It spoke.
“You needn’t be afraid,” it said.
The voice was natural now, quiet, measured, slightly quavering. Instead of frightening Steven it soothed and steadied him.
He put the candle on the table behind him and stood up before the phantasm, fascinated.
“Why are you afraid?” it asked.
Steven couldn’t answer. He could only stare, held there by the shining, hypnotizing eyes.
“You are afraid,” it said, “because you think I’m what you call a ghost, a supernatural thing. You think I’m dead and that you killed me. You think you took a horrible revenge for a wrong you thought I did you. You think I’ve come back to frighten you, to revenge myself in my turn.
“And every one of those thoughts of yours, Steven, is wrong. I’m real, and my appearance is as natural and real as anything in this room—more natural and more real if you did but know. You didn’t kill me, as you see; for here I am, as alive, more alive than you are. Your revenge consisted in removing me from a state which had become unbearable to a state more delightful than you can imagine. I don’t mind telling you, Steven, that I was in serious financial difficulties (which, by the way, is a good thing for you, as it provides a plausible motive for my disappearance). So that, as far as revenge goes, the thing was a complete frost. You were my benefactor. Your methods were somewhat violent, and I admit you gave me some disagreeable moments before my actual deliverance; but as I was already developing rheumatoid arthritis there can be no doubt that in your hands my death was more merciful than if it had been left to Nature. As for the subsequent arrangements, I congratulate you, Steven, on your coolness and resource. I always said you were equal to any emergency, and that your brains would pull you safe through any scrape. You committed an appalling and dangerous crime, a crime of all things the most difficult to conceal, and you contrived so that it was not discovered and never will be discovered. And no doubt the details of this crime seemed to you horrible and revolting to the last degree; and the more horrible and the more revolting they were, the more you piqued yourself on your nerve in carrying the thing through without a hitch.
“I don’t want to put you entirely out of conceit with your performance. It was very creditable for a beginner, very creditable indeed. But let me tell you, this idea of things being horrible and revolting is all illusion. The terms are purely relative to your limited perceptions.
“I’m speaking now to your intelligence—I don’t mean that practical ingenuity which enabled you to dispose of me so neatly. When I say intelligence I mean intelligence. All you did, then, was to redistribute matter. To our incorruptible sense matter never takes any of those offensive forms in which it so often appears to you. Nature has evolved all this horror and repulsion just to prevent people from making too many little experiments like yours. You mustn’t imagine that these things have any eternal importance. Don’t flatter yourself you’ve electrified the universe. For minds no longer attached to flesh and blood, that horrible butchery you were so proud of, Steven, is simply silly. No more terrifying than the spilling of red ink or the rearrangement of a jig-saw puzzle. I saw the whole business, and I can assure you I felt nothing but intense amusement. Your face, Steven, was so absurdly serious. You’ve no idea what you looked like with that chopper. I’d have appeared to you then and told you so, only I knew I should frighten you into fits.