The Clock Of The Great Hall
Lorient Montaner
'Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace, like a clock during a thunderstorm.'—Robert Louis Stevenson
Madness, the masked culprit of my phantasmagoria, had taunted me with a relentless obsession. I felt its illimitable dominion wielding over me like a towering edifice, as that ghastly vertical clock in the Great Hall sounded loudly, its echoes of tick-tock reverberating so hauntingly. It is that colossal and abhorrent mechanical contrivance that knows no surcease. Its devious hands turn and turn clockwise until they reach the next hour, beginning anew the horrible process of strepor that deafened my ears incessantly.
This duplicitous fiend is known as madness. It is a sound that drowns even the threnetic voices of the sepultures of restless souls beyond the quietude. The large linear Roman numerals of elongation are covered by a glass and oval casing, bound by the hardened steel surface of rigidity protecting the clock.
Every night, this exact nightmare pursued me with an indomitable passion, as the surreal image of the clock appeared to me gigantic and overpowering. I was fixated upon it, like a magnet that drew my vision and mind into a profound hallucinatory trance I fought mightily to resist. It felt like an opium dream that had gone astray, as the porcelain dial arrested my attention devilishly.
My tale began upon a foggy autumn late midday of 1808, in the Lower Engadine region of Switzerland, as my carriage arrived at a small hamlet that existed amongst the high rocks and the placid lake beneath a mountain range. My name is Walter Sherrington, an Englishman by birth and a nobleman who had arrived from London. I was in these parts of the country to visit the castle of an old acquaintance of mine.
He was a dapper gentleman by the name of Lord Hasper, who had been living in this region for decades and had studied at Oxford with me years ago. I had discovered, through a disturbing correspondence, that he had been suffering from a peculiar form of phrenesis. The reason for his insanity I did not know, at that exact moment in time.
From below, I could descry the daunting image of the isolated and imposing Hasper Castle. It was situated upon slopes covered by a vast tract of forest, standing atop a steep and craggy plateau that had once protruded over the ruins of a fortification.
Afterwards, the carriage proceeded up the arterial and narrow cobblestone passage and through the gate that led to the spiral front door of the castle. A certain decadence could be seen in its façade as we approached the proximity of the front entrance. I noticed also the massive towers, surrounded by a high enclosure wall, rising near the strange burr of the hilly terrain.
On the east side of the gate, there was a passage that had been covered by a vault since the Middle Ages. From there, I could see the central inner court, from which the buildings were connected to the wall. I had also been informed that Lord Hasper's servant and doctor were to be at the castle awaiting my arrival. My stay in Switzerland was to be temporary and confined within the estate.
Although the castle was in decline and in need of restoration, I had told the solicitor in my correspondence that I was eager to visit my dear friend, Lord Hasper. I would never have imagined that my time within the castle would almost drive me into complete madness too, and unveil a shocking secret that had long existed within its walls.
As I stept out from the carriage, I noticed a rusty, medieval door knocker affixed to the main entrance of the castle. Slowly, I began to tap upon the heavy door and was soon greeted by the caretaker, Alexander, who took care of the castle. He was a short and stocky fellow in his seventies. I was then escorted by him to the dining hall, glancing as I went at the rooms of the lower storeys, equipped with vaults, the countless windows, and the wood panelling erected in the elevated buildings.
I found it most interesting to see the white plastered façades adorned with the Prussian coat of arms, as I walked across the cerulean delft tiles that covered the floor. Immediately, I perceived a cold draught within the ancient castle as I proceeded steadily. The cold increased gradually as we headed towards the dining hall. The manifold hanging chandeliers, the wrought tapestries, the fine Ottoman rugs, and the oil lamps suspended above the corridor were all impressively displayed. There, in the luxuriant comfort of the dining hall, was Dr Dumengia, who was waiting for my arrival. He was a proud Bündner, or Grisonian as commonly known, and hailed from the region.
Despite the dim and drear façade outside the castle, its interior appearance was much more elegant and appealing. In the dining room stood a unique 17th-century candelabrum upon the mahogany table, with several French walnut Gothic chairs aligned and adjacent to it. The colourful paintings in the hall gave a clear tincture of distinction, as did those in the antechambers attached to the apartments below on the first storey.
