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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Doors of Death, by Arthur B. Waltermire
+
+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.org
+
+
+Title: The Doors of Death
+
+Author: Arthur B. Waltermire
+
+Release Date: June 3, 2010 [EBook #32671]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOORS OF DEATH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           The Doors of Death
+
+                         By ARTHUR B. WALTERMIRE
+
+[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales October
+1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
+copyright on this publication was renewed.]
+
+
+[Sidenote: _A strange and curious story is this, about a banker whose
+only fear was that he might be buried alive, like his grandfather before
+him_]
+
+
+A heavy stillness hung about the great halls and richly furnished rooms
+of Judson McMasters' residence, and even seemed to extend out over the
+velvet lawns, the shrub-lined walks and sun-blotched reaches under the
+lacy elms and somber maples.
+
+Biggs glided about the sick-chamber like a specter, apparently striving
+to keep busy, while he cast countless furtive, uneasy glances at the
+heavy figure under the white sheets. An odor of drugs and fever tainted
+the air, and a small walnut table near the flushed sleeper was laden
+with the familiar prescription bottle, tumbler and box of powders. On
+the wall behind the table, near the head of the bed, hung a small
+oil-painting of Napoleon.
+
+The sleeper stirred restlessly, raised himself painfully and slowly, and
+attempted to seek fleeting comfort in a new position. At the first
+movement Biggs was a shadow at the bedside, deftly manipulating the
+coverings and gently aiding the sick man with a tenderness born of long
+service and deep affection. As the massive gray head sank into the
+fluffed pillow the tired eyes opened, lighted by a faint glint of
+thankfulness. Then they closed again and the once powerful body relaxed.
+
+With a pitiful, wistful expression on his aged face, the faithful Biggs
+stood helplessly peering at the sick man until hot tears began to course
+down his furrowed cheeks, and he turned hastily away.
+
+"Biggs!"
+
+The voice, still strong and commanding, cut the semi-gloom like a knife.
+
+Biggs, who was about to tuck the heavy curtains still more securely over
+the windows, whirled as though he had touched a live wire, and in a
+flash was across the great room and beside the bed.
+
+"Did you call, sir?" His voice quavered.
+
+"No"--a faint twinkle lighted the sick man's eyes--"I just spoke."
+
+"Ah, now sir," cried the overjoyed Biggs, "you are better, sir."
+
+"Biggs, I want some air and sunshine."
+
+"But the doctor, sir----"
+
+"Drat the doctor! If I'm going to pass out I want to see where I'm
+going."
+
+"Oh, but sir," expostulated the old servant, as he parted the curtains
+and partially opened a casement window, "I wish you wouldn't say that,
+sir."
+
+"I believe in facing a situation squarely, Biggs. My father and
+grandfather died from this family malady, and I guess I'm headed over
+the same route."
+
+"Please, sir," entreated Biggs.
+
+"Biggs, I want to ask you a question."
+
+"Yes, sir?"
+
+"Are you a Christian?"
+
+"I try to be, sir."
+
+"Do you believe in death?"
+
+Biggs was thoroughly startled and confused.
+
+"Why--a--we all have to die, sometime, sir," he answered haltingly, not
+knowing what else to say.
+
+"But do we actually die?" insisted the sufferer.
+
+"Well, I hope--not yet," ventured the old servant. "The doctor said----"
+
+"Forget the doctor," interposed McMasters. "Biggs, you have been in our
+service since I was a lad, haven't you?"
+
+Tears welled into the servant's eyes, and his voice faltered.
+
+"Fifty-six years, come next November," he answered.
+
+"Well, let me tell you something, that even in those fifty-six years you
+never learned, Biggs. My grandfather was buried alive!"
+
+"Oh, sir! Impossible!" cried Biggs, in horror.
+
+"Absolutely," asserted the banker.
+
+"Why--are you--how do you know, sir?" in a hoarse whisper.
+
+"My father built a family mausoleum in the far corner of this estate,
+didn't he?"
+
+"Yes, sir--he hated burial in the earth, sir, after reading a poem of
+Edgar Allan Poe's, sir!"
+
+"What poem was that, Biggs?"
+
+"I don't recall the name of it, but I remember the line," faltered
+Biggs.
+
+"What was it?"
+
+"Oh, sir," cried the old man, "let's talk about something cheerful."
+
+"Not until we're through with this discussion, Hiram."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sound of his given name restored Biggs somewhat, for the banker
+resorted to it only on occasions when he shared his deepest confidences
+with his old houseman.
