The Horror on The Links

By Seabury Quinn

The first short story in the classic tale of Jules de Grandin, the supernatural detective who investigated cases involving monsters, devil worshippers, serial killers, and spirits.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Planet 313
• Release date: Oct 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9791220205337

Book preview

Originally Published 1925

Republished 2020 

 © 2020 Planet 313

The Horror on the Links

IT MUST HAVE BEEN  past midnight when the skirling of my bedside telephone awakened me, for I could see the moon well down toward the horizon as I looked through the window while reaching for the instrument.

Dr. Trowbridge, an excited voice bored through the receiver, this is Mrs. Maitland. Can you come over right away? Something dreadful has happened to Paul!

Eh? I answered half asleep. What’s wrong?

We—we don’t know, she replied jerkily. He’s unconscious. You know, he’d been to the dance at the country dub with Gladys Phillips, and we’d been in bed for hours when we heard someone banging on the door. Mr. Maitland went down, and when he opened the door Paul fell into the hall. Oh, Doctor, he’s been hurt dreadfully. Won’t you please come right over?

Physicians’ sleep is like a park—public property. With a sigh I climbed out of bed and into my clothes, teased my superannuated motor to life and set out for the Maitland house.

Young Maitland lay on his bed, eyes closed, teeth clenched, his face set in an expression of unutterable dread, even in his unconsciousness. Across his shoulders and on the backs of his arms I found several long incised wounds, as though the flesh had been raked by a sharp pronged instrument.

I sterilized and bandaged the cuts and applied restoratives, wondering what sort of encounter had produced such hurts.

Help! Help! O, God, help! the lad muttered thickly, like a person trying to call out in a nightmare. Oh, oh, it’s got me; it’s—his words drowned in a gurgling, inarticulate cry of fear and he sat bolt upright, staring round with vacant, fear-filmed eyes.

Easy, easy on, young fellow, I soothed. Lie back, now; take it easy, you’re all right. You’re home in bed.

He looked uncomprehendingly at me a moment, then fell to babbling inanely. The ape-thing—the ape-thing! It’s got me! Open the door; for God’s sake, open the door!

Here, I ordered gruffly as I drove my hypodermic into his arm, none o’ that. You quiet down.

The opiate took effect almost immediately, and I left him with his parents while I returned to catch up the raveled ends of my torn sleep.

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