THE RED ROOM

H G Wells

1. The Three Caretakers

I had come to Lorraine Castle to spend a night in the haunted Red Room. I was
received by three old caretakers. They were not friendly, and I felt they were
deliberately trying to frighten me. They warned me repeatedly:
“It’s your own choosing.”
They were a strange, grotesque trio—an old woman who stared into the fire, a
bent old man with a shade over his eyes and a horrible cough, and a man with a
withered arm. Their silence, their age, and their constant gloomy repe on
unse led me, though I tried not to show it.
Despite their warnings, I remained firm.
“If I see anything tonight, I shall be so much the wiser,” I told them.
That was true—I had come with an open mind.
The old woman whispered:
“This night of all nights!”
I replied,
“It’s my own choosing. If you will show me to this haunted room of yours, I
will relieve you from the task of entertaining me.”
At last, they gave me direc ons to the Red Room.

2. On the Way to the Red Room

Candle in hand, I le their room and stepped into the cold, shadowy passage. The
echo of my steps followed me, and the old castle, with its damp walls and spiral
staircase, felt like a place from another me—a me when people believed in
ghosts and omens.
I must admit that the encounter with the three old ones had affected my
confidence a li le. They seemed to be coming from an ancient era, when ghosts
and witches were real; an era in which common sense was not common. The
ancient atmosphere of the castle also unse led me.
 I reached the corridor and found the door with green baize. The moonlight
made everything seem strangely alive with shadow and silver light. The air in the
castle was chilly and moist. I felt that some foots steps are following me. I stopped
and listened, and finding nothing moved on.
At one point, I put my hand in my pocket and held the revolver. It seemed
somebody crouching there. But I was mistaken. It was a statue’s shadow that
startled me. A statue of Ganymede and Eagle glistening in the moonlight—it
looked like someone crouching in wait. Eventually, I reached in front of the Red
Room at last, remembering the story of the young Duke who died there. It was
here that my predecessor’s body was found. The memory of the story gave me a
twinge of apprehension. I opened the room has ly and entered.

3. In the Red Room

I locked the door behind me and lit all the candles I could find, and examined the
whole room. The great Red Room of Lorraine Castle, in which the young Duke had
died or rather in which he had begun his dying, for he experienced something
frightening, and had opened the door and ran out, fell and died. He also tried to
conquer the ghostly tradi on of the room. The Duke’s death accelerated the
supers ons.
There were other stories as well. The story of a mid wife and the tragic
end that came to her husband’s joke of frightening her.
I lit the fire. I examined every corner of the room, determined not to let fear
take hold of me. Yet, the vast shadowy chamber, gigan c furniture, black window
bays, dusty brown-red curtains and its eerie silence affected at my confidence.
S ll, I told myself it was all imagina on. I added more candles—seventeen
in total—and spread them around the room to banish every shadow. I tried
singing, speaking aloud, even mocking the ghost, just to fill the silence.

4. The Ex nguishing of the Candles

I must confess some unknown quality of the room disturbed me. I tried to
fight the feeling. But I cannot. A er ligh ng all candles, I se led down on a chair,
and kept the revolver on the table, so that I can grab it in case of any foul play.
 To pass the me, I began reci ng some poems aloud, and even talked to
myself.
Then, suddenly, the candle in the alcove went out.
I walked over casually to relight it, thinking it was a wind. But then, more
candles started going out—one a er another—without smoke or sound. It was as
if unseen fingers pinched them out.
“what’s up?” I cried.
Panicked, I ran from one to another, religh ng them, but they vanished
faster than I could replace them. My hands shook, and I began to stumble around
the room, fran c, bruising myself against furniture.
Finally, I turned to the fireplace for light, but even the flames there were
snuffed out. Darkness engulfed me. I was now almost fran c with the horror of
coming darkness, and my self-confidence deserted me.

5. The Darkness and the Fall

It was u er terror. I flung out my hands in a empt to thrust the darkness away
from me. I screamed aloud once, twice, thrice. I groped blindly through the room,
trying to find the door. I had forgo en the exact posi on of the door. I crashed
into objects and struck my head. I remember falling... and then nothing.
6. Morning and the Truth
I opened my eyes in daylight. My head was bandaged. I was lying near the
caretakers. The man with the withered hand was watching my face. In the
daylight, they no longer seemed so frightening—just old and kind. At first I could
not iden fy them. They reminded me about my a empt to sleep alone in the Red
Room. “We found you in the morning, and there was blood on your forehead and
lips.”
Slowly I recollected that experience.
“You believe now that the room is haunted?” the man with the withered
arm asked gently.
“Yes,” I replied. “The room is haunted...”
They leaned in to listen.
 “Not the Duke,” one said. “Or the Countess?”
“No,” I said. “There is neither the ghost of the duke or countess. There is no
ghost there at [Link] it is something far worse.
The worst of all things that haunt poor human beings. It is Fear itself. Fear
that will not have light nor sound, that will not bear with reason. It followed me
though the corridor, it fought against me in the room. The candles went out one
a er another, and I fled. It is the fear that creeps and waits in silence.”
“That is it. I knew that was it. A Power of Darkness,” whispered the man with
the shade. “Yes... Black Fear. And there it will be, as long as the house exists.”
……………………………..