Tales of Terror and Mystery
The Leather Funnel
Thenhetookherarmwitharoughgripandledhertowardthewoodenhorse,whichwaslittlehigherthanherwaist.Ontothisshewasliftedandlaid,withherbackuponit,andherfacetotheceiling,whilethepriest,quiveringwithhorror,hadrushedoutoftheroom.Thewoman’slipsweremovingrapidly,andthoughIcouldhearnothingIknewthatshewaspraying.Herfeethungdownoneithersideofthehorse,andIsawthattheroughvarletsinattendancehadfastenedcordstoheranklesandsecuredtheotherendstoironringsinthestonefloor.
MyheartsankwithinmeasIsawtheseominouspreparations,andyetIwasheldbythefascinationofhorror,andIcouldnottakemyeyesfromthestrangespectacle.Amanhadenteredtheroomwithabucketofwaterineitherhand.Anotherfollowedwithathirdbucket.Theywerelaidbesidethewoodenhorse.Thesecondmanhadawoodendipper—abowlwithastraighthandle—inhisotherhand.Thishegavetothemaninblack.Atthesamemomentoneofthevarletsapproachedwithadarkobjectinhishand,whicheveninmydreamfilledmewithavaguefeelingoffamiliarity.Itwasaleathernfiller.Withhorribleenergyhethrustit—butIcouldstandnomore.Myhairstoodonendwithhorror.Iwrithed,Istruggled,Ibrokethroughthebondsofsleep,andIburstwithashriekintomyownlife,andfoundmyselflyingshiveringwithterrorinthehugelibrary,withthemoonlightfloodingthroughthewindowandthrowingstrangesilverandblacktraceriesupontheoppositewall.
