I took a large room，far up Broadway，in a huge old building whose upper stories had been wholly unoccupied for years until I came.The place had long been given up to dust and cobwebs，to solitude and silence.I seemed groping among the tombs and invading the privacy of the dead，that first night I climbed up to my quarters.For the first time in my life a superstitious dread came over me；and as I turned a dark angle of the stairway and an invisible cobweb swung its slazy woof in my face and clung there，I shuddered as one who had encountered a phantom.
I was glad enough when I reached my room and locked out the mold and the darkness.A cheery fire was burning in the grate，and I sat down before it with a comforting sense of relief.For two hours I sat there，thinking of bygone times；recalling old scenes，and summoning half-forgotten faces out of the mists of the past；listening，in fancy，to voices that long ago grew silent for all time，and to once familiar songs that nobody sings now.And as my reverie softened down to a sadder and sadder pathos，the shrieking of the winds outside softened to a wail，the angry beating of the rain against the panes diminished to a tranquil patter，and one by one the noises in the street subsided，until the hurrying footsteps of the last belated straggler died away in the distance and left no sound behind.
The fire had burned low.A sense of loneliness crept over me.I arose and undressed，moving on tiptoe about the room，doing stealthily what I had to do，as if I were environed by sleeping enemies whose slumbers it would be fatal to break.I covered up in bed，and lay listening to the rain and wind and the faint creaking of distant shutters，till they lulled me to sleep.
I slept profoundly，but how long I do not know.All at once I found myself awake，and filled with a shuddering expectancy.All was still.All but my own heart—I could hear it beat.Presently the bedclothes began to slip away slowly toward the foot of the bed，as if some one were pulling them!I could not stir；I could not speak.Still the blankets slipped deliberately away，till my breast was uncovered.Then with a great effort I seized them and drew them over my head.I waited，listened，waited.Once more that steady pull began，and once more I lay torpid a century of dragging seconds till my breast was naked again.At last I roused my energies and snatched the covers back to their place and held them with a strong grip.I waited.By and by I felt a faint tug，and took a fresh grip.The tug strengthened to a steady strain—it grew stronger and stronger.My hold parted，and for the third time the blankets slid away.I groaned.An answering groan came from the foot of the bed!Beaded drops of sweat stood upon my forehead.I was more dead than alive.Presently I heard a heavy footstep in my room—the step of an elephant，it seemed to me—it was not like anything human.But it was moving from me—there was relief in that.I heard it approach the door—pass out without moving bolt or lock—and wander away among the dismal corridors，straining the floors and joists till they creaked again as it passed—and then silence reigned once more.
When my excitement had calmed，I said to myself，“This is a dream—simply a hideous dream.”And so I lay thinking it over until I convinced myself that it was a dream，and then a comforting laugh relaxed my lips and I was happy again.I got up and struck a light；and when I found that the locks and bolts were just as I had left them，another soothing laugh welled in my heart and rippled from my lips.I took my pipe and lit it，and was just sitting down before the fire，when—down went the pipe out of my nerveless fingers，the blood forsook my cheeks，and my placid breathing was cut short with a gasp!In the ashes on the hearth，side by side with my own bare footprint，was another，so vast that in comparison mine was but an infant's!Then I had had a visitor，and the elephant tread was explained.
I put out the light and returned to bed，palsied with fear.I lay a long time，peering into the darkness，and listening.Then I heard a grating noise overhead，like the dragging of a heavy body across the floor；then the throwing down of the body，and the shaking of my windows in response to the concussion.In distant parts of the building I heard the muffled slamming of doors.I heard，at intervals，stealthy foot-steps creeping in and out among the corridors，and up and down the stairs.Sometimes these noises approached my door，hesitated，and went away again.I heard the clanking of chains faintly，in remote passages，and listened while the clanking grew nearer—while it wearily climbed the stairways，marking each move by the loose surplus of chain that fell with an accented rattle upon each succeeding step as the goblin that bore it advanced.I heard muttered sentences；half-uttered screams that seemed smothered violently；and the swish of invisible garments，the rush of invisible wings.Then I became conscious that my chamber was invaded—that I was not alone.I heard sighs and breathings about my bed，and mysterious whisperings.Three little spheres of soft phosphorescent light appeared on the ceiling directly over my head，clung and glowed there a moment，and then dropped—two of them upon my face and one upon the pillow.They spattered，liquidly，and felt warm.Intuition told me they had turned to gouts of blood as they fell—I needed no light to satisfy myself of that.Then I saw pallid faces，dimly luminous，and white uplifted hands，floating bodiless in the air—floating a moment and then disappearing.The whispering ceased，and the voices and the sounds，and a solemn stillness followed.I waited and listened.I felt that I must have light or die.I was weak with fear.I slowly raised myself toward a sitting posture，and my face came in contact with a clammy hand!All strength went from me apparently，and I fell back like a stricken invalid.Then I heard the rustle of a garment—it seemed to pass to the door and go out.