+
+"Well, the line goes, 'Soft may the worms about him creep,' sir."
+
+A slight shudder seemed to run through McMasters' body. Then after a
+tomb-like silence, "Good reason for building the mausoleum."
+
+"Yes, sir, I think so, sir."
+
+"Well," with an apparent effort, "when they exhumed my grandfather's
+remains to place them in the new vault, the casket was opened, and----"
+
+"Oh, sir," cried Biggs, throwing out a trembling, expostulating hand,
+but the banker went on, relentlessly.
+
+"----the body was turned over, on its side, with the left knee drawn up
+part-way."
+
+"That's the way he always slept--in life." Biggs' voice was a hollow
+whisper.
+
+"And that's the reason my father, after building himself a mausoleum,
+insisted that his body be cremated," said McMasters. "He took no
+chances."
+
+Biggs' horrified eyes traveled dully to the massive urn over the great
+fireplace and rested there, fascinated.
+
+"Hiram, where is heaven?"
+
+Biggs' eyes flitted back to rest in surprize upon the questioner.
+
+"Why, up there, sir," pointing toward the ceiling.
+
+"Do you believe that the earth rotates on its axis?"
+
+"That's what I was taught in school, sir."
+
+"If that hypothesis is true, we are rolling through space at the rate of
+about sixteen miles a minute," figured the banker. "Now you say heaven
+is up there."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Biggs, what time is it?"
+
+The servant glanced at the great clock in the corner.
+
+"Ah, it's twelve o'clock, sir, and time for your medicine," in a voice
+full of relief.
+
+"Never mind the drugs," commanded McMasters, "until we finish our
+problem in higher mathematics. Now, if I ask you where heaven is at
+midnight, which will be twelve hours from now, where will you point,"
+triumphantly.
+
+"Why, up there," replied the bewildered servant, again indicating the
+ceiling.
+
+"Then," cried McMasters, "you will be pointing directly opposite from
+the place you indicated a moment ago; for by midnight the earth will
+have turned approximately upside down. Do you get my point?"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied poor Biggs, thoroughly befuddled.
+
+"Then where will heaven be at six o'clock this evening?" fairly shouted
+the sick man.
+
+"Out there," replied the servant, hopelessly, pointing toward the
+window.
+
+"And where will heaven be at six o'clock in the morning?"
+
+"Over there." And Biggs pointed a trembling finger at the fireplace.
+Then, "Oh, sir, let's not--the doctor----"
+
+"Hang the doctor," interrupted McMasters testily. "I've been thinking
+this thing over, and I've got to talk about it to someone."
+
+"But don't you believe in a hereafter?" queried Biggs, a horrible note
+of fear in his pitiful voice.
+
+For a moment the banker was silent; the massive clock ticked solemnly
+on. A coal toppled with a sputter and flare in the fireplace.
+
+"Yes, Hiram," in a thoughtful voice, "I suppose I do."
+
+"I'm glad to hear you say that," cried Biggs in very evident relief.
+
+"Ah, if you could but tell me," continued the banker, "from whence we
+come, and whither we go?"
+
+"If I knew, sir, I'd be equal with the Creator," answered Biggs with
+reverence.
+
+"That's well said, Hiram, but it doesn't satisfy me. I've made my place
+in the world by getting to the root of things. Ah, if I could only get a
+peek behind the curtain, before I go--back-stage, you know--mayhap I
+would not be afraid to die," and his voice fell almost to a whisper.
+
+"The Great Director does not permit the audience behind the footlights,
+unless he calls them," answered Biggs whimsically, the ghost of a smile
+lighting up his troubled features.
+
+"Another thing, Biggs, do you believe those stories about Jonah, and
+Lazarus, and the fellow they let down through a hole in the roof to be
+healed?"
+
+"I do, sir," with conviction.
+
+"Do you understand how it was done?" testily.
+
+"Of course not, sir, being only a human."
+
+"Then tell me, Hiram, when you cannot see through it, how can you
+swallow all this theology?"
+
+"My faith, sir," answered Biggs, simply, raising his eyes with
+reverence.
+
+At this, a quizzical smile came over the sick man's face.
+
+"In looking up, Hiram, don't forget, since it is twelve-thirty, that we
+have swung around four hundred and eighty miles from the spot you
+originally designated as the location of the Pearly Gates."
+
+"Oh, sir, I beg of you," remonstrated the servant, "I cannot bear to
+have you jest on such a--why, master!" he broke off with a little cry,
+rushing to his bedside.