The rear arches sheltered the oval windows ahead, through which the fitful clouds of the hillside mist swathed the landscape of the canton of the Grisons, extending to the Alps of the tramontane Italians. I had been told much of this enchanting and mysterious scenery before, but upon seeing the mist that formed, I stood in absolute awe of the majestic surroundings nearby.
'Welcome to Hasper Castle, my lord. I regret that Lord Hasper could not be present to welcome you today, but he has appointed me to see that your stay in this castle is the most pleasant', Dr Diumengia said.
I shook the hand of Dr Diumengia and presented myself to him, with a sense of sorrow and regret that he perceived instantly in my eyes.
'It is a pleasure, doctor, and your regret is respectfully shared by me. It is a shame that Lord Hasper has succumbed to this dreadful illness', I stated.
I paused before I asked the good doctor, 'If I may enquire, Dr Diumengia, was his dementia gradual or forthwith?'
'Sadly, his affliction was a gradual process at intervals that allowed me to diagnose his insanity. It was not a facile matter, my lord, and after thorough deliberation I reached this dreaded conclusion', Dr Diumengia responded.
'Where is he now, Dr Diumengia?'
'Presently, he is in the Great Hall.'
'I would like to see him, but I do not wish to disrupt him. Therefore, I shall wait until you have recommended my visit'.
'There is no need to wait, my lord, for you may see him now. However, I must advise you that he does not appear to be coherent when speaking'.
I then followed him to the Great Hall, where, sitting in a wheelchair, was, lo and behold, my dear friend Lord Hasper, whom I had not seen in years. His back was facing me, and I noticed he scarcely flinched. When the good doctor informed him of my visit, his reaction was very disconcerting.
As I approached closer and descried Lord Hasper, I was extremely startled to see his gaunt and depleted guise that resembled a living corpse. There was no sentiment emoted at first, and his eyes were covered by some dark spectacles that he wore. He was void of any reasonable volition whatsoever, and his absorbent stare was directed at a large vertical vintage clock in the hall that stood firm. This I had perceived with a sudden admission of astonishment.
Although I had been explained his deteriorating condition, I never imagined him to be in such a pitiful state of mind and paratonic rigidity. He did not respond to my voice, nor was he aware much of my presence. His apparent madness was something I was not prepared to witness. I had been warned of his deplorable affliction, but I did not ponder the severity of its unhinged nature. The only thing he expressed was an utterance that he repeated over and over with urgency.
'The clock, the clock, beware of the clock, its power is unrelenting! It calls me. Do you not hear the voices?'
His once luminous eyes were then full of intense hysteria, as he spoke with such irrationality. It was as if the clock had been mesmerising him, much like the apparent sway of the pendulum. I had noticed the monotonous movement of the porcelain dial that hung underneath the clock.
It was an eerie attraction that I felt and was gravitated towards for a brief moment, as I stared at the commanding hands of the clock, whilst I heard the sound of a peculiar tick-tock coming from the clock in the Great Hall. For some unknown reason, the mechanical contrivance had arrested his complete attention and interest. Soon, I would discover the immense influence of the clock on the psyche of a human being and the hidden mystery that had remained to be unfolded afterwards. I had been captivated by the clock that I did not hear the voice and words of Dr Diumengia speaking to me before.
'Lord Sherrington!'
I had reacted, 'Do forgive me, doctor, for I was lost in my thoughts. You were saying?'
'As you can see, my lord, Lord Hasper has lost his sanity, and his faculties have dissipated substantially. I fear that his madness is permanent', Dr. Diumengia confessed.
'Egad, that is such a dreadful admission to have to accept unwillingly, doctor.'
'Unfortunately, phrenesis is a reality that we are currently examining thoroughly. Naturally, there is still much to be learned about the complicated complexity of the mind of an individual, my lord.'
'Is there no hope, no cure for Lord Hasper, doctor?'
'Perchance, there is one in the end. Only time will tell,' he admitted.
'I would hope so, for his sake, doctor.'
'If you will excuse me, my lord, I must be on my way. I must tend to my other patients and duties. I shall return to the castle in a week to see his progress. In the meantime, I shall instruct the servants to tend to your needs during your stay here in the castle'.
I shook his hand and was grateful for his dedication and diligence towards Lord Hasper. He was escorted to the front door by one of the servants, whilst I remained in the Great Hall with Lord Hasper. He was still in that deep fixation with the clock when I observed him even more.
