His limbs refused to move as he essayed to flee. His eyes rolled in their sockets and icy sweat poured from him. Was he under a strange influence?
With a superhuman effort he gathered strength, and wrenching his eyes from the tree, started off on a dead run.
“Stop!”
He did so, nearly ready to faint with terror. Half fainting, his ignorant, superstitious mind conjured up myriads of ghastly, grotesque and fantastic objects, which floated before his eyes. Imps rode fantastic steeds snorting fire, blue as—as alcohol; blue serpents entwined their horrible folds before him; pale specters with awful pale-blue countenances, grimly grinned at him; a conflagration of lurid blue raged and roared around him; new, strange, and terrible animals, charged and recharged upon him, never striking, but coming fearfully near; and above all, there stood the tree, now blue as all the rest; blue, blue, blue.
A clamor, as if of ten thousand giants harshly wrangling, surged in his ears, rivaling the throb of his heart. A fever took possession of him and made his torment, if possible, worse. He strove to flee—he could not. He strained to shriek, but strove in vain—he was a lost man.
And now a dog, invisible, drew near. He could hear him come slowly on, panting. He remembered the day was hot—so undoubtedly was the dog. Dogs always pant and loll when heated; hear him pant, pant, pant.
He sunk to the ground in despair and he could see the tree burning, now, with a blue fire which waved fantastically. By degrees the flames communicated with other trees; more demons appeared; terrific giants drew near and scowled down upon him; and still nearer drew the dog—pant, pant, pant.
“Help! help!” he shrieked in agony. “Help!” But the wind still moaned, the fire waved and augmented, the tree loomed up, and the dog drew nearer—pant, pant.
Was it resurrection day? was Dead-Man’s Forest giving up its dead? were the ghostly victims, long since immortal, crowding around about him, demanding his blood?
“Help! help!”