{"id":"01KG6YGYW6ZDZX9WEWQG786Y60","cid":"bafkreidvgc5qs5c5fh67vj4tnk65tf2zsbhlrr657nrfwnnrrfgmdhtneq","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":386,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T07:57:45.581Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 5","source_file":"01KG6YDD8GKW0DRD5H2MY1NRZ7","start_line":287,"text":"Mather testified himself whereof he had seen. But, is it possible? I\r\nasked myself. Then I remembered that Dr. Johnson, the matter-of-fact\r\ncompiler of a dictionary, had been a believer in ghosts, besides many\r\nother sound, worthy men. Yielding to the fascination, I read deeper and\r\ndeeper into the night. At last, I found myself starting at the least\r\nchance sound, and yet wishing that it were not so very still.\r\n\r\nA tumbler of warm punch stood by my side, with which beverage, in a\r\nmoderate way, I was accustomed to treat myself every Saturday night;\r\na habit, however, against which my good wife had long remonstrated;\r\npredicting that, unless I gave it up, I would yet die a miserable sot.\r\nIndeed, I may here mention that, on the Sunday mornings following\r\nmy Saturday nights, I had to be exceedingly cautious how I gave way\r\nto the slightest impatience at any accidental annoyance; because\r\nsuch impatience was sure to be quoted against me as evidence of the\r\nmelancholy consequences of over-night indulgence. As for my wife, she,\r\nnever sipping punch, could yield to any little passing peevishness as\r\nmuch as she pleased.\r\n\r\nBut, upon the night in question, I found myself wishing that, instead\r\nof my usual mild mixture, I had concocted some potent draught. I felt\r\nthe need of stimulus. I wanted something to hearten me against Cotton\r\nMather--doleful, ghostly, ghastly Cotton Mather. I grew more and more\r\nnervous. Nothing but fascination kept me from fleeing the room. The\r\ncandles burnt low, with long snuffs, and huge winding-sheets. But I\r\ndurst not raise the snuffers to them. It would make too much noise. And\r\nyet, previously, I had been wishing for noise. I read on and on. My\r\nhair began to have a sensation. My eyes felt strained; they pained me.\r\nI was conscious of it. I knew I was injuring them. I knew I should rue\r\nthis abuse of them next day; but I read on and on. I could not help\r\nit. The skinny hand was on me.\r\n\r\nAll at once--Hark!\r\n\r\nMy hair felt like growing grass.\r\n\r\nA faint sort of inward rapping or rasping--a strange, inexplicable\r\nsound, mixed with a slight kind of wood-pecking or ticking.\r\n\r\nTick! Tick!\r\n\r\nYes, it was a faint sort of ticking.\r\n\r\nI looked up at my great Strasbourg clock in one corner. It was not\r\nthat. The clock had stopped.\r\n\r\nTick! Tick!\r\n\r\nWas it my watch?\r\n\r\nAccording to her usual practice at night, my wife had, upon retiring,\r\ncarried my watch off to our chamber to hang it up on its nail.\r\n\r\nI listened with all my ears.\r\n\r\nTick! Tick!\r\n\r\nWas it a death-tick in the wainscot?\r\n\r\nWith a tremulous step I went all round the room, holding my ear to the\r\nwainscot.\r\n\r\nNo; it came not from the wainscot.\r\n\r\nTick! Tick!\r\n\r\nI shook myself. I was ashamed of my fright.\r\n\r\nTick! Tick!\r\n\r\nIt grew in precision and audibleness. I retreated from the wainscot. It\r\nseemed advancing to meet me.\r\n\r\nI looked round and round, but saw nothing, only one cloven foot of the\r\nlittle apple-tree table.\r\n\r\nBless me, said I to myself, with a sudden revulsion, it must be very\r\nlate; ain't that my wife calling me? Yes, yes; I must to bed. I suppose\r\nall is locked up. No need to go the rounds.\r\n\r\nThe fascination had departed, though the fear had increased. With\r\ntrembling hands, putting Cotton Mather out of sight, I soon found\r\nmyself, candlestick in hand, in my chamber, with a peculiar rearward\r\nfeeling, such as some truant dog may feel. In my eagerness to get well\r\ninto the chamber, I stumbled against a chair.\r\n\r\n\"Do try and make less noise, my dear,\" said my wife from the bed.\r\n\r\n\"You have been taking too much of that punch, I fear. That sad habit\r\ngrows on you. Ah, that I should ever see you thus staggering at night\r\ninto your chamber.\"\r\n\r\n\"Wife,\" hoarsely whispered I, \"there is--is something tick-ticking in\r\nthe cedar-parlor.\"\r\n\r\n\"Poor old man--quite out of his mind--I knew it would be so. Come to\r\nbed; come and sleep it off.\"\r\n\r\n\"Wife, wife!\"\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 5"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG6YGAW3P706T2A4K9155RNZ","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG6YDD8GKW0DRD5H2MY1NRZ7","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG6YCG626JN4FCG8QK17CQCF","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG6YGYW9406R1AWQ17SFZ00E","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG6YGYW8DVM9RR8CD130MG72","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T07:57:45.734Z","ts":"2026-01-30T07:57:52.435Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}