My desire was to speak to him and know what had caused his madness, but he was in no state of mind to converse coherently. Therefore, I thought it prudent not to antagonise him or upset his pacific mien. Instead, I allowed the servant to take him back to his room after he had been sedated.
I then began to notice the weapons room, kitchen, festival hall with a piano and large mirror. There was a particular inscription that seemed to be a motto, written in the local tongue of Romansch (In per tuts, tuts per in). Although I knew French and Italian, I was not truly familiarised with this unique Romance language. I pondered for a few minutes the significance of the inscription. After further contemplation, I failed to decipher the words completely. Then I heard the voice of a young woman speaking to me. She was standing directly behind me, dressed in an elegant blue gown and with a virtuous repute.
'Bainvegni al Chastè Hasper, Lord Sherrington'.
'Good God, you scared me, young lady. Who are you, if I may ask?' I enquired.
'I am Sidonia, the sister of Lord Hasper', she answered.
'Sidonia, I had forgotten that Lord Hasper had a sister. If you may permit me to say, my lady, a very beautiful one'.
'I shall take your words of blandishment as a mild compliment, my lord. Surely, you must be weary from the trip. Alexander will escort you to your chamber. Once dinner is prepared, I shall summon you then'.
'What does the motto I saw before mean in English, Lady Hasper?' I asked her with curiosity.
'The motto translated would be, "One for all, all for one," in English, my lord. I would much prefer that you call me Sidonia'.
Immediately, I was taken to my chamber upstairs to rest. I was to stay in one of the guest rooms provided. The furnishings in the bedroom were stately, and the canopy bed had a rectangular bedstead. There was a hand wash basin nearby to clean up, and I did. Naturally, I was still troubled by the abhorrent condition of Lord Hasper.
After my repose, I awoke to hear the door knock. It was one of the servants who had informed me that dinner was ready. In the dining hall was Sidonia, who was seated at the end of the table facing north. Of her appearance, I shall disclose the following: she was slender and attractive. The remarkable contours of her countenance were pale but elegant.
Her round eyes of viridity, her narrow nose, her florid cheeks, and her long, brown, flowing locks defined the transparent beauty of a Roman goddess from the days of yore. I noticed the illumination in the dining room, as the lights of the chandelier were bright and lively. They gave a special yet imposing charm to the dining hall that I had perceived intuitively.
Lord Hasper, due to his afflicted state of mind, did not join us in the dining hall. Instead, he had remained within his private chamber, lost in his thoughts. I could not help but pity his condition. I did not want to interpose a personal remark regarding the insanity of Lord Hasper or inconvenience Sidonia. Thus, I sought to refrain from any redundant enquiries at the dining table.
'Good evening, my lady. I see that dinner is prepared now. I thank you once more for your cordial hospitality', I said.
'I hope that your repose was not interrupted too much by the frequent noises of the castle, my lord', she replied.
I smiled and responded, 'No more, I suppose, than the sounds of any other castle that is more dank in its structure'.
'Lord Sherrington, you are a foreigner in our land. What is your general impression of the Engadine valley? Is it what you imagined it to be before you came to our region?'
'I must admit you have surprised me with this question. If you must know, my lady, I find the Engadine valley to be very fascinating and wonderful'.
'There is so much that is fascinating and wonderful about your England that makes me want to know more. I have read endless books in the library about England. I hope one day soon in the future, I can visit your beloved country, Lord Sherrington'.
'It will be a pleasure to have you in England, but you must know that I am envious of the valley landscape in which I currently find myself, my lady'.
She smiled. 'My lord, the valley can sometimes be a dull and murky place, especially when alone and unaccompanied. Ever since Lord Hasper lost his mind, things have not been the same as before'.
Her admission was plainly expressed, and I commiserated with her, causing me to say, 'Your words are truly felt, my lady'.
We then shifted the conversation to more pleasant subjects, leaving the sombre mood behind.
After dinner, we recited poetry together and shared a bottle of wine before we were interrupted by one of the female servants, who told Sidonia that Lord Hasper was awake. She excused herself, and I remained in the dining hall. Shortly after, I returned to my chamber and relaxed in my bed, still pondering the events unfolding.
