Beyond the Wall of Sleep

I have oftenwondered if the majority of mankind ever pause to reflect upon
the occasionally titanic significance of dreams, and of theobscure world to
which they belong. Whilst the greater number of our nocturnalvisions are
perhaps no more than faint and fantastic reflections of ourwaking experiences -
Freud to the contrary with his puerile symbolism - there arestill a certain
remainder whose immundane and ethereal character permit of noordinary
interpretation, and whose vaguely exciting and disquieting effectsuggests
possible minute glimpses into a sphere of mental existence noless important
than physical life, yet separated from that life by an all butimpassable
barrier. From my experience I cannot doubt but that man, whenlost to
terrestrial consciousness, is indeed sojourning in another anduncorporeal life
of far different nature from the life we know, and of which onlythe slightest
and most indistinct memories linger after waking. From thoseblurred and
fragmentary memories we may infer much, yet prove little. We mayguess that in
dreams life, matter, and vitality, as the earth knows suchthings, are not
necessarily constant; and that time and space do not exist as ourwaking selves
comprehend them. Sometimes I believe that this less material lifeis our truer
life, and that our vain presence on the terraqueous globe isitself the
secondary or merely virtual phenomenon.
It was from a youthful revery filled with speculations of thissort that I
arose one afternoon in the winter of 1900-01, when to the statepsychopathic
institution in which I served as an intern was brought the manwhose case has
ever since haunted me so unceasingly. His name, as given on therecords, was Joe
Slater, or Slaader, and his appearance was that of the typicaldenizen of the
Catskill Mountain region; one of those strange, repellent scionsof a primitive
Colonial peasant stock whose isolation for nearly three centuriesin the hilly
fastnesses of a little-traveled countryside has caused them tosink to a kind of
barbaric degeneracy, rather than advance with their morefortunately placed
brethren of the thickly settled districts. Among these odd folk,who correspond
exactly to the decadent element of "white trash" in theSouth, law and morals
are non-existent; and their general mental status is probablybelow that of any
other section of native American people.
Joe Slater, who came to the institution in the vigilant custodyof four
state policemen, and who was described as a highly dangerouscharacter,
certainly presented no evidence of his perilous disposition whenI first beheld
him. Though well above the middle stature, and of somewhat brawnyframe, he was
given an absurd appearance of harmless stupidity by the pale,sleepy blueness of
his small watery eyes, the scantiness of his neglected and never-shavengrowth
of yellow beard, and the listless drooping of his heavy netherlip. His age was
unknown, since among his kind neither family records norpermanent family ties
exist; but from the baldness of his head in front, and from thedecayed
condition of his teeth, the head surgeon wrote him down as a manof about forty.
From the medical and court documents we learned all that could begathered
of his case: this man, a vagabond, hunter and trapper, had alwaysbeen strange
in the eyes of his primitive associates. He had habitually sleptat night beyond
the ordinary time, and upon waking would often talk of unknownthings in a
manner so bizarre as to inspire fear even in the hearts of anunimaginative
populace. Not that his form of language was at all unusual, forhe never spoke
save in the debased patois of his environment; but the tone andtenor of his
utterances were of such mysterious wildness, that none mightlisten without
apprehension. He himself was generally as terrified and baffledas his auditors,
and within an hour after awakening would forget all that he hadsaid, or at
least all that had caused him to say what he did; relapsing intoa bovine,
hall-amiable normality like that of the other hilldwellers.
As Slater grew older, it appeared, his matutinal aberrations hadgradually
increased in frequency and violence; till about a month beforehis arrival at
the institution had occurred the shocking tragedy which causedhis arrest by the
authorities. One day near noon, after a profound sleep begun in awhiskey
debauch at about five of the previous afternoon, the man hadroused himself most
suddenly, with ululations so horrible and unearthly that theybrought several
neighbors to his cabin - a filthy sty where he dwelt with afamily as
indescribable as himself. Rushing out into the snow, he had flunghis arms aloft
and commenced a series of leaps directly upward in the air; thewhile shouting
his determination to reach some "big, big cabin withbrightness in the roof and
walls and floor and the loud queer music far away." As twomen of moderate size
sought to restrain him, he had struggled with maniacal force andfury, screaming
of his desire and need to find and kill a certain "thingthat shines and shakes
and laughs." At length, after temporarily felling one of hisdetainers with a
sudden blow, he had flung himself upon the other in a demoniacecstasy of
blood-thirstiness, shrieking fiendishly that he would "jumphigh in the air and
burn his way through anything that stopped him."
