The Haunting of Toby Jugg Read Free

God forbid, may do so again tonight?

Tuesday, 5th May
    I could not write anything this morning. I tried to as soon as I was alone, but my hand shook so much that it would not hold the pencil firmly. Then, at half-past eleven, I had to go out with Deb.
    It has been a lovely day and the bright sunshine in the garden restored me a little. Those sharp black eyes of Deb’s don’t miss much, though, and it is hardly surprising that she noticed how haggard I look.
    ‘I haf begome quite vorried about you,’ she remarked. ‘I cen-not t’ink vot is de metter mid you des pars’ few tays. You haf develop’ a nervous twitch an’ you look zo peeky.’
    That is an absurd exaggeration of her accent, so I shall not attempt further renderings of it. As she is quite an intelligent woman, and has been a refugee here since 1933, she actually speaks pretty good English for a German Jewess.
    Naturally I don’t want to put the idea into her head that I’ve got bats in the belfry, so I did my best to pull myself together, and simply said:
    ‘You know quite well that I’ve been sleeping badly lately. I’m only looking a bit off-colour because I had another restless night.’
    What a masterpiece of understatement! With the aid of a triple bromide I got off all right; but I woke about half-past one, and I knew instantly that the Thing was outside the window again.
    I wonder if I can bring myself to describe it? Anyhow, I musttry. But first I must explain how it comes about that I know it to be there in spite of the blackout.
    Down here in Wales people are supposed to observe the A.R.P. regulations as strictly as elsewhere, but we are over three miles from the village, and there is no one to enforce them. I don’t think the Boche has ever dropped a bomb within thirty or forty miles of Llanferdrack, so when I came down here after two-and-a-half years of war I found that everyone had got pretty slack about such matters.
    The room I occupy used to be the library—it still is for that matter—and I was glad that Helmuth had chosen it for me, as it makes a splendidly spacious bed-sitting-room, and as I am very fond of reading I like being surrounded with rows and rows of books. It must be close on forty feet long and has big bay windows at both ends. Those to the south have a glorious view over miles of wild country-side, and the middle one, being a glass-panelled door, gives me easy access to the garden.
    All six windows of the room were originally furnished only with brocade pelmets, and hanging drapes that do not draw. On the garden side blackout curtains were added soon after the beginning of the war, but as the room was rarely used it was evidently not considered worthwhile to do anything about the north windows, because they cannot be seen from outside the building and look out on to a courtyard.
    When Helmuth had the room prepared for me last March, as a glorified bed-sit, I suppose material was already getting scarce; so instead of having proper curtains fitted to each of the three windows on the courtyard side he had a big piece of brown stuff rigged up, which is drawn right across the bay at night. But it is a good six inches too short, so when there is a bright moon its light seeps in underneath and forms a broad band along the floor.
    It is that damned strip of moonlight that gives me such appalling jitters. Actually it is three strips, as the mullions between the windows throw great black shadows that divide it into sections. Of course it is not the moonlight itself that unnerves me but—No! It’s no good. I can’t do it. I’ve broken out in a muck sweat at the very thought of what I see. I must think of something else.
    Madagascar! There was good news today on the wireless. It ischeering to know that despite all Hitler can do we still have enough punch left, and a long enough arm, to land a blow so far afield. Ever since the Chinese overran Malaya it has been quite on the cards that they would have a go at South Africa, and