That night, in a profound sleep, I began to dream of a very frightening episode with the bizarre clock in the Great Hall. The hall was dark and gloomy, and I could hear the absolute sound of a tick-tock emanating from that large clock. The noise resounded in a heavy echo that grew louder with every passing minute.
I did not understand what was transpiring, nor why I was standing before the clock. It was all shrouded in mist, vague and unclear, yet the clock’s influence was undeniable. Its duration seemed eternal, and I felt a magnetic pull drawing me closer to the imposing timepiece. Strange sounds of voices then swirled around me, echoing through the Great Hall.
Suddenly, I awoke from my phantasmagoric dream, the sound of the clock ringing at the start of every new hour. The glint of the sun had entered my chamber through the velvet draperies. When I realised that my nightmare had merely been a product of my subconscious mind, I immediately rose to my feet. I had never been prone to nightmares of such a horrific nature before. I pondered the significance of the dream, allowing myself to be calmed by the soothing sounds of the valley outside.
After dressing, I descended the stairway and ventured into the obscure corridor. As I passed the apartments below, I saw a faint light emanating from the Great Hall. When I approached, I found Lord Hasper sitting once more in his wheelchair, staring ahead at the clock, his dark spectacles obscuring his eyes and his face set in the same callous expression that had left me disheartened since the day before. I attempted to open the crimson draperies of the Great Hall wider, but as I did, I heard Sidonia’s emphatic voice.
'Do not open the draperies wide, Lord Sherrington!'
When I asked why, her response was swift and measured. 'Lord Hasper suffers from hypersensitivity, and an acute illness of hypochondria as well. I regret that I did not inform you of these details earlier'.
I did not dwell on the peculiar affliction, nor did I question its severity, for it was clear that his dark spectacles were worn for a reason. I did not wish to be inappropriate or to press Sidonia further on the matter. Perhaps any further enquiries regarding Lord Hasper’s condition were best left for Dr. Diumengia upon his next visit. It was plain to see that Lord Hasper was wholly absorbed by the figure of the clock. What could account for his peculiar fixation, especially when his vision was likely impaired by the very light?
The more I observed him, the more my pity for his lamentable condition grew. What was once a visit of an old friend had turned into a sombre reflection on Lord Hasper’s misfortune. At least he had the care and dedication of his devoted sister, Sidonia, by his side. But it seemed that Lord Hasper was impervious to that realisation, caught in the spell of his own affliction.
Such a once-scholarly man he had been, now reduced to a helpless infant trapped within the body of a defeated man. There was little I could do to allay his madness or restore him to his former jovial self. His mind was wholly occupied by the great clock that loomed before him in the Great Hall. If only there were something—anything—I could do.
I saw the ponderous look of despair in the glassy eyes of Sidonia as she sighed with such sullen despondency. If I could but efface, even for a brief interval, the burden of her sorrow, I resolved to try. Thus, I invited her for a jaunty stroll through the valley. At first, she was reluctant, but she eventually acquiesced. I promised we would not tarry long, nor would we stray far from the castle. Before departing, she personally instructed one of the servants she trusted most to tend to her brother, Lord Hasper, during our absence.
Once alone, we took the carriage down the narrow passage toward the valley. I made a passing suggestion of visiting the village along the way, but she was not receptive to the idea. I found it odd that she would not wish to venture into the village with me, yet I understood her direful preoccupation with her brother’s wellbeing.
The chirm of sparrows filled the air, and rows of lush trees lined the ridges of the hillside. This time, there was no mist to veil the Engadine Valley. We spoke of the interminable beauty and the serenity of the vale, as Sidonia, with quiet passion, recounted to me the ancient history of this enchanting region.
From a distance, I saw what appeared to be a grave, concealed behind a tree. When I enquired about it, Sidonia explained that it was the resting place of one of the servants, who had been buried there owing to the absence of any immediate family to claim him. I thought it an honourable gesture, for his loyalty to the Hasper family had been impeccable and endearing.
Sidonia then requested that we return to the castle, as she was solicitous about the care of Lord Hasper.
Not wishing to trouble her further, we made our way back. Upon our return, Sidonia excused herself, whilst I retired to my chamber to compose a pressing letter to Lord Tittingham, informing him that I would likely be remaining in Switzerland longer than I had initially anticipated. The mysterious grave I had glimpsed caused me to ponder why a solitary grave would be found in such a remote part of the hillside.