Family and neighbors had now fled in a panic, and when the morecourageous
of them returned, Slater was gone, leaving behind anunrecognizable pulp-like
thing that had been a living man but an hour before. None of themountaineers
had dared to pursue him, and it is likely that they would havewelcomed his
death from the cold; but when several mornings later they heardhis screams from
a distant ravine they realized that he had somehow managed tosurvive, and that
his removal in one way or another would be necessary. Then hadfollowed an armed
searching-party, whose purpose (whatever it may have beenoriginally) became
that of a sheriff's posse after one of the seldom popular statetroopers had by
accident observed, then questioned, and finally joined theseekers.
On the third day Slater was found unconscious in the hollow of atree, and
taken to the nearest jail, where alienists from Albany examinedhim as soon as
his senses returned. To them he told a simple story. He had, hesaid, gone to
sleep one afternoon about sundown after drinking much liquor. Hehad awakened to
find himself standing bloody-handed in the snow before his cabin,the mangled
corpse of his neighbor Peter Slader at his feet. Horrified, hehad taken to the
woods in a vague effort to escape from the scene of what musthave been his
crime. Beyond these things he seemed to know nothing, nor couldthe expert
questioning of his interrogators bring out a single additionalfact.
That night Slater slept quietly, and the next morning he awakenedwith no
singular feature save a certain alteration of expression. DoctorBarnard, who
had been watching the patient, thought he noticed in the paleblue eyes a
certain gleam of peculiar quality, and in the flaccid lips an allbut
imperceptible tightening, as if of intelligent determination. Butwhen
questioned, Slater relapsed into the habitual vacancy of themountaineer, and
only reiterated what he had said on the preceding day.
On the third morning occurred the first of the man's mentalattacks. After
some show of uneasiness in sleep, he burst forth into a frenzy sopowerful that
the combined efforts of four men were needed to bind him in astraightjacket.
The alienists listened with keen attention to his words, sincetheir curiosity
had been aroused to a high pitch by the suggestive yet mostlyconflicting and
incoherent stories of his family and neighbors. Slater raved forupward of
fifteen minutes, babbling in his backwoods dialect of greenedifices of light,
oceans of space, strange music, and shadowy mountains and valleys.But most of
all did he dwell upon some mysterious blazing entity that shookand laughed and
mocked at him. This vast, vague personality seemed to have donehim a terrible
wrong, and to kill it in triumphant revenge was his paramountdesire. In order
to reach it, he said, he would soar through abysses of emptiness,burning every
obstacle that stood in his way. Thus ran his discourse, untilwith the greatest
suddenness he ceased. The fire of madness died from his eyes, andin dull wonder
he looked at his questioners and asked why he was bound. Dr.Barnard unbuckled
the leather harness and did not restore it till night, when hesucceeded in
persuading Slater to don it of his own volition, for his own good.The man had
now admitted that he sometimes talked queerly, though he knew notwhy.
Within a week two more attacks appeared, but from them thedoctors learned
little. On the source of Slater's visions they speculated atlength, for since
he could neither read nor write, and had apparently never heard alegend or
fairy-tale, his gorgeous imagery was quite inexplicable. That itcould not come
from any known myth or romance was made especially clear by thefact that the
unfortunate lunatic expressed himself only in his own simplemanner. He raved of
things he did not understand and could not interpret; thingswhich he claimed to
have experienced, but which he could not have learned through anynormal or
connected narration. The alienists soon agreed that abnormaldreams were the
foundation of the trouble; dreams whose vividness could for atime completely
dominate the waking mind of this basically inferior man. With dueformality
Slater was tried for murder, acquitted on the ground of insanity,and committed
to the institution wherein I held so humble a post.
