I can write no more today.
Aug. 9th. The change is complete. He looks more like me than I do myself. He has grown more cruel with the change. He taunts me with my ugliness. Finally I could stand it no longer. I fled from the room. At last I found the thing I was looking for—a mirror. When I came face to face with what I now am I nearly collapsed. Yes, he has taken my form. God pity me! I’ve taken his!
I slunk back to the room in horror. Back to his laughter and the hell that is now my existence. God knows what to-morrow will bring!
Aug. 10th. Seven days since that devil has been in the mirror. I have prayed to God that it may be the last. It will! I know it will! He, in the mirror, senses it too. I see the look of apprehension in his eyes. Damn him! It’s my turn to snarl in triumph now. For when I lay down this pen, for the last time, perhaps, I shall leap through the mirror. And he exists only in the mirror. God help me! I am laying down my pen!
The Door Into Infinity
By Edmond Hamilton
An amazing weird mystery story, packed with thrills, danger and startling events.
The Brotherhood of the Door
“Where leads the Door?”
“It leads outside our world.”
“Who taught our forefathers to open the Door?”
“They Beyond the Door taught them.”
“To whom do we bring these sacrifices?”
“We bring them to Those Beyond the Door.”
“Shall the Door be opened that They may take them?”
“Let the Door be opened!”
Paul Ennis had listened thus far, his haggard face uncomprehending in expression, but now he interrupted the speaker.
“But what does it all mean, inspector? Why are you repeating this to me?”
“Did you ever hear anyone speak words like that?” asked Inspector Pierce Campbell, leaning tautly forward for the answer.
“Of course not—it just sounds like gibberish to me,” Ennis exclaimed. “What connection can it have with my wife?”
He had risen to his feet, a tall, blond young American whose good-looking face was drawn and worn by inward agony, whose crisp yellow hair was brushed back from his forehead in disorder, and whose blue eyes were haunted with an anguished dread.
He kicked back his chair and strode across the gloomy little office, whose single window looked out on the thickening, foggy twilight of London. He bent across the dingy desk, gripping its edges with his hands as he spoke tensely to the man sitting behind it.
“Why are we wasting time talking here?” Ennis cried. “Sitting here talking, when anything may be happening to Ruth!
“It’s been hours since she was kidnapped. They may have taken her anywhere, even outside of London by now. And instead of searching for her, you sit here and talk gibberish about Doors!”
Inspector Campbell seemed unmoved by Ennis’ passion. A bulky, almost bald man, he looked up with his colorless, sagging face, in which his eyes gleamed like two crumbs of bright brown glass.
“You’re not helping me much by giving way to your emotions, Mr. Ennis,” he said in his flat voice.
“Give way? Who wouldn’t give way?” cried Ennis. “Don’t you understand, man, it’s Ruth that’s gone—my wife! Why, we were married only last week in New York. And on our second day here in London, I see her whisked into a limousine and carried away before my eyes! I thought you men at Scotland Yard here would surely act, do something. Instead you talk crazy gibberish to me!”
“Those words are not gibberish,” said Pierce Campbell quietly. “And I think they’re related to the abduction of your wife.”
“What do you mean? How could they be related?”
The inspector’s bright little brown eyes held Ennis’. “Did you ever hear of an organization called the Brotherhood of the Door?”
Ennis shook his head, and Campbell continued, “Well, I am certain your wife was kidnapped by members of the Brotherhood.”
“What kind of an organization is it?” the young American demanded. “A band of criminals?”
“No, it is no ordinary criminal organization,” the detective said. His sagging face set strangely. “Unless I am mistaken, the Brotherhood of the Door is the most unholy and blackly evil organization that has ever existed on this earth. Almost nothing is known of it outside its circle. I myself in twenty years have learned little except its existence and name. That ritual I just repeated to you, I heard from the lips of a dying member of the Brotherhood, who repeated the words in his delirium.”
Campbell