There was a dubious nature surrounding the grave. I quickly dismissed my curiosity about it and took dinner, as was customary, in the dining hall with Sidonia. I noticed a preoccupation in her that grew increasingly unsteady with each passing minute. When I enquired, she merely attributed it to the strain of a weary day that had momentarily sapped her vigour. After dinner, she excused herself and retired to her chamber to rest.
Meanwhile, I returned to my own chamber, where I read a book I had borrowed from the castle’s library. Had Lord Hasper's condition worsened? The thought had crossed my mind more than once, but I set aside the pensive enquiry for the morrow. As I retired for the night and drifted into sleep, the recurring nightmare of the disturbing clock resurfaced—yet this time, the nightmare would be but a precursor to the terror that awaited me on that dreadful night.
I awoke from the disquieting dream, drenched in a heavy perspiration, and immediately became aware of strange noises emanating from beyond the chamber door. At first, the sounds resembled voices, though they were foreign and indistinct. Some unrecognisable force seemed to draw me irresistibly towards the Great Hall. Doubt no longer burdened my mind—it had given way to a grim certainty.
I opened the door quietly and, after ensuring it was closed behind me, made my way cautiously along the corridor. I looked about to see if any of the servants were awake or nearby, but I found no sign of another soul.
Thus, I proceeded towards the Great Hall, whence the unnatural noises seemed to issue. As I advanced with measured tread, the voices grew more audible. I could not at first distinguish the words, save for one voice—the unmistakable voice of Lord Hasper, muttering to himself. The corridor was shrouded in darkness, save for a faint gleam of light that issued directly from the Great Hall ahead.
There was a dubious nature surrounding the grave. I quickly dismissed my curiosity about it and took dinner, as was customary, in the dining hall with Sidonia. I noticed a preoccupation in her that grew increasingly unsteady with each passing minute. When I enquired, she merely attributed it to the strain of a weary day that had momentarily sapped her vigour. After dinner, she excused herself and retired to her chamber to rest.
Meanwhile, I returned to my own chamber, where I read a book I had borrowed from the castle’s library. Had Lord Hasper's condition worsened? The thought had crossed my mind more than once, but I set aside the pensive enquiry for the morrow. As I retired for the night and drifted into sleep, the recurring nightmare of the disturbing clock resurfaced—yet this time, the nightmare would be but a precursor to the terror that awaited me on that dreadful night.
I awoke from the disquieting dream, drenched in a heavy perspiration, and immediately became aware of strange noises emanating from beyond the chamber door. At first, the sounds resembled voices, though they were foreign and indistinct. Some unrecognisable force seemed to draw me irresistibly towards the Great Hall. Doubt no longer burdened my mind — it had given way to a grim certainty.
I opened the door quietly and, after ensuring it was closed behind me, made my way cautiously along the corridor. I looked about to see if any of the servants were awake or nearby, but I found no sign of another soul.
Thus, I proceeded towards the Great Hall, whence the unnatural noises seemed to issue. As I advanced with measured tread, the voices grew more audible. I could not at first distinguish the words, save for one voice—the unmistakable voice of Lord Hasper, muttering to himself. The corridor was shrouded in darkness, save for a faint gleam of light that issued directly from the Great Hall ahead.
The light flickered in the distance, and it was not until I reached the Great Hall that I was startled to see, before the towering vintage clock, Lord Hasper—alone in his wheelchair amidst the stark darkness. No servants were present to attend to him at that hour, and, most strikingly, neither was Sidonia. His presence within the hall was both inexplicable and unexpected. Was I, perhaps, experiencing another phantasmagoric episode of total dissimulation, still asleep in my chamber unknowingly?
A fundamental problem remained to be addressed. Was I truly witnessing a portentous occurrence, one without any feasible or logical explanation? There had to be some pertinence to this vivid episode; it could not be a mere coincidence that Lord Hasper was alone in the Great Hall at such a late hour.
It was past midnight by then, when I discovered him in the hall. I was uncertain whether or not to confront him as I approached. The disembodied voices had suddenly ceased—even his. I hesitated, not wishing to alarm him or to provoke a heightened vexation that might worsen his condition. Yet in the end, after much deliberation, I resolved to confront him, my posture a mixture of intrigue and concern. His back was facing me when I called out his name.
‘Lord Hasper, can you hear me? Why are you in the Great Hall alone?’