I have said that I am a constant speculator concerning dream-life,and from
this you may judge of the eagerness with which I applied myselfto the study of
the new patient as soon as I had fully ascertained the facts ofhis case. He
seemed to sense a certain friendliness in me, born no doubt ofthe interest I
could not conceal, and the gentle manner in which I questionedhim. Not that he
ever recognized me during his attacks, when I hung breathlesslyupon his chaotic
but cosmic word-pictures; but he knew me in his quiet hours, whenhe would sit
by his barred window weaving baskets of straw and willow, andperhaps pining for
the mountain freedom he could never again enjoy. His family nevercalled to see
him; probably it had found another temporary head, after themanner of decadent
mountain folk.
By degrees I commenced to feel an overwhelming wonder at the madand
fantastic conceptions of Joe Slater. The man himself was pitiablyinferior in
mentality and language alike; but his glowing, titanic visions,though described
in a barbarous disjointed jargon, were assuredly things whichonly a superior or
even exceptional brain could conceive How, I often asked myself,could the
stolid imagination of a Catskill degenerate conjure up sightswhose very
possession argued a lurking spark of genius? How could anybackwoods dullard
have gained so much as an idea of those glittering realms ofsupernal radiance
and space about which Slater ranted in his furious delirium? Moreand more I
inclined to the belief that in the pitiful personality whocringed before me lay
the disordered nucleus of something beyond my comprehension;something
infinitely beyond the comprehension of my more experienced butless imaginative
medical and scientific colleagues.
And yet I could extract nothing definite from the man. The sum ofall my
investigation was, that in a kind of semi-corporeal dream-lifeSlater wandered
or floated through resplendent and prodigious valleys, meadows,gardens, cities,
and palaces of light, in a region unbounded and unknown to man;that there he
was no peasant or degenerate, but a creature of importance andvivid life,
moving proudly and dominantly, and checked only by a certaindeadly enemy, who
seemed to be a being of visible yet ethereal structure, and whodid not appear
to be of human shape, since Slater never referred to it as a man,or as aught
save a thing. This thing had done Slater some hideous but unnamedwrong, which
the maniac (if maniac he were) yearned to avenge.
From the manner in which Slater alluded to their dealings, Ijudged that he
and the luminous thing had met on equal terms; that in his dreamexistence the
man was himself a luminous thing of the same race as his enemy.This impression
was sustained by his frequent references to flying through spaceand burning all
that impeded his progress. Yet these conceptions were formulatedin rustic words
wholly inadequate to convey them, a circumstance which drove meto the
conclusion that if a dream world indeed existed, oral languagewas not its
medium for the transmission of thought. Could it be that thedream soul
inhabiting this inferior body was desperately struggling to speakthings which
the simple and halting tongue of dullness could not utter? Couldit be that I
was face to face with intellectual emanations which would explainthe mystery if
I could but learn to discover and read them? I did not tell theolder physicians
of these things, for middle age is skeptical, cynical, anddisinclined to accept
new ideas. Besides, the head of the institution had but latelywarned me in his
paternal way that I was overworking; that my mind needed a rest.
It had long been my belief that human thought consists basicallyof atomic
or molecular motion, convertible into ether waves or radi antenergy like heat,
light and electricity. This belief had early led me tocontemplate the
possibility of telepathy or mental communication by means ofsuitable apparatus,
and I had in my college days prepared a set of transmitting andreceiving
instruments somewhat similar to the cumbrous devices employed inwireless
telegraphy at that crude, pre-radio period. These I had testedwith a
fellow-student, but achieving no result, had soon packed themaway with other
scientific odds and ends for possible future use.
Now, in my intense desire to probe into the dream-life of JoeSlater, I
sought these instruments again, and spent several days inrepairing them for
action. When they were complete once more I missed no opportunityfor their
trial. At each outburst of Slater's violence, I would fit thetransmitter to his
forehead and the receiver to my own, constantly making delicateadjustments for
various hypothetical wave-lengths of intellectual energy. I hadbut little
notion of how the thought-impressions would, if successfullyconveyed, arouse an
intelligent response in my brain, but I felt certain that I coulddetect and
interpret them. Accordingly I continued my experiments, thoughinforming no one
of their nature.
It was on the twenty-first of February, 1901, that the thingoccurred. As I
look back across the years I realize how unreal it seems, andsometimes wonder
if old Doctor Fenton was not right when he charged it all to myexcited
imagination. I recall that he listened with great kindness andpatience when I
told him, but afterward gave me a nerve-powder and arranged forthe half-year's
vacation on which I departed the next week.
