I stood alone, still dazed and bewildered, staring at the piece of money in my hand.  My thoughts were far too much excited that I should hope to sleep.  I turned up my lamp and took out one of my books to try and study myself into a quieter mood.  But without success.

Suddenly I heard a sound like that of a swinging pendulum.  I raised my head and listened attentively.  There was no clock either in my room or in the neighboring ones—­but I could still hear the sound.  At the same moment my lamp began to flicker.  The oil was apparently exhausted.  I was about to rise to fill it again, when my eyes fell upon the door, and I saw the graveyard key, which I had hung there, moving slowly back and forth with a rhythmic swing.  Just as its motion seemed about to die away, it would receive a gentle push as from an unseen hand, and would swing back and forth more than ever.  I stood there with open mouth and staring eyes, ice-cold chills ran down my back, and drops of perspiration stood out on my forehead.  Finally, I could endure it no longer.  I sprang to the door, seized the key with both hands and put it on my desk under a pile of heavy books.  Then I breathed a sigh of relief.

My lamp was about to go out and I discovered that I had no more oil.  With feverish haste I threw my clothes off, blew out the light and sprang into bed as if to smother my fears.

But once alone in the darkness the fears grew worse than ever.  They grew into dreams and visions.  It seemed to me as if I were out in the graveyard again, and heard the screaming of the rusty weather vane as the wind turned it.  Then I was in the mill again; the wheels were turning and stretching out ghostly hands to draw me into the yawning maw of the machine.  Then again, I found myself in a long, low, pitch-black corridor, followed by Something I could not see—­Something that drove me to the mouth of a bottomless abyss.  I would start up out of my half sleep, listen and look about me, then fall back again into an uneasy slumber.

Suddenly something fell from the ceiling onto the bed, and “buzz—­buzz—­buzz” sounded about my head.  It was a huge fly which had been sleeping in a corner of my room and had been roused by the heat of the stove.  It flew about in great circles, now around the bed, now in all four corners of the chamber—­“buzz—­buzz—­buzz”—­it was unendurable!  At last I heard it creep into a bag of sugar which had been left on the window sill.  I sprang up and closed the bag tight.  The fly buzzed worse than ever, but I went back to bed and attempted to sleep again, feeling that I had conquered the enemy.