Падение дома Ашеров

           Ifeltcreepinguponme,byslowyetcertaindegrees,thewildinfluencesofhisownfantasticyetimpressivesuperstitions. 

           Itwas,especially,uponretiringtobedlateinthenightoftheseventhoreighthdayaftertheplacingoftheladyMadelinewithinthedonjon,thatIexperiencedthefullpowerofsuchfeelings. Sleepcamenotnearmycouch—whilethehourswanedandwanedaway. Istruggledtoreasonoffthenervousnesswhichhaddominionoverme. Iendeavoredtobelievethatmuch,ifnotallofwhatIfelt,wasduetothebewilderinginfluenceofthegloomyfurnitureoftheroom—ofthedarkandtattereddraperies,which,torturedintomotionbythebreathofarisingtempest,swayedfitfullytoandfrouponthewalls,andrustleduneasilyaboutthedecorationsofthebed. Butmyeffortswerefruitless. Anirrepressibletremorgraduallypervadedmyframe;and,atlength,theresatuponmyveryheartanincubusofutterlycauselessalarm. Shakingthisoffwithagaspandastruggle,Iupliftedmyselfuponthepillows,and,peeringearnestlywithintheintensedarknessofthechamber,hearkened—Iknownotwhy,exceptthataninstinctivespiritpromptedme—tocertainlowandindefinitesoundswhichcame,throughthepausesofthestorm,atlongintervals,Iknewnotwhence.