That fateful night I was wildly agitated and perturbed, fordespite the
excellent care he had received, Joe Slater was unmistakably dying.Perhaps it
was his mountain freedom that he missed, or perhaps the turmoilin his brain had
grown too acute for his rather sluggish physique; but at allevents the flame of
vitality flickered low in the decadent body. He was drowsy nearthe end, and as
darkness fell he dropped off into a troubled sleep.
I did not strap on the straightjacket as was customary when heslept, since
I saw that he was too feeble to be dangerous, even if he woke inmental disorder
once more before passing away. But I did place upon his head andmine the two
ends of my cosmic "radio," hoping against hope for afirst and last message from
the dream world in the brief time remaining. In the cell with uswas one nurse,
a mediocre fellow who did not understand the purpose of theapparatus, or think
to inquire into my course. As the hours wore on I saw his headdroop awkwardly
in sleep, but I did not disturb him. I myself, lulled by therhythmical
breathing of the healthy and the dying man, must have nodded alittle later.
The sound of weird lyric melody was what aroused me. Chords,vibrations, and
harmonic ecstasies echoed passionately on every hand, while on myravished sight
burst the stupendous spectacle ultimate beauty. Walls, columns,and architraves
of living fire blazed effulgently around the spot where I seemedto float in
air, extending upward to an infinitely high vaulted dome ofindescribable
splendor. Blending with this display of palatial magnificence, orrather,
supplanting it at times in kaleidoscopic rotation, were glimpsesof wide plains
and graceful valleys, high mountains and inviting grottoes,covered with every
lovely attribute of scenery which my delighted eyes couldconceive of, yet
formed wholly of some glowing, ethereal plastic entity, which inconsistency
partook as much of spirit as of matter. As I gazed, I perceivedthat my own
brain held the key to these enchanting metamorphoses; for eachvista which
appeared to me was the one my changing mind most wished to behold.Amidst this
elysian realm I dwelt not as a stranger, for each sight and soundwas familiar
to me; just as it had been for uncounted eons of eternity before,and would be
for like eternities to come.
Then the resplendent aura of my brother of light drew near andheld colloquy
with me, soul to soul, with silent and perfect interchange ofthought. The hour
was one of approaching triumph, for was not my fellow-beingescaping at last
from a degrading periodic bondage; escaping forever, andpreparing to follow the
accursed oppressor even unto the uttermost fields of ether, thatupon it might
be wrought a flaming cosmic vengeance which would shake thespheres? We floated
thus for a little time, when I perceived a slight blurring andfading of the
objects around us, as though some force were recalling me toearth - where I
least wished to go. The form near me seemed to feel a changealso, for it
gradually brought its discourse toward a conclusion, and itselfprepared to quit
the scene, fading from my sight at a rate somewhat less rapidthan that of the
other objects. A few more thoughts were exchanged, and I knewthat the luminous
one and I were being recalled to bondage, though for my brotherof light it
would be the last time. The sorry planet shell being well-nighspent, in less
than an hour my fellow would be free to pursue the oppressoralong the Milky Way
and past the hither stars to the very confines of infinity.
A well-defined shock separates my final impression of the fadingscene of
light from my sudden and somewhat shamefaced awakening andstraightening up in
my chair as I saw the dying figure on the couch move hesitantly.Joe Slater was
indeed awaking, though probably for the last time. As I lookedmore closely, I
saw that in the sallow cheeks shone spots of color which hadnever before been
present. The lips, too, seemed unusual, being tightly compressed,as if by the
force of a stronger character than had been Slater's. The wholeface finally
began to grow tense, and the head turned restlessly with closedeyes.
I did not rouse the sleeping nurse, but readjusted the slightlydisarranged
headband of my telepathic "radio," intent to catch anyparting message the
dreamer might have to deliver. All at once the head turnedsharply in my
direction and the eyes fell open, causing me to stare in blankamazement at what
I beheld. The man who had been Joe Slater, the Catskill decadent,was gazing at
me with a pair of luminous, expanding eyes whose blue seemedsubtly to have
deepened. Neither mania nor degeneracy was `visible in that gaze,and I felt
beyond a doubt that I was viewing a face behind which lay anactive mind of high
order.
