The Terrible Old Man by H. P. Lovecraft. It was the design
of Angelo Ricchie and Joe Zanick and Manuel Silva to call on the Terrible Old
Man. This old man dwells all alone in a very ancient house on Water
Street near the sea, and is reputed to be both exceedingly rich and exceedingly
feeble, which forms a situation very attractive to man. Of the professions of
Messrs Ricchie, Zanich and Silva, for that profession was nothing less dignified than
a robbery. The inhabitants of Kingsport say and think many things about the Terrible
Old Man, which generally keep him safe from the attention of gentlemen like mister
Ricchie and his colleagues, despite the almost certain fact that he hides a fortune
of indefinite magnitude somewhere about his musty and venerable abode. He is, in
truth a very strange person, believed to have been a captain of East India
clipper ships in his day, so old that no one can remember when he
was young, and so taciturn that few know his real name. Among the
gnarled trees in the front yard of his aged and neglected place, he maintains
a strange collection of large stones, oddly grouped and painted so that they resemble
the idols in some obscure Eastern temple. This collection frightens away most of the
small boys, who love to taunt the terrible old man about his long white
hair and beard, or to break the small paned windows of his dwelling with
wicked missiles. But there are other things which frighten the older and more curious
folk, who sometimes steal upon the house to peer in through the dusty panes.
These folks say that on a table in a bare room on the ground
floor are many peculiar bottles, in each a small piece of lead suspended pendulum
wise from a string. And they say that the terrible old Man talks to
these bottles, addressing them by such names as Jack, Scarface, Long Tom,
Spanish, Joe Peters, and Mate Ellis, and that whenever he speaks
to a bottle, the little lead pendulum within makes certain definite vibrations, as
if in answer. Those who have watched the tall, lean, terrible old
man in these peculiar conversations do not watch him again. But Angelo Ricci and
Joe Zanik and Manuel Silva were not of Kingsport blood. They were of that
new and heterogeneous alien stock which lies outside the charmed circle of New England life
and traditions. And they saw in the terrible old man, merely at tottering,
almost helpless gray beard, who could not walk without the aid of his
knotted cane, and whose thin, weak hands shook pitifully. They were really
quite sorry in their way for the lonely, unpopular old fellow whom everybody shunned,
and at whom all the dogs barked singularly. But business is business.
Into a robber whose soul is in his profession, there is a lure and
a challenge about a very old and very feeble man who has no account at
the bank, and who pays for his few necessities at the village store with
Spanish gold and silver minted two centuries ago. Messrs Ricchi, Zanech and Silva
selected the night of April eleventh for their call. Mister Ricchie and mister Silva
were to interview the poor old gentleman, whilst mister Zanich waited for them and
their presumable metallic burden with a covered outer car in Ship Street by the gate
in the tall rear wall of their hosts. Grounds desire to avoid needless explanations
in case of unexpected police intrusions prompted these plans for a quiet and unostentatious departure.
As prearranged, the three adventurers started out separately in order to prevent any
evil minded suspicions. Afterward, Messrs Richey and Silva met in Water Street by
the old Man's front gate, and although they did not like the way the
moon shone down upon the painted stones through the budding branches of the gnarled trees,
they had more important things to think about than mere idle superstition. They
feared it might be unpleasant work making the terrible old man loquacious concerning his hoarded
gold and silver. For aged sea captains are notably stubborn and perverse. Still,
he was very old and very feeble, and there were two visitors.
Messrs Ritchey and Silva were experienced in the art of making unwilling persons voluble,
and the screams of a weak and exceptionally venerable man can be easily muffled.
So they moved up to the one lighted window and heard the terrible old man
talking childishly to his bottles with pendulums. Then they donned masks and knocked politely
at the weather stained oaken door. Waiting seemed very long to mister Zanick as
he fidgeted restlessly in the covered motor car by the terrible old man's back gate
in Ship Street. He was more than ordinarily tender hearted, and he did
not like the hideous screams he had heard in the ancient house just after the
hour appointed for the deed. Had he not told his colleagues to be as
gentle as possible with the pathetic old captain. Very nervously he watched that narrow
oaken gate in the high and ivy clad stone wall frequently. He consulted his
watch and wondered at the delay. Had the old man died before revealing where
his treasure was hidden and a thorough search become necessary. Mister Zanik did not
like to wait so long in the dark in such a place. Then he
sensed a soft tread or tapping on the walk inside the gate, heard a
gentle fumbling at the rusty latch, and saw the narrow, heavy door swing
inward, and in the pallid glow of the single dim street lamp, he
strained his eyes to see what his colleagues had brought out of that sinister house
which loomed so close behind. But when he looked, he did not see
what he had expected, for his colleagues were not there at all, but
only the terrible old man, leaning quietly on his knotted cane and smiling hideously.
Mister Zanick had never before noticed the color of that man's eyes. Now
he saw that they were yellow. Little things make considerable excitement in little towns,
which is the reason that Kingsport people talked all that spring and summer about
the three unidentifiable bodies, horribly slashed as with many cutlasses, and horribly mangled,
as by the tread of many cruel boot heels which the tide washed in.
And some people even spoke of things as trivial as the deserted motor car
found in Ship Street, or certain especially in human cries probably of astray animal
or migratory bird, heard in the night by wakeful citizens. But in this
idle village gossip, the terrible old man took no interest at all. He
was, by nature reserved, and when one is aged and feeble, one's
reserve is doubly strong. Besides, so ancient a sea captain must have witnessed
scores of things much more stirring in the far off days of his unremembered youth,
end of the terrible old Man.