+
+The quizzical smile on the banker's face had suddenly faded, and his
+head had fallen feebly back upon the pillow.
+
+"Oh, why did he waste his strength so?" cried Biggs, piteously, as with
+trembling hands and tear-blurred eyes he searched the little table for
+the smelling-salts.
+
+After a few breaths, the patient sighed and opened his eyes wearily.
+
+"My medicine, Hiram, and then I must rest."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At midnight, Biggs, dozing in a big chair by the fire, was aroused by a
+voice from the sick bed.
+
+"Hiram."
+
+"Yes, sir," scurrying to turn on a subdued light.
+
+"Where is heaven now?"
+
+Noting the wan flicker of a smile, the old servant pointed solemnly
+downward.
+
+"You are a bright pupil," came in a scarcely audible voice.
+
+"Thank you, sir."
+
+"Do you know, Biggs, I wish I had led a different--a better life."
+
+"You have been a good master, sir. You have been kind, you have given
+liberally to charity," Biggs defended him.
+
+"Yes," cynically, "I have given liberally to charity. But it has been no
+sacrifice."
+
+"You have been a pillar in the church," ventured Biggs.
+
+"Yes," bitterly, "a stone pillar. I have paid handsomely for my pew, and
+slept peacefully through the sermons. I have bought baskets of food for
+the poor at Thanksgiving and Christmas time, only to let others reap the
+happiness of giving them away. I could have had so much joy out of
+Christmas, if I would. I could have been a jolly, rosy-cheeked Santa
+Claus and gone to a hundred homes, my arms loaded with gifts."
+
+"True, sir, but you made that joy possible for others."
+
+"When I should have known the thrill of it myself. I have not really
+lived, Hiram. To draw the sweets truly out of life, one must humble
+himself and serve his fellow men. Yes, the scales have fallen from my
+eyes, Hiram. But it is too late, 'the spirit is willing but the flesh is
+weak'."
+
+"It doesn't seem right, sir," said Biggs after a pause.
+
+"What's that, Hiram?"
+
+"Why, sir, that you should be stricken down in the prime of life, just
+at a time when you could mean so much to others, while I, old and
+useless, am permitted to live on. But I am not finding fault with
+Providence, sir," Biggs hastened to say; "I just can't find the meaning
+of the riddle, sir."
+
+"Probably I've had my chance and fumbled it, Biggs."
+
+"Even so, sir, God is not vindictive, according to my ideas. There
+surely is some other solution. I'm still going to pray that He will take
+me in your stead, even if a miracle must be performed."
+
+"So you have faith in your prayers, do you, Biggs?"
+
+"Yes, sir, if they are unselfish prayers."
+
+"That brand is rather scarce, I take it," answered McMasters, but his
+tone was reflective rather than sarcastic.
+
+"Oh, sir, I wish you would pray as I do. God would surely understand."
+
+"Rather a queer request, Hiram. If my life depends upon your death no
+prayer shall ever pass my lips."
+
+"But, sir, I'm an old----"
+
+"However," interrupted McMasters, "I shall pray that if my life is
+spared in any other fashion, I will make full amends for my years of
+indifference and neglect. And, Hiram, no one knows how much I truly seek
+this divine dispensation. But I have always scoffed at death-bed
+confessions, and so my heart grows cold, for I have no right to
+ask--now." Again, wearily, "No right--now."
+
+"Ah, master, God is plenteous in mercy. If you but have the faith, sir,
+it shall make you whole."
+
+"Very good, had I lived as you have lived, Biggs." Then, after a pause,
+"Still, the cause is worthy, my heart is right and I shall approach the
+Throne. May God be merciful unto me, a sinner."
+
+"I hope it is not too late yet," faltered Biggs. "Oh, if God would only
+call me in your stead, that you might still do the good work that you
+find it in your heart to do, how gladly would I go."
+
+A deep sigh was his only answer.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A long silence was finally broken by the sick man. But when he spoke,
+his voice was so strange and uncanny that the servant hastened close and
+peered anxiously into the fever-flushed face of the sufferer.
+
+"Hiram--I must tell you--a secret," came in a laborious, almost
+sepulchral, whisper.
+
+Biggs came closer.
+
+"Bring a chair and sit down. I must talk to you."
+
+As the old servant again leaned forward, the sufferer hesitated; then
+with an obvious effort he began.
+
+"Hiram, I am going to give you some instructions which you must obey to
+the letter. Will you promise to keep them?"
