14. A Sleepless Night

The candle had burnt itself out when Klaus woke, and the stove, by the smell and the noises it made, showed it would not last much longer. On the wall above him the moon made a silver-blue shape.

The soreness of his side resting on the hard floor had woken him, and when he had turned into a less uncomfortable position he tried to sleep again. But the strangeness of his surroundings and the continued discomfort kept him awake, so that presently he raised his head and supported it on one hand, his arms resting on the under-blanket. Relaxed and half-wakeful, he watched the square of moonlight with one open eye, listening to the close silence.

When the clock struck, it made him start, actually shaking his body as the first stroke crashed against the complete quietness. It struck twice, and the sound died slowly, leaving at last a silence which had deepened. It was a peculiar, unpleasant hour to be awake. When a few minutes had passed the stove made a little throaty noise and went out, leaving the square of moonshine the only light in the room. Klaus had had little experience of such darkness, still less of so deep a silence. The smallest of his movements seemed to interrupt it, and he had the sensation of hiding, the imaginary but powerful fear that any sound, a cough or a slight movement or even the sound of his breathing, would give him away. He moved cautiously into a better position and held himself absolutely still. Then he thought he heard a noise quite close to him, a faint, gentle tapping; quite regular, ceasing for a few seconds and then continuing unbroken for a full minute.

He tried to believe that it was imagination, and dropping his head he covered both ears with the blanket. He reminded himself how thick were the walls which surrounded him. But to pay no attention was more unbearable than listening, and soon he uncovered one ear, twisting his finger in the hole to make sure that his imagination could not deceive him. There was silence for a few moments, dead silence, then the noise began again, quite unmistakably, like the sound of a finger nail tapping a wooden table. It grew no louder, but as it continued it seemed clearer, sharper and more suggestive of being made by a living thing. He tried to control his heart-beats so that he could listen more attentively.

As far as he could remember there were no cracks in the wall or floor, but he had not examined them carefully. The walls were thick enough to all appearance, a foot in thickness, he would have guessed, but the Abbey had stood for many centuries, and it might be they were hollow inside, making a home for rats or mice or other animals. He could not connect the noise with any creature he had known or heard of, and with so little certainty to go upon his sleepy mind began to work feverishly, imagining unknown creatures that might have continued to exist entirely within these hidden places. He longed to be asleep again, and he thought now that his discomfort would not prevent him sleeping if only the tapping and the uneasiness it gave rise to were to cease. But the noise went on, and now that he had yielded to little fears he found larger ones grouping themselves around him.