*Horacio Quirogo lived in the everglade jungles
of Argentina. He died in 1937
Her entire honeymoon gave her hot and cold
shivers. A blond, angelic, and timid young girl, the childhood
fancies she had dreamed about being a bride had been chilled by her husband's
rough character. She loved him very much, nonetheless, although sometimes
she gave a light shudder when, as they returned home through the streets
together at night, she cast furtive glances at the impressive stature of
her Jordan, who had been silent for an hour. He, for his part, loved her
profoundly but never let it be seen.
For three months - they had been married in April - they lived in a
special kind of bliss. Doubtless she would have wished less severity in
the rigorous sky of love, more expansive and less cautious tenderness,
but her husband's impassive manner always restrained her.
The house in which they lived influenced her chills and shuddering to
no small degree. The whiteness of the silent patio - friezes, columns,
and marble statues - produced the wintry impression of an enchanted palace.
Inside, the glacial brilliance of stucco, the completely bare walls, affirmed
the sensation of unpleasant coldness. As one crossed from one room to another,
the echo of his steps reverberated throughout the house, as if long abandonment
had sensitized its resonance.
Alicia passed the autumn in this strange love nest. She had determined,
however, to cast a veil over her former dreams and live like a sleeping
beauty in the hostile house, trying not to think about anything till her
husband arrived each evening.
It is not strange that she grew thin. She had a light attack of influenza
that dragged on insidiously for days and days: after that Alicia's health
never returned. Finally one afternoon she was able to go into the garden,
supported on her husband's arm. She looked around listlessly. Suddenly
Jordan, with deep tenderness, ran his hand very slowly over her head, and
Alicia instantly burst into sobs, throwing her arms around his neck. For
a long time she cried out all the fears she had kept silent, redoubling
her weeping at Jordan's slightest caress. Then her sobs subsided, and she
stood a long while, her face hidden in the hollow of his neck, not moving
or speaking a word.
This was the last day Alicia was well enough to be up. The following
day she awakened feeling faint. Jordan's doctor examined her with minute
attention, prescribing calm and absolute rest.
"I don't know," he said to Jordan at the street door. "She has a great
weakness that I am unable to explain. And with no vomiting, nothing . .
. if she wakes tomorrow as she did today, call me at once."
When she awakened the following day, Alicia was worse. There was a consultation.
It was agreed there was an anemia of incredible progression, completely
inexplicable. Alicia had no more fainting spells but she was visibly moving
towards death. The lights were lighted all day long in her bedroom, and
there was complete silence. Hours went by without the slightest sound.
Alicia dozed. Jordan virtually lived in the drawing-room, which was also
always lighted. With tireless persistence he paced ceaselessly from one
end of the room to the other. The carpet swallowed his steps. At times
he entered the bedroom and continued his silent pacing back and forth alongside
the bed, stopping for an instant at each end to regard his wife.
Suddenly Alicia began to have hallucinations, vague images, at first
seeming to float in the air, then descending to floor level. Her eyes excessively
wide, she stared continuously at the carpet on either side of the head
of her bed. One night she suddenly focused on one spot. Then she opened
her mouth to scream, and pearls of sweat suddenly beaded her nose and lips.
"Jordan! Jordan!" she clamoured, rigid with fright, still staring at
the carpet; she looked at him once again; and after a long moment of stupefied
confrontation she regained her senses. She smiled and took her husband's
hand in hers, caressing it, trembling, for half an hour.
Among her most persistent hallucinations was that of an anthropoid poised
on his fingertips on the carpet, staring at her.
The doctors returned, but to no avail. They saw before them a diminishing
life, a life bleeding away day by day, hour by hour, absolutely without
their knowing why. During the last consultation Alicia lay in a stupor
while they took her pulse, passing her inert wrist from one to another.
They observed her a long time in silence and then moved into the dining
"Phew . . ." The discouraged chief physician shrugged his shoulders.
"It's an inexplicable case. There is little we can do . . ."
"That's my last hope," Jordan groaned. And he staggered blindly against
Alicia's life was fading away in the subdilirium of anemia, a delirium
which grew worse throughout the evening hours but which let up somewhat
after dawn. The illness never worsened during the daytime, but each morning
she awakened pale as death, almost in a swoon. It seemed only at night
that her life drained out of her in new waves of blood. Always when she
awakened she had the sensation of lying collapsed in the bed with a million
pound weight on top of her. Following the third day of this relapse she
left her bed again. She could scarcely move her head. She did not want
her bed to be touched, not even to have her bedcovers arranged. Her crepuscular
terrors advanced now in the form of monsters that dragged themselves toward
the bed and laboriously climbed upon the bedspread.
Then she lost consciousness. The final two days she raved ceaselessly
in a weak voice. The lights funereally illuminated the bedroom and drawing
room. In the deathly silence of the house the only sound was the monotonous
delirium from the bedroom and the dull echoes of Jordan's eternal pacing.
Finally, Alicia died. The servant, when she came in afterward to strip
the now empty bed, stared wonderingly for a moment at the pillow.
"Sir!" she called to Jordan in a low voice. "There are stains on the
pillow that look like blood."
Jordan approached rapidly and bent over the pillow. Truly, on the case,
on both sides of the hollow left by Alicia's head, were two small dark
"They look like punctures," the servant murmured after a moment of motionless
"Hold it up to the light," Jordan told her.
The servant raised the pillow but immediately dropped it and stood staring
at it, livid and trembling. Without knowing why, Jordan felt the hair rise
on the back of his neck.
"What is it?" he murmured in a hoarse voice.
"It's very heavy," the servant whispered, still trembling
Jordan picked it up; it was extraordinarily heavy. He carried it out
of the room, and on the dining room table he ripped open the case and the
ticking with a slash. The top feathers floated away, and the servant, her
mouth opened wide, gave a scream of horror and covered her face with clenched
fists: in the bottom of the pillow case, among the feathers, slowly moving
its hairy legs, was a monstrous animal, a living, viscous ball. It was
so swollen on could barely make out its mouth.
Night after night, since Alicia had taken to her bed, this abomination
had stealthily applied its mouth - its proboscis one might better say -
to the girl's temples, sucking her blood. The puncture was scarcely perceptible.
The daily plumping of the pillow had doubtlessly at first impeded its progress,
but as soon as the girl could no longer move, the suction became vertiginous.
In five days, in five nights, the monster had drained Alicia's life away.
These parasites of feathered creatures, diminutive in their habitual
environment, reach enormous proportions under certain conditions. Human
blood seems particularly favourable to them, and it is not rare to encounter
them in feather pillows.
Translated from the Spanish by Margaret
html by Gary Morton
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