The Haunted Carpet

At least presumably by Achmed Abdullah. It appears in Fifty
Enthralling Stories of the Mysterious East, as part of the fianl
section "The Golden Caravan" where it is credited to Sirdar Ikbal Ali
Shah, but at least some other parts of that section are recognizably
Achmed Abdullah stories.


THE HAUNTED CARPET
{by Achmed Abdullah]

"I HAD no real reason to dislike the Prince of Jutpore in whose A
territory I entered as a guest," he said, "but that I did dislike him,
nay detested him, had been obvious to me from the moment he had
engaged me as his secretary. I loathed the atmosphere of his gloomy
palace on the outskirts of the ancient little city, 1 hated the
dreadful room in which I was compelled to work. But I was not the
master of my own fortunes and therefore could not but endure the
surroundings I execrated.

Not only was the Prince haughty and monosyllabic, mysterious and,
to my mind, ill-balanced, but he was certainly the most ill-favoured
human being I had ever set eyes on. His pale unhealthy face had all
the cold horror of a death mask in plaster, and the lustreless eyes,
which could scarcely be said to light it, resembled those of a dead
man. The great room in which he laboured so ceaselessly at his work of
reading and transcribing was stifling, dark and neglected, for he
would permit no one to lay an orderly hand upon its dire confusion.
Almost directly behind his chair stood an immense piece of furniture
of a type and workmanship altogether unfamiliar to me. It was made of
some exceptionally hard wood, and every square inch of its surface was
richly carved with grotesque symbols, regarding the purport of which I
could not even hazard a guess. Serpents writhed and twined upon its
sides, and in the centre of each of its two doors, leering faces,
crowned with feathers, were surrounded by an intricate wealth of
ornamental detail, which had for me not the faintest significance. A
lamp of bizarre appearance and extraordinary workmanship hung from the
roof, and even the chair in which the Prince sat had a weird and
antique shape.

But, most striking of all the curious things that this repellant
yet fascinating room contained, was the wonderful carpet which
occupied a portion of the specious stone-flagged floor, and which lay
in all its arresting display of colour and pattern between my
employer's desk and the door. As no furniture was placed on it, not
even a chair or settee, it was easy to get a full view of it in all
its beauty or hideousness--for to this day I cannot make up my mind
regarding the essential quality through which it appealed to me, at
times attracting, at others repulsing me by virtue of the strange
properties which seemed to reside in its unusual colours and design.
Of what material it was made I could not at first satisfy myself, but
I found later that it had been woven from the fibre of the jute plant,
and the details of its workmanship left no doubt in my mind that it
had been fashioned by native weavers.

The ground of this peculiar carpet was a shade of golden-yellow
or honey colour, with which a mysterious and perplexing design had
been interwoven. Fringing the border was a series of discs in blue and
red which seemed to me to represent eyes--not human eyes, but round
birdlike orbs, half closed, yet unwinking, holding the solemn stare of
the owl and the brooding menace of the vulture. Within this border,
ranks of great red spiders with human faces sprawled to meet a row of
undulant serpents and spotted toads. The centre was occupied by a grim
yellow skull, from the sockets of which a pair of eyes similar to
those fringing the edges of the carpet looked out balefully. The
effect of the whole was that of a craftsmanship barbarous, yet
artistic, and I did not know which to admire more--the almost unique
skill shown in the wonderfully involved design, or the warm shades of
the brilliant and realistic dyes with which it had been coloured. But,
this notwithstanding, the aversion I felt at times to this singular
piece of workmanship was so intense that I could scarcely bring myself
to remain in the same room with it. At other times I could scarcely
tear myself away from the contemplation of its striking pattern and
gorgeous hues,

By degrees I came to the conclusion that the carpet was a thing
accursed. Its extraordinary symbolism haunted me. I dreaded it, while
it fascinated me. The Prince evidently observed the attention I paid
to it and once said unsmilingly:

"If you will take my advice Mr. Secretary," for this was always
the way in which he addressed me, "you will not look upon that carpet
too curiously. It--well, it has a history."

