“The Judge’s House”: Bram Stoker; story and analysis

“The Judge’s House”: Bram Stoker; story and analysis.

The Judge’s House is a horror story by Irish writer Bram Stoker (1847-1912), published in the December 5, 1891 issue of Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, and later republished in the anthology 1914: Dracula’s Guest and Other Weird Stories.

The Judge’s House, one of Bram Stoker’s best horror stories, tells the story of a young student who arrives in a small town looking for a quiet place to prepare for his exams. Spurred on by local superstitions, he settles in an old abandoned house, the former home of a judge particularly fond of hanging. In the middle of the night, the young man is visited by a rat of enormous proportions and bloodshot eyes. Apparently, the house is infested with rats, but also by the sinister spirit of that sadistic judge

By far, The Judge’s House is one of the best rat horror stories of the Victorian period, although in many cases it is often classified as simply a ghost story. Within the work of Bram Stoker it occupies a considerable place, although perhaps overshadowed by the presence of Count Dracula

The judge’s house.
The Judge’s House; Bram Stoker (1847-1912)

With exam time approaching, Malcolm Malcolmson decided to go somewhere solitary where he could study without being interrupted. He feared the beaches because of their attractiveness, and he also distrusted rural isolation, since he had long known its charms. What he was looking for was a town where nothing would distract him from studying. He stopped his desire to ask for advice, because he thought that each one would recommend an already known place where, undoubtedly, he would have friends.

Malcolmson wanted to avoid friendships so he decided to search for himself. He packed his luggage, just a suitcase with a few clothes and all the books he needed, and bought a ticket for the first unknown name he saw on the commuter train schedules. When after three hours of travel he got off at Benchurch, he was satisfied with how well he had managed to clear the tracks of him so that he could have the time and tranquility necessary to continue his studies. He immediately went to the only inn in the place, and took a room for the night. Benchurch was a town where markets were regularly held, and one week of each month it was invaded by an enormous crowd; but during the remaining twenty-one days it had no more attractions than a desert might have.

The day after his arrival, Malcolmson looked for a residence even more secluded and peaceful than an inn as quiet as The Good Traveler. He only found one place that really satisfied his most exaggerated ideas about tranquility. Really, tranquility was not the appropriate word for that place; desolation was the only term that could convey an idea of ​​his isolation. It was an old, old-fashioned house, of heavy construction and Jacobean style, with massive gables and windows, smaller than usual and situated higher than usual in such houses; It was surrounded by a high, solidly built brick wall. In reality, it gave more the impression of a fortified building than a simple home. But all this was what Malcolmson liked. Here, he thought, is the place he was looking for, and only if I get it will I feel happy. His joy increased when he realized that he was rentless at that moment.

At the post office he found out the name of the agent, who was very surprised to learn that someone wanted to occupy part of the old house. Mr. Carnford, a local lawyer and real estate agent, was a kindly elderly gentleman who frankly confessed his pleasure in having someone wish to rent the house.

“To tell the truth,” he pointed out, “I would naturally be happy for the owners if someone occupied the house for years, even if it were free of charge, if by doing so the people could get used to seeing it inhabited.” It has been empty for so long that a kind of absurd prejudice has grown up around it, and the best way to put an end to it is to occupy it… if only,” he added, raising a shrewd glance at Malcolmson, “by a student, who desires stillness for some time.

Malcolmson judged it useless to ask the man for details about the absurd prejudice; He knew that on that topic he could get more information elsewhere. He paid three months in advance, kept the receipt and the name of a lady who would possibly agree to take care of him, and left with the keys in his pocket. From there he went directly to speak with the owner of the inn, a cheerful and kind woman whom he asked for advice about what kind and amount of food and provisions she would need. She threw up her hands in shock when he told her where she planned to stay.

—Not in the Judge’s House! —She exclaimed, turning pale.