+
+"I swear it, sir," with great earnestness.
+
+"Good! Now, if this fever seals my lips and the doctor pronounces me
+dead----"
+
+"Please, sir," Biggs broke in, tears streaming down his furrowed cheeks,
+but his master continued in the same subdued voice, "Whatever happens, I
+am not to be embalmed--do you hear me?--not embalmed, but just laid away
+as I am now."
+
+"Yes, sir," in a choked voice, which fully betrayed the breaking heart
+behind it.
+
+"And now, Hiram, the rest of the secret." He paused and beckoned Biggs
+to lean closer.
+
+"In my vault--in the mausoleum, I have had an electric button installed.
+That button connects with a silver bell. Lift up that small picture of
+Napoleon, there upon the wall."
+
+His hands trembling as with the palsy, Biggs reached out and lifted
+aside the picture hanging near the head of the bed, and there revealed
+the silver bell, fitted into a small aperture in the wall. Then, with a
+sob, he fell back into his chair.
+
+"Hiram"--in a whisper--"after they bury me, you are to sleep in this
+bed."
+
+With a cry, the old man threw out a horrified, expostulating hand.
+Catching it feverishly, the banker half raised himself in bed.
+
+"Don't you understand?" he cried fiercely. "I may not be dead after all.
+Remember grandfather! And Biggs--if that bell rings, get help--quick!"
+
+Suddenly releasing his hold, McMasters fell back limply among the
+pillows.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+All through the long night the faithful Biggs maintained a sleepless
+vigil, but the banker lay as immovable as a stone. When the rosy-cheeked
+dawn came peeping audaciously through the casements, Biggs drew the
+heavy curtains tightly shut once more.
+
+Not until the doctor's motor whirled away did the patient rouse from his
+lethargy.
+
+Apparently strengthened by his deep stupor he spoke, and Biggs stood
+instantly beside him.
+
+"What did the doctor say?"
+
+Biggs hesitated.
+
+"Out with it, I'm no chicken-hearted weakling."
+
+"Nothing much," admitted Biggs, sadly. "He only shook his head very
+gravely."
+
+"He doesn't understand this family malady any more than the old quack
+who allowed my grandfather to be buried alive," said McMasters almost
+fiercely.
+
+Biggs shuddered and put a trembling hand to his eyes.
+
+"What ails me, Biggs?" almost plaintively. "No one knows. This fever has
+baffled the scientists for years. When you fall into a comatose
+condition they call it suspended animation. That's the best thing they
+do--find names for diseases. My family doctor doesn't have any more of
+an idea about this malady than you or I. The average physician is just a
+guesser. He guesses you have a fever and prescribes a remedy, hoping
+that it will hit the spot. If it doesn't he looks wise, wags his
+head--and tries something else on you. Maybe it works and maybe it
+doesn't. The only thing my guesser is absolutely sure of is that if I
+live or if I die, he will collect a princely fee for his services."
+
+Biggs remained statuesque during the pause.
+
+"Gad," McMasters broke out again testily, "if I fiddled around in my
+business like that I'd be a pauper in a month."
+
+"But the doctor says you're coming on," ventured Biggs.
+
+"Sure he does," answered the banker with a sneer. "That's his stock in
+trade. I know that line of palaver. Secretly, he knows I am as liable to
+be dead as alive when he comes again."
+
+"Oh, sir, you aren't going to die!"
+
+"That's what I'm afraid of, Biggs. But they'll call me dead and go ahead
+and embalm me and make sure of it."
+
+"Oh, sir, I wish----"
+
+"Now remember, Biggs," broke in the sick man, "shoot the first
+undertaker that tries to put that mummy stuff in my veins."
+
+"I understand perfectly, sir," answered Biggs, fearful lest the other's
+excitement might again give him a turn for the worse.
+
+"I know I'm apparently going to pass away. My father and grandfather
+both had this cussed virus in their veins, and I don't believe either of
+them was dead when he was pronounced so!"
+
+"Well, if by any chance--that is, if you," began Biggs desperately, "if
+you are apparently--dead--why not have them keep your body here in the
+house for a time?"
+
+"Convention, formality, custom, hide-bound law!" the banker fairly
+frothed. "The health authorities would come here with an army and see
+that I was buried. No, Biggs, I've got a fine crypt out there, all quiet
+and secure, good ventilation, electric lights, like a pullman berth--and
+a push-button. That precludes all notoriety. It's secret and safe. The
+electrician who installed the apparatus died four years ago. So you and
+I, alone, possess this knowledge."