And then something happened which aroused my slumbering fears to
active terror. One night, about eleven o'clock, I suddenly recalled
that I had left some unfinished work upon my desk. I hastened to the
great room to lock it away. Entering abruptly, I beheld a sight which
I cannot yet think of without horror,

The Prince stood in the centre of the room. Where the lamp glowed
brightly, an oasis of light in a desert of gloomy shadow, he stood.
His face wore a fixed and terrible expression. To my amazement I saw
that his cheeks were daubed with red and black paint, he was dressed
in a flowing robe of crimson-and his arms were red to the elbows with
blood. The doors of the great armoury behind him, I dt know how to
describe ft otherwise, stood wide open, and I had a glimpse of
barbaric implements, gilded, carven, grotesquely appalling in their
smiling and symbolic hideousness.

Coming suddenly upon such a sight, was it surprising that I
exclaimed loudly--cried out in horror? As I did so, his weird
languorous eyes turned quickly in my direction, and lit up with cruel
yellow fires, like those of a savage beast.

"How dare you come here?" he thundered. "Go--at once--instantly."

I went-quickly. What in heaven's name had I witnessed? I could
not even guess. I spent a night of anxious and troubled surmise. When
I entered his room next morning he beckoned me to his desk.

"Mr. Secretary," he said in his ordinary level tones, "I would
prefer that you did not enter this room after ten o'clock at night. I
frequently engage in experiments here, the delicate nature of which
scarcely admits of sudden intrusion. Do I make myself plain?"

I falsely assured him that I perfectly understood his dislike of
interruption.

I did my best to put what I had seen out of my mind, but with
only partial success. Indeed, I grew almost morbidly interested in the
personality of my strange employer. The Prince might be insane, his
midnight performance might be dictated by a mind diseased. But how was
I to account for the extraordinary situation, the weird costume in
which I had surprised him on that night--how explain the painted face,
the blood-red robe? Surely the whole thing was too outrageous to exist
outside of a house of detention!

Strive as I might, I found it impossible to banish the memory of
what I had glimpsed that midnight. The whole fantastic circumstances
had burned themselves into my brain. They were with me at my rising up
and my lying down. And the more I brooded upon them, the more I became
conscious that meditation upon the strange nature of my surroundings
was bringing me into touch with some force, some power, subtle and
malignant. As I sat at my work, I recalled my first entrance into this
room, the instinct of repulsion I had experienced. I cursed myself for
a fool, rallied myself in that spirit of irony which is perhaps the
surest indication of fear. But to no purpose. And then, one day,
certainty took the place of surmise.

As I sat alone at the window of the Prince's room one late
afternoon busied with my work, I became conscious of a certain
slackness, an interruption of the sober spirit of occupation. At the
imperious call of some outer impulse, I raised my eyes from the papers
with which I was engaged and looked behind me. The great room was full
of the shadows of the hour before evening. At first, from where I sat
I could scarcely see the wall opposite me. But as my eyes grew
accustomed to the gloomy interior, I could perceive no signs of human
presence. I knew that the Prince was in the city. And yet I could have
been certain that that which had made me glance so hurriedly over my
shoulder was born of the natural instinct we experience when under
observation. Urged by an unaccountable nervousness, I rose and walked
half way to the door. But strain my eyes as I might in peering down
the dark length of the place, I could see nothing; listen as I might,
hear nothing.

I returned to my seat. In another moment I was as engrossed as
ever in my work. For perhaps a quarter of an hour I scribbled on,
looking neither to the right nor to the left. Then I became dimly
conscious of a rustling like the movement of a light and nimble body.
I swung round in my chair, every sense strung to its uttermost by
instinctive panic. The rustling noise continued. Straining my eyes
through the fast-gathering darkness, I saw the outline of something
huge and yellow writhing in slow and sinuous agitation. +The carpet...
was moving!+

Leaping from my seat, I seized a heavy stick which always lay
beside the Prince's chair, and ran forward. The carpet lay absolutely
motionless. A rat, I supposed, had got beneath it. I struck at it
again and again, in the passion of resentment which comes of sudden
shock.

I did my utmost to forget about the carpet, telling myself that I
had been the victim of a mere hallucination. All the same I found it
impossible to rid myself of the feeling that something uncanny lurked
within its brilliant folds. This sentiment was by no means allayed by
an incident which occurred not many days later.