Not a word came from his mouth. He neither answered my question nor heeded my voice. Perhaps he was so lost within his trance that he did not hear me. Thus, I called his name anew.
Once more, he did not respond. Trusting my instincts, I moved closer and turned him towards me. He remained motionless, unresisting. I removed his spectacles and was immediately struck by the ghastly image of death. His emaciated brows were overshadowed by glassy white eyes; his aquiline nose, once so prominent, was now cold to the touch. His cheeks were pallid, and the deathly pallor that enveloped his lifeless frame was undeniable. He was stone dead—and something nameless, something malevolent, seemed to have been the cause. His mouth hung agape, as if in frozen terror, bearing grim testament to the unseen horror that had claimed him.
Perhaps the shock of that unimaginative horror, the overwhelming madness, had finally become too unbearable to escape. It was the harrowing madness to which he had succumbed. Amidst this distressing revelation and circumstance stood the dreadful clock, its relentless tick-tock reverberating indefinitely. The horrendous clang of the clock rang out as another hour passed. I thought of Sidonia.
How was I to inform her that her beloved brother, Lord Hasper, was dead? I was not even certain that he had died of natural causes. What if he had been murdered? And if so, who would have murdered Lord Hasper? I pondered this in increasing agitation. Sundry thoughts hastened through my mind, and it was so late—in the very early hours—that I questioned whether it was wise to disturb her sleep. I dreaded the sequence that would befall, yet what if one of the servants observed me and presumed that I was the culprit behind Lord Hasper’s untimely death? I began to fret as I quickly weighed my options.
There was no rational course left but to inform Sidonia of her brother’s death. This was the only logical conclusion. Thus, I made my way to her chamber and knocked upon the door. I knocked, but there was no answer. I called her name, yet again there was no response. Perhaps she was in a profound sleep and could not hear me, I speculated. I headed back towards the Great Hall, where I was then confronted by one of the servants.
‘My lord, what are you doing awake at these late hours?’
I did not wish to stir a commotion or awaken the other servants. Taking him aside, I spoke softly to him. I immediately revealed to him the dreadful truth.
‘Lord Hasper is dead. His body is in the Great Hall! I was sleeping in my chamber when I heard strange voices and noises coming from outside. When I investigated the sounds, I found Lord Hasper in his wheelchair—stone dead, I tell you'.
He was not overtly surprised by my disclosure, and his response was somewhat indifferent. 'My lord, it is regrettable; but there is no need to worry, I shall take care of the matter at once. I had feared this day would come, and that Lord Hasper would, in time, succumb to his troublesome insanity'.
'You are correct', I replied. 'His tormented psychosis must have triggered a cataleptic paroxysm in him suddenly. An irregular heartbeat likely contributed to his death as well. It is a terrible way to die, and such a dreadful nemesis to overcome. He could not placate the voices inside his head. If only he could have died in peace! We shall never know. But what are we to tell Lady Hasper of her brother’s death?'
His reaction was bizarre, and his words equally strange. 'Lady Hasper, my lord?'
'Yes, Lady Hasper. I knocked on her door, but she did not reply'.
'My lord, she cannot answer you!'
'What do you mean?' I asked, confused.
'You do not know, my lord?'
'Know what?'
'She is dead, my lord!'
His disconcerting admission left me aghast. 'Dead? What in bloody hell do you mean?'
'My lord, perhaps it would be better if you returned to your chamber and rested. The castle has a way of playing devious tricks on one'.
I stood there in a state of unsettling disbelief. 'No, no, this is nothing more than a terrible nightmare. I shall awake in the morning, and all of this will be gone and forgotten'.
I returned to my chamber, and after several hours of frantic perturbation, I finally slept. It was a cathartic release of the tension and anxiety I had been experiencing. It felt so vicarious that I found myself contemplating my own sanity and intuitive reasoning. Had I just encountered a supernatural phenomenon in the castle? Was the servant a ghost, and was Sidonia truly dead, like her brother, Lord Hasper? What if that were true?
It was in the early afternoon when I awoke, the clang of the Great Hall's clock having roused me. The first thing I did was rise from the bed and wash my face. I then dressed quickly and made my way to Sidonia's room to speak with her. There was a pressing urgency to understand what was transpiring in the castle. As I was in the corridor, I saw her standing in the Great Hall, dressed in black. Lord Hasper was no longer there. For some unexplained reason, he was absent. Had they removed the body and prepared it for burial? I thought to myself, she is not dead—nor is she a ghost. I saw Sidonia, and she was alive.