+
+"Don't you think someone else should know of it too? Your attorney,
+or----"
+
+"No, Biggs. If I really am dead I don't want anyone to write up my
+eccentricities for some Sunday magazine sheet. And if I do come back,
+then it will be time to tell the gaping public about my cleverness."
+
+"I wish you weren't so--so cold-blooded about it all, sir."
+
+"I have always hit straight from the shoulder, Hiram, and I'm facing
+this death business as I'd face any other proposition. I'm not ready to
+cash in, and if I can cheat the doctors, undertakers, lawyers, heirs,
+and chief mourners for a few more years, I'm going to do it. And don't
+forget poor old granddad. He might have been up and about yet had he but
+used my scheme."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Biggs turned away, sick at heart. It was too terrible beyond words. To
+him his religion was as essential as daily bread. Death was the
+culmination of cherished belief and constant prayer. As his years
+declined he had faced the inevitable day with simple faith that when the
+summons came he would go gladly, like him "who wraps the drapery of his
+couch about him and lies down to pleasant dreams." With throbbing heart
+he listened for another torrent of words that would still further stab
+his sensitive soul; for he had loved and revered his master from his
+youth up.
+
+But no words came. He wheeled about. The massive head had fallen limply
+among the pillows. Pallid lips were trying to form sentences without
+result. Then the great body seemed to subside immeasurably deeper into
+the covers and a death-like stillness fell upon the room.
+
+Intuitively feeling that his master was worse than at any previous
+relapse, Biggs made every effort to revive him, gently at first, and
+then by vigorously shaking and calling to him in a heart-broken, piteous
+voice. But to no avail. The heavy figure looked pallid and corpse-like
+under the snowy sheets.
+
+Long hours dragged by, and still the lonely old servant sat mutely
+beside the bed, only aroused, at last, by the peremptory, measured call
+of the telephone bell.
+
+"Yes," said Biggs in a quavering voice. "Oh yes, Doctor Meredith,
+Master's resting easy. Don't think you'll need to come until tomorrow."
+
+"I'll keep them away as long as I can," he muttered, as he slipped back
+to his vigil. "God grant--maybe he'll come back--and take up the work of
+the Master, so long delayed. Oh God! If Thou wouldst only take me in his
+stead!"
+
+Sleeping fitfully, Biggs sat dumbly through an interminable night, but
+the new day brought no reassuring sign from the inert form. The
+stillness was appalling. The other servants were quartered in a distant
+part of the mansion and only came when summoned. Again Biggs assured the
+physician that he could gain nothing by calling, and another awful night
+found him, ashen and distraught, at the bedside. Sometime in the still
+watches he swooned and kindly nature patched up his shredded nerves,
+before consciousness once more aroused him. But the strain was more than
+he could bear. So when the anxious specialist came, unbidden, he found a
+shattered old watchman who broke down completely and babbled forth the
+whole mysterious tale, concealing nothing but the secret of the tomb.
+
+In a coffin previously made to order, they laid the unembalmed remains
+of Judson McMasters in the family mausoleum, and the world which had
+felt his masterful presence for so many years paused long enough to lay
+a costly tribute on his bier and then went smoothly on its way.
+
+Not so with the faithful Biggs. Ensconced in his master's bedroom, he
+nightly tossed in troubled sleep, filled with the jangling of
+innumerable electric bells. And when--on the tenth night, after he had
+been somewhat reassured that all was well--he was suddenly awakened by a
+mad, incessant ringing from the hidden alarm, a deathly weakness
+overcame him and it was some time before he was able to drag his palsied
+body from the bed. With fumbling, clumsy fingers he tried to hasten, but
+it was many minutes before he tottered, half dressed, out of the room.
+And as he did so, his heart almost stood still, then mounted to his
+throat as if to choke him.
+
+"Biggs!"--a voice--McMaster's voice was calling.
+
+He staggered to the head of the wide, massive stairway and looked down.
+There stood the banker, pale, emaciated, but smiling.
+
+And then, as from an endless distance, came more words:
+
+"I forgot to tell you that I had a trap-door in the end of the casket.
+When you didn't answer the bell, I found I could come alone."
+
+With an inarticulate cry, Biggs stretched out his trembling arms.
+
+"My Master, I am coming now."
+
+Then he swayed, stumbled, clutched feebly at the rail and plunged
+headlong to the foot of the stairs, a crumpled, lifeless form.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Doors of Death, by Arthur B. Waltermire
+
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