At this juncture my brain became aware of a steady externalinfluence
operating upon it. I closed my eyes to concentrate my thoughtsmore profoundly
and was rewarded by the positive knowledge that my long-soughtmental message
had come at last. Each transmitted idea formed rapidly in mymind, and though no
actual language was employed, my habitual association ofconception and
expression was so great that I seemed to be receiving the messagein ordinary
English.
"Joe Slater is dead," came the soul-petrifying voice ofan agency from
beyond the wall of sleep. My opened eyes sought the couch of painin curious
horror, but the blue eyes were still calmly gazing, and thecountenance was
still intelligently animated. "He is better dead, for he wasunfit to bear the
active intellect of cosmic entity. His gross body could notundergo the needed
adjustments between ethereal life and planet life. He was toomuch an animal,
too little a man; yet it is through his deficiency that you havecome to
discover me, for the cosmic and planet souls rightly should nevermeet. He has
been in my torment and diurnal prison for forty-two of yourterrestrial years.
"I am an entity like that which you yourself become in thefreedom of
dreamless sleep. I am your brother of light, and have floatedwith you in the
effulgent valleys. It is not permitted me to tell your wakingearth-self of your
real self, but we are all roamers of vast spaces and travelers inmany ages.
Next year I may be dwelling in the Egypt which you call ancient,or in the cruel
empire of Tsan Chan which is to come three thousand years hence.You and I have
drifted to the worlds that reel about the red Arcturus, and dweltin the bodies
of the insect-philosophers that crawl proudly over the fourthmoon of Jupiter.
How little does the earth self know life and its extent! Howlittle, indeed,
ought it to know for its own tranquility!
"Of the oppressor I cannot speak. You on earth haveunwittingly felt its
distant presence - you who without knowing idly gave the blinkingbeacon the
name of Algol, the Demon-Star It is to meet and conquer theoppressor that I
have vainly striven for eons, held back by bodily encumbrances.Tonight I go as
a Nemesis bearing just and blazingly cataclysmic vengeance. Watchme in the sky
close by the Demon-Star.
"I cannot speak longer, for the body of Joe Slater growscold and rigid, and
the coarse brains are ceasing to vibrate as I wish. You have beenmy only friend
on this planet - the only soul to sense and seek for me withinthe repellent
form which lies on this couch. We shall meet again - perhaps inthe shining
mists of Orion's Sword, perhaps on a bleak plateau in prehistoricAsia, perhaps
in unremembered dreams tonight, perhaps in some other form an eonhence, when
the solar system shall have been swept away."
At this point the thought-waves abruptly ceased, the pale eyes ofthe
dreamer - or can I say dead man? - commenced to glaze fishily. Ina half-stupor
I crossed over to the couch and felt of his wrist, but found itcold, stiff, and
pulseless. The sallow cheeks paled again, and the thick lips fellopen,
disclosing the repulsively rotten fangs of the degenerate JoeSlater. I
shivered, pulled a blanket over the hideous face, and awakenedthe nurse. Then I
left the cell and went silently to my room. I had an instant andunaccountable
craving for a sleep whose dreams I should not remember.
The climax? What plain tale of science can boast of such arhetorical
effect? I have merely set down certain things appealing to me asfacts, allowing
you to construe them as you will. As I have already admitted, mysuperior, old
Doctor Fenton, denies the reality of everything I have related.He vows that I
was broken down with nervous strain, and badly in need of a longvacation on
full pay which he so generously gave me. He assures me on hisprofessional honor
that Joe Slater was but a low-grade paranoiac, whose fantasticnotions must have
come from the crude hereditary folk-tales which circulated ineven the most
decadent of communities. All this he tells me - yet I cannotforget what I saw
in the sky on the night after Slater died. Lest you think me abiased witness,
another pen must add this final testimony, which may perhapssupply the climax
you expect. I will quote the following account of the star NovaPersei verbatim
from the pages of that eminent astronomical authority, ProfessorGarrett P.
Serviss:
"On February 22, 1901, a marvelous new star was discoveredby Doctor
Anderson of Edinburgh, not very far from Algol. No star had beenvisible at that
point before. Within twenty-four hours the stranger had become sobright that it
outshone Capella. In a week or two it had visibly faded, and inthe course of a
few months it was hardly discernible with the naked eye."