'Sidonia, you don’t know how saddened I am by the passing of your brother, Lord Hasper. Words are never enough to comfort one, but I do hope mine can offer some consolation in this hour of grief and need', I told her, as we embraced.
"I shall be fine, Lord Sherrington, for the death of Lord Hasper was foreseen. He is where he belongs—in the corridor of his madness', she replied.
It was not the heartfelt response I had hoped for—or the reaction I expected from a grieving sister. I had anticipated her being taciturn and morose upon learning of Lord Hasper’s death. Perhaps I had misinterpreted her words and resolve. After all, I could only imagine how it must feel to lose such a close sibling. She told me that the burial would take place in two days, though she did not provide many details about the ceremony.
When I asked where the interment would take place, she was uncertain at the moment. She promised to inform me as soon as the preparations were made and finalised. The day felt eerie, and I sensed a subtle change in Sidonia’s behaviour. She was becoming distant and callous towards me. I had assumed her indifference was part of her grieving process.
At dinner, in the dining hall, she remained quiet. I also noticed her selcouth attitude, which seemed to reflect her profound predicament. How could I restore her former smile and resolve? I left the dining hall and passed through the Great Hall. I had hoped to speak with the brash servant, the one who had told me before that Sidonia was dead. That was the reason I had stepped into the Great Hall, believing I might find him there.
Upon entering, I found no sign of his presence. The only thing I noticed was the clock. The mechanical tick-tock of the towering contraption echoed throughout the room. It seemed to draw me in, under its influence and dominion, gradually. There was something undeniably powerful about the clock, something that had mesmerised the mind of Lord Hasper, and now mine as well.
Had the clock truly caused not only his madness but his eventual death? Had it contributed to his erratic phrenesis? His isolation had led him to drift into a world of consuming aberration. I began to hear strange voices and the wails of afflicted souls from somewhere nearby. Were the effects of Lord Hasper’s death now affecting me as well? Or had I simply succumbed to the perilous isolation of the castle? A tingling sensation reverberated constantly in my brain, and I felt a heavy pounding consuming my thoughts, relentless and unyielding.
I could not resist the unyielding force of the clock. Its sound grew louder, its intensity severe and inscrutable. It possessed an irresoluble power over me, as though the clock itself controlled and spellbound the very pattern of my thoughts. I was utterly submissive to the devious will of its puissant grasp.
Then the caretaker, Alexander, saw me standing in the Great Hall, staring fixedly at the massive clock, completely unaware of his presence. He called my name several times, but I did not respond. It was not until he grabbed me firmly by the shoulder that I reacted, startled into awareness. The episode was so haunting and vivid that I shivered uncontrollably.
'Lord Sherrington, Lord Sherrington, are you all right, my lord? You were shaking. What has frightened you?' Asked a bewildered Alexander.
I turned to him and uttered hoarsely, 'The clock!'
'The clock, my lord?' He questioned, confused.
'That dreadful clock! Do you not feel its haunting presence?'
'It is indeed an eerie sound to hear," he said, "but it is the familiar sound of the castle'.
'What are you saying, for God's sake? Are you jesting?'
'Perhaps I am', he replied, with a slight, inscrutable smile. 'I am afraid there are things about this castle that you do not yet fully understand'.
'I have no time for your games of mystery. The only mystery that demands solving is the one behind that accursed clock'.
'Soon, you will understand everything about the clock—and about this castle, my lord'.
I forced myself to calm down, to regain my composure. If I did not, I feared he would think me mad.
Once in my chamber, I bethought myself of linking the sequence of events that were transpiring. Lord Hasper’s obsession with the clock haunted my mind—or was his fixation not the sole cause of his death, but rather the unseen and unknown force of evil that compelled itself to drain the very thoughts of the human mind? I was referring, of course, to the uncommon occurrences that had unfolded in the castle since my arrival.