Selecting at random a book for evening reading, I chanced upon a
manuscript volume in the Prince's library. It was evidently a personal
diary written by an English official about a century ago in the John
Company days, and in turning its yellow leaves I abruptly encountered
the following passages:--

"Indeed my Maria has a profound objection to the carpet, and
insists, the dear creature, that it has a life of its own. Strange,
is it lot, that we discovered the syce quite dead, wrapt in its
hideous folds? How grossly superstitious the people here are, to be
sure. 3ut that Maria should harbour such absurd conjectures.. When I
put down my pen just now it was because of cries in the courtyard
below. It seems that Fanny, our Yorkshire nurse, rushed screaming
into the withdrawing room shrieking out that the carpet had risen at
her, and struck out at her with one of its corners, for all the world
like a great serpent. I must rid myself of the pestilential thing. I
shall sell it--or burn it, preferably the latter. The cook assures me
it is the property of Kali, the goddess of human sacrifice."

A page or two further on I found the following passage:

"Lord have mercy upon us! The accursed carpet. My unhappy
child! What a catastrophe! I can write no more."

What the nature of the "catastrophe" had been, or who the
"unhappy child" referred to, I never discovered, for here the
manuscript ended. I was in the act of replacing it in the bookcase,
when a sinuous motion beneath my feet made me leap backward. That part
of the carpet between the window and the desk wan agitated violently
as though by a gust of wind, and that although it was a calm and
windless evening. Then, to my horror, it rose in the air a full three
feet and more.

How I managed to escape from that dreadful room I cannot say. I
only know that I found myself on the other side of the window in the
bright moonlight, trembling and utterly demoralized. Making my way out
of the garden I walked for miles into the country like a man in a
dream, before I found the courage to return to the house.

And as I did so, I remembered. It was the night of the full moon,
the night of the immemorial sacrifice to the goddess Kali, the most
fiendish and barbarous of all the deities of the Hindu faith. I was
aware, of course, that her horrid worship had been proscribed and
absolutely forbidden by the English Raj, but as a good Mohammedan I
trembled with pious fear even to think of the abomination manifestly
dedicated to her which lay on the floor of that detestable room. But
the better part of my pluck had returned, and as I entered the garden
and saw a light burning in the Prince's apartment, I felt sufficiently
emboldened to march right up to the window to sec how he was busying
himself.

As I peered through die glass I recoiled in horror. Once more
with distorted countenance and blood-red hands the Prince stood in the
middle of the room, making what seemed to me magical passes, the light
of fanatical frenzy in his eyes. He had pushed back the carven desk so
that nothing now encumbered the carpet, which lay, as it seemed to me,
like a dragon half asleep, its frightful half-closed eyes yet
balefully awake.

"Kali!" shrieked the Prince. "Hear me, Kali! This very night
shall I render to thee the heart's blood of the accursed man who
sleeps above, and who is in my power. Six lives hast thou had in as
many years, and with this, the seventh, my task shall be complete, and
I shall henceforth be thy high priest. Kali! Kali! Hear me, goddess of
the abyss!"

So it was for this that the Prince had engaged me as his
"secretary." A terrible revulsion of feeling surged over me. From fear
I rose to the heights of an angry disgust. That this demon should have
selected me as his quarry appeared to me not only as a deep personal
wrong, but as an infamy both to my own faith and to the noble Hindu
religion which I respected and even admired for its beauty and
spirituality. This degraded creature of a savage cult horrible to all
true men, ruinous to India, must be made to suffer for his infamies.
Yes, tonight, despite his rank, I would see to it that he was placed
beyond further outrage.

Suddenly, as I stood there trembling, I noticed that on which the
Prince stood move slightly. Then there was a swift and voluminous
uprising of something... something which surged and billowed round him
in vast and enveloping folds, like great yellow waves flecked with a
many-coloured foam. He stood for an instant in awful amazement. Then a
look of such terror crossed his face as I have never seen in that of
living man.

Even as he screamed, the carpet with its riot of dreadful
symbols, wound itself about him, its sides shrouding his head, its
corners writhing around his limbs like the tentacles of an octopus.
The serpent and spider shapes with which it was covered seemed to move
in an awful mimicry of life, while from every part of the whirling
mass the dreadful half-closed eyes looked out, alight, as it seemed,
with demon fire. Powerless to aid, and, as I believe, in the grip of
some malignant and arresting force, I stood at the window while the
yells of the suffocating wretch grew fainter and fainter. Through the
folds of the woven mass which surrounded him, I could see the writhing
of his limbs. His shrieks died away to a low moaning. At last, when
the power of volition returned to me and I rushed forward, a dreadful
stillness had taken the place of the anguished struggling of the
moment before. The carpet lay flattened and creaseless upon the floor.
And upon its bizarre background huddled the Prince, the secret priest
of the goddess Kali, with purple and distorted face - dead.