Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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Clarence's grandfather had once told him about the Bishop. It seems that this Bishop had had a friend, a dwarf. This dwarf was rumored to be a demon. for after the Bishop was murdered, it was never seen again--at least not in the flesh. Many people had claimed to have seen its spirit since its disappearance back in the middle of the Fifteenth century. The latest person had been the present organist, and his story had set the town agog. His account ran that one night he had had to return to the cathedral to get some music. It was then that he had seen the dwarf. It was, he claimed, looking flxedly at him from the altar. The organist had described it as having a triangular, bearded face and horns projecting from the forehead. Terrified, he had fled at the sight, leaving his precious music behind. The next morning the crucifix had been found lying on the floor. Clarence shuddered. Suppose he should encounter it? He stopped and listened. All was silent, save for the faint sound of traflic from the street. He proceeded falteringly. Presently a cold sweat began to form on his skin. His scalp tightened, and he walked mechanically. O, God! Had he heard footsteps? He felt that he was being stared at. Baleful green eyes were somewhere in the dark- ness behind him. The infamous sixth sensei' was doing its insidious work. He strove to put aside his fears. It was all nonsensical superstition! He listened intently. There was not a sound, save,-yes! From the darkness behind came the soft pat of very deliberate footsteps. Dignity and reason fled. Superstitious terror, the instinctive horror of the nameless, wreaked havoc on his composure. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. He was paralyzed with fear. It was following him. It was getting closer. Two green eyes that were remarkably close together peered out of the shadows. Then, out of the darkness into the faint rays of cold light from the window, emerged a head and a pair of shoulders. O, God! It was the-the DWARF! He gasped, and then his horrified shriek tore at the silence of the night. Go away! Go away! he screamed. Leave me alone! Don't touch me! i He shrieked at the top of his lungs again and again, and then suddenly turned and fled down the dark aisle toward the doors at the end of the nave. The Thing came bounding after him with a weird, unearthly rhythm, never passing, always keeping in the darkness behind. O, God, he whispered in despair. Terror forced him to run faster and faster, faster than he knew how. Suddenly there was a terrible rattle at a door across the nave. It opened, and a man with a lantern stood silhouetted in the light from the street. Clarence headed for him, screaming with horror. The Thing! The Thing! It's following me. O, help! He dodged among the columns, blinded with fear. Suddenly a dark mass loomed up in front of him. He couldn't avoid it. He was going too fast. Too late. He collided with it. Clarence groaned and sank unconscious to the floor. When he regained consciousness, he was lying on the grass. A portly

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umns that appeared to mount to heaven, indestructible columns, among which the music of the organ seemed to billow and roll, surging into every nook, every corner, every existing cranny. It was all too great. It was all too huge. It seemed so complete, so omnipotent, that Clarence felt vaguely annoyed. He turned and entered one of the little chapels, but the music, now soft and quiet, followed him in. He closed the gate at the entrance as if to shut it out. It was in vain. The chapel, though of small dimensions, was exceedingly rich in material. On the milk-white altar of marble, which was partially covered with a purple silk cloth, stood sacramental vessels of gold. Brilliantly colored Gothic windows rose behind it. Twin ormolu cabinets, standing in the centers of the side walls, were crowned with Sevres vases of the most exquisite propor- tions. The cushions, the urns, even the walls themselves were of incredible richness. But amid this luxury and beauty was a foreign note, discordantly sounded. It consisted of the chairs, which were plain to a point of crudeness. Perhaps the Bishop feared souvenir hunters. Nevertheless, they pleased Clarence. To him they seemed to dilute the luxury of the apartment, to make it palatable. Ha! There was an idea. It might serve as a core about which to construct a story. He seated himself on one of the aisle chairs and began to think. He thought and thought, but after every idea some sort of objection presented itself. He grew bored and drowsy. His gaze wandered back to the chairs. They were evidently just a whim of the Bishop. He was notoriously eccentric. Clarence began to mentally ramble, aiming criticism and conjecture at everything in general and at nothing in particular. Presently he remembered his purpose in being in the chapel. Perhaps, he thought, if he closed his eyes he would not be distracted by his surroundings. Yes, that was a good idea. He put it into execution and-fell asleep. It was night when he awoke, and the cathedral was silent. A faint hum of traffic penetrated to the dim interior of the building. He stood up, somewhat alarmed. He should have been home long ago. He went to the windows and studied his watch in the feeble light that filtered through from the street. It was twenty-live minutes past nine. Not so late after all, he thought, as he groped toward the vague outlines of the chapel gate. With a maximum of difhculty he opened it and stepped out. In the corridor, he stood undecided as to which way to turn. But then, he thought, it didn't make much differnce. He turned to his right, walking quickly and quietly around the the chancel toward the transept. God, how dark it was! The arrogant, threatening columns reared themselves to indiscernible heights, like petrified tree trunks in an enchanted forest. Enchanted? Haunted! It was approximately here that the Bishop of Hampshire was murdered. That was a half a thousand years ago, but it was still claimed that his spirit haunted the place. The REFLECTOR- . ., 11

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woman was sponging his face with cold water, and there were a few people looking on anxiously. 'iIt's all rightf' smiled the woman with the cloth. You'll be all right. Where-what . . . ? began Clarence. Now you just be quiet and lie still, ' interrupted the woman. Then Clarence remembered. Where is It? he asked, sitting up. Now lie down, insisted the woman. But where is It? he demanded. The Thing ? Where is what thing? The demon. The dwarf. The thing that was chasing me. It must have knocked me out. It wanted to kill me. Be careful, be calm, she assured. We won't let anything get you. just a moment, interrupted one of the men. 'You ran into a pillar, son, he said kindly, and we carried you outside unconscious. But you were running about that building like one possessed. He indicated the cathedral with a wave of his hand. Why were you in there? Clarence explained. I fell asleep in a chaped and got locked in. Then the dwarf that Mr. Norfolk, the organist, saw, began to follow me. When I ran, it ran after me. I was running toward the door when it opened. You say I ran into a pillar. That's all I remember. The man was silent a moment, while the woman tried to make Clarence Iie down and the rest talked in low tones. XVhat did this thing look like? asked the man. It was just like Mr. Norfolk's description. It had a long, triangular face with a short beard. It had horns, too. How tall was it? Oh, quite short. It was the dwarf, I tell you. The group was silent for a moment. Suddenly from the open door of the cathedral there came a noise that created general consternation. It was the bleat of a goat. A second later a goat emerged from the door and came toward the little group. The man suddenly turned to Clarence. Was the dwarf the height of this goat? he asked. Clarence hesitated. I think it was a little shorter. Are you sure. Not very. I think I understand, said the man. This animal is Little Minotaur, the Bishop's pet goat. Somehow it can wander from the cloister garden, where it is usually kept, to the main part of the cathedral. You saw it in the dark and mistook it for the fabled dwarf. Mr. Norfolk probably did the same. Are you sure that this is Little Minotaur? asked Clarence. I ought to be. You see, he continued, I'm a caretaker here. That is why I got in the cathedral so soon when I heard your cries. Then, asked Clarence, all this excitement is due to a superstition and a pet goat? Thats about right, said the caretaker. Clarence lay back on the grass and looked up at the silent, distant stars. The REFLECTOR - 13