470 Seven Stories of Mystery and Horror.pdf

MACMILLAN READERS

ELEMENTARY LEVEL

EDGAR ALLAN POE

Seven Stories of Mystery

and Horror

Retold by Stephen Colbourn

MACMILLAN

THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM

I opened my eyes. But I could not see anything. It was

dark—completely dark. There was no light at all.

Everything was black. I closed my eyes and opened them

again. But I could see nothing. Where was I?

I was lying on my back. I was lying on something hard

and cold. I reached out my hand and felt a stone floor.

The stones were cold and damp. I was lying on my back

in a stone room. Was I in a tomb? Was I in a place

where dead bodies were buried? I had to move. I had to

find out. I turned over onto my hands and knees. Then I

started to crawl forwards. In a few seconds, I found a

wall. It was cold and wet. Maybe I was in a room that

was under the ground.

I followed the wall, very slowly. I thought that I was

moving in a circle. I was not sure. Then I had an idea. I

tore a piece of cloth from my shirt and put it on the

floor, near the wall. Then I walked along the wall of the

room.

I counted the number of times that I moved my hands

forward. Twenty...thirty...forty times. Where was the

piece of cloth? Had I gone past it in the dark? Had I gone

around the room twice? I counted up to one hundred

before I found the piece of cloth. But I did not find a

dead body in a coffin. I was not in a tomb.

Where was I? I tried to remember. I remembered that I

was in Toledo, in Spain. Then I remembered a

courtroom and men in red gowns. They had asked

questions—more and more questions. Their voices were

soft and their eyes were bright. How many hours had

they questioned me? How many days had they

questioned me? I could not remember. The questions

had gone on and on. But what was my crime? What law

had I broken? I did not know. I was very frightened. I

thought that the questioners were going to torture me.

But no one had cut me with sharp blades. No one had

hit me. No one had burnt me with hot iron. Now I must

be in a jail. This room was a prison cell. Maybe I would

die here, without food, or water, or light.

I closed my eyes again and I must have slept.

When I awoke, I moved my foot and it hit something. I

touched a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water. A jailer

had come into my prison cell and left food and drink.

I knew that my prison cell was large. But what was in

the center? For a few minutes, I sat with my back against

the wall. Then I started to crawl straight ahead—across

the floor of the cell. I moved very slowly. Suddenly, my

hand went down and forward. I had found a hole—a pit

in the floor. I could feel and smell damp air. The air was

rising up from the pit. I guessed that the pit was very

deep. I had almost fallen into it. My body shook with

fear. My skin was covered with sweat. The drops of sweat

fell from my face and down into the deep hole.

Suddenly, I heard a noise. A small door opened above

my head and light shone down on me. For a few seconds,

I saw my prison cell. Then the small door shut again and

everything was dark and black. I was right! I was in a

room with a deep pit in its center.

I understood now. My torturers had been waiting and

watching. They wanted me to jump into the deep pit.

They wanted me to end my life.

I slowly crawled back to the pitcher of water and the

bread. My arms and legs were shaking. I was weak and

tired. I took a piece of bread and started to eat. The

bread tasted of salt. I quickly drank the water from the

pitcher. Soon after this I felt very, very tired. I slept

again.

When I awoke, the cell was not completely dark. I could

just see its walls. The room was square. Each wall was

about fifteen feet long. And the walls were not made of

stone. They were made of metal. High in the center of

the ceiling, there was a small door. Strange and terrible

pictures were carved into the metal walls. The pictures

were of evil spirits and monsters.

I was lying on my back but I could not get up. I was no

longer lying on the stone floor. My body was tied to a

wooden bed. A rope was tied around my chest, but I

could move my arms. I reached out my hands and tried

to find the pitcher of water. I was very thirsty.

There was no water, but I found a dish of meat. I put a

piece of the meat into my mouth. No! I could not eat the

meat! It tasted terrible. It was full of salt and strong

spices. My jailers wanted me to be thirsty. This was a

new torture.

I looked up at the ceiling. I could see a picture there. It

was a picture of Time—an old man with a long beard.

Pictures of Time always showed an old, bearded man

with an hourglass in his hand. Hourglasses had two

containers inside them. The containers were made of

glass and they were joined in the center. One of the

containers was filled with sand. When all the sand had

run from one container to the other, an hour had passed.

Time also held a long, sharp scythe. Every living thing

is killed by Time.

But in the picture on the ceiling, the blade of Time's

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