THE CAMPFIRE · CLASSIC · 1887
The Horla
A man keeps a diary. Every night, the water jug by his bed is emptied while he sleeps. He's alone in the house. He starts leaving out milk, to see what drinks it.
A campfire telling of "The Horla" by Guy de Maupassant (1887) Read the original free ↗
The CampfireThe openingFree
May 8. What a beautiful day. I spent the whole morning lying on the grass in front of my house, by the river. I love this place. My family has lived here for generations.
Around eleven, a long line of boats went by on the river. Two English schooners, and then a beautiful Brazilian three-master, all white and clean and shining. I waved to it. I don't know why. It was so beautiful.
May 12. I've had a slight fever for a few days. I feel sad. Low. For no reason.
May 16. I'm sick, definitely. I was so well last month. I have a fever, or rather a feverish nervousness, which makes my mind suffer as much as my body. I have a constant feeling of some danger coming.
May 25. No change. Every evening, as night comes on, I feel dread. As if the night held some terrible threat for me. I lock my door. I go to bed. And I wait for sleep the way you wait for an executioner.
May 26. Last night I felt someone crouching on me. Someone with his mouth on mine, drinking my life through my lips. Squeezing my throat. I couldn't move. I woke up gasping, soaked in sweat.
I lit the candle. I was alone.
June 2. My condition is worse. The doctor gives me medicine. It does nothing.
July 4. It's back. Last night I felt it again, squatting on my chest, its mouth on mine, drinking.
The fire is still burning
The rest of this story is sealed.
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