Nearer and nearer came the sound, till at length they reached the door, and there passed into the room a wave of fine, gentle sound that woke no echo and scarcely seemed to stir the air into vibration at all. The door had opened, and a number of voices were singing softly under their breath.
And after the sounds, creeping slowly like some timid animal, there came into the room a small black figure just visible in the faint starlight. It peered round the edge of the door, hesitated a moment, and then advanced with an odd rhythmical sort of motion. And after the first figure came a second, and after the second a third; and then several entered together, till a whole group of them stood on the floor between Jimbo and the open window.
Then he recognised the Frightened Children and his heart sank. Even they, he saw, were arrayed against him, and took it for granted that he already belonged to them.
Oh, why did not the governess come for him? Why was there no voice in the sky? He glanced with longing towards the heavens, and as the children moved past, he was almost certain that he saw the stars through their bodies too.
Slowly they shuffled across the floor till they formed a semicircle round the bed; and then they began a silent, impish dance that made the flesh creep. Their thin forms were dressed in black gowns like shrouds, and as they moved through the steps of the bizarre measure he saw that their legs were little more than mere skin and bone. Their faces—what he could see of them when he dared to open his eyes—were pale as ashes, and their beady little eyes shone like the facets of cut stones, flashing in all directions. And while they danced in and out amongst each other, never breaking the semicircle round the bed, they sang a low, mournful song that sounded like the wind whispering through a leafless wood.
And the words stirred in him that vague yet terrible fear known to all children who have been frightened and made to feel afraid of the dark. Evidently his sensations were being merged very rapidly now into those of the little boy in the night-nursery bed.
"There is Someone in the Nursery
Whom we never saw before;
—Why hangs the moon so red?—
And he came not by the passage,
Or the window, or the door;
—Why hangs the moon so red?—
And he stands there in the darkness,
In the centre of the floor.
—See, where the moon hangs red!—
Someone's hiding in the passage
Where the door begins to swing;
—Why drive the clouds so fast?—
In the corner by the staircase
There's a dreadful waiting thing:
—Why drive the clouds so fast?—
Past the curtain creeps a monster
With a black and fluttering wing;
—See, where the clouds drive fast!—
In the chilly dusk of evening;
In the hush before the dawn;
—Why drips the rain so cold?—
In the twilight of the garden,
In the mist upon the lawn,
—Why drips the rain so cold?—
Faces stare, and mouth upon us,
Faces white and weird and drawn;
—See, how the rain drips cold!—
Close beside us in the night-time,
Waiting for us in the gloom,
—O! Why sings the wind so shrill?—
In the shadows by the cupboard,
In the corners of the room,
—O! Why sings the wind so shrill?—
From the corridors and landings
Voices call us to our doom.
—O! how the wind sings shrill!"—