I was determined to solve the mystery of the clock. I dined with Sidonia in the dining hall, my mind intent on gleaning more information concerning the vintage clock. When I discussed the subject, her reply was queer and unsettling:
'The clock has always been here, Lord Sherrington. Father built it himself. It was a gift that Mother cherished passionately. Poor Mother went mad as well. You see, Lord Sherrington, madness is all too common in our family. It is an intrinsic legacy of the castle. You are wondering if the clock killed Lord Hasper. It was his madness that killed him—not the clock'.
I was respectfully astonished by her candour. It was evident I would uncover nothing further from Sidonia. Thus, I would have to rely upon my own instinctive awareness to assist me in this grim endeavour.
That memorable night, I waited until the late hours, when the servants and Sidonia were surely asleep in their chambers. Once I had sensed no one roaming the corridors, I opened the door of my chamber and ventured into the corridor leading to the Great Hall.
As I approached, I saw luminous orbs shining brightly in the distance, and I lit the tapers of the silver candelabra I carried. The familiar murmuring voices echoed once more about me, though I could not detect their source. It was then, as I finally entered the dining hall, that I beheld a ghastly sight: the ghosts of the castle seated around the long table, laughing in a devilish and unholy manner—amongst them Lord Hasper, and Sidonia herself.
Then, they ceased their laughter and fixed their hollow gazes upon me—only to erupt once more into cruel, mocking mirth. Terrified, I fled from the dining hall and raced at last into the Great Hall, where the ominous clock stood like a dreadful sentinel.
I heard the relentless tick-tock of the clock; the sound grew in intensity, reverberating through the darkness. There, towering before me, the clock shone faintly, like the imposing mountains of the Engadine region. The great porcelain dial below swayed with a relentless fervour I could not eschew.
The voices, the laughter, and the infernal tick-tock all grew louder, until I could endure no more. My head rang with unbearable noise, and my eyes were blinded by the imperant fixation of the clock. My heart pounded faster and faster, until I felt it would surely burst.
Gradually, overcome by the illimitable dominion of the clock, I collapsed onto the cold floor, remaining motionless under its dreadful sway. Then, from the towering mechanism, a heavy and obstreperous clang resounded, announcing the passage of another hour into the night.
When I awoke the next day, I found myself still lying on the ground. There was an absolute silence. The ringing in my head was gone. The strange voices were gone. The dreaded wraiths were gone. Apparently, Alexander, the caretaker, had discovered me there in the Great Hall. He was standing alongside Dr. Diumengia, who called my name urgently. He shook me by the shoulder, rousing me from my deadly trance.
Lord Sherrington, are you all right, my lord?" Dr. Diumengia cried, his face wrought with concern.
"Dr. Diumengia! Good God, it is the clock! It is evil, and you must destroy it—destroy it now!" I exclaimed in desperation.
"What do you mean, Lord Sherrington—about the clock?" Dr. Diumengia asked, perplexed.
"The clock—do not stand long before it—do not gaze upon it—for it will drive you mad!" I ejaculated, almost in a fit.
"Calm yourself, my lord. Pray, what are you saying?" he pressed, still seeking clarity.
"Where is Sidonia? She knows! She must tell you! The clock has murdered Lord Hasper, doctor!" I cried out with all the fervour of my soul.
"Sidonia—she is dead, Lord Sherrington," Dr. Diumengia said gravely. "She was killed by Lord Hasper, her own brother. This, the shameful secret I dared not reveal before, I now confess to you. It is a truth known only to a few."
"Dead—? How can that be? She is in her chamber! Go—go and see for yourself! I swear it!" I shouted in disbelief.
Thereafter, the terrible truth—so long obscured—was laid bare before me. Sidonia was indeed dead, interred in that lone grave by the hillside I had once beheld from afar. The ghastly apparitions were not delusions, but the lingering wraiths of those who had fallen victim to the madness that had poisoned the ancient stones of the castle.
By Providence or by some merciful fortune, I had survived the madness of the castle—and the baleful dominion of the clock.
Shortly after the funeral of Lord Hasper, I departed Hasper Castle and returned to the familiar surroundings of England, with my sanity salvaged and intact. I could not forget that horrible, horrible clock in the Great Hall that had tormented me for what seemed an eternity.
Poor Lord Hasper, who had died a miserable death—one worse than his insanity—isolated in a world so many fail to realise or discover so easily. I, who had experienced that dreadful encounter with the clock, shall never—never—dare to forget. I cannot forget that evil contrivance, standing still with such imposition in the Great Hall.
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