He replied that he did not know the name of the house, but he explained where it was located. When he had finished, the woman answered:

—Yes, there is no doubt…, there is no doubt that it is the same place! It is the Judge’s House.

Then he asked her to tell him about the house, why it was called that and what she had against it. The woman told him that in the town they called her that because many years ago (she couldn’t say exactly how many, since she was from another part of the region, but it must have been at least a hundred or maybe more) it had been the home of a certain judge who in his time inspired great fear because of the rigor of his sentences and the hostility with which he always confronted the accused in his court. About what was against the house she could say nothing. She herself had often asked it, but no one knew how to inform her. At any rate, the general feeling was that there was something there, and she for her part would not accept all the money from the Drinkswater Bank if in return she were asked to remain a single hour alone in the house. She then apologized to Malcolmson for the possibility that her words might worry him.

“It’s just that I don’t like those things, sir, and what’s more, the fact that you, such a young gentleman, go, and excuse me for telling you, to live there alone… If you were my son, and excuse me for saying so, I tell you, you wouldn’t spend a night there even if I had to go myself and ring the big alarm bell on the roof.

The poor woman spoke in good faith, and with such good intentions, that Malcolmson, in addition to being rejoiced, felt moved. She expressed how much she appreciated his interest in him and then kindly added:

“But my dear Mrs. Witham, I assure you that you need not worry about me.” A man who, like me, studies higher mathematics, has too many things on his mind for him to be bothered by any of those mysterious somethings; On the other hand, my work is too exact and prosaic to allow any corner of my mind to pay attention to mysteries of any kind. Harmonic progression, permutations, combinations and elliptical functions are mysteries enough for me!

Mrs. Witham kindly undertook to supply him with provisions, and went in search of the old woman who had been recommended to her to ‘take care of him.’ When, after hours, he returned with her to the Judge’s House, he found Mrs. Witham, who was waiting for him in person, together with several men and children carrying packages, and even a bed that had been transported in a cart, for, as she said, although it was possible that the chairs and tables were all very well preserved and usable, it was neither good nor proper for young bones to rest in a bed that had not been aired for at least fifty years. The good woman was clearly curious to see the inside of the house, and she toured the entire place, despite being so fearful that at the slightest noise she clung to Malcolmson, from whom she did not leave for a single moment.

After examining the house, Malcolmson decided to occupy the dining room, which was spacious enough to satisfy his needs; and Mrs. Witham, with the help of Mrs. Dempster, her maid, proceeded to put things in order. Once the packages were unpacked, Malcolmson saw that, with kind foresight, the woman had sent him provisions from her own kitchen sufficient for several days. Before leaving, the woman expressed all kinds of good wishes and, already at the door, she turned to say:

“Perhaps, sir, since the room is large and drafty, it might not hurt to install one of those large screens around the bed at night… But, truth be told, I would die.” I’d be scared if I had to stay locked up here with all those kinds of….things that will stick their heads out from the sides or over the screen and start looking at me…

The image he had just conjured up was too much for his nerves and he fled hastily. Mrs. Dempster, with an air of superiority, gave a contemptuous snort when the other woman had gone, and stated categorically that she for her part did not feel at all inclined to be frightened by all the goblins in the world.

“I’ll tell you what’s happening, sir,” he said. Goblins are all kinds of things… except goblins! Rats, mice and beetles; and doors that creak, and tiles falling off, and drawer handles that hold firm when you pull on them and then fall off on their own in the middle of the night. Look at the baseboard in the room! It’s old… it’s hundreds of years old! Do you think there aren’t going to be rats and beetles back there? Of course! Can you imagine that you are not going to see them? Of course not! The rats are the goblins, I tell you, and the goblins are the rats…. and don’t believe anything else!

“Mrs. Dempster,” said Malcolmson gravely, with a small bow of his head, “you know more than a professor of mathematics!” Let me tell you that, as a sign of my esteem for your mental health, when I leave I will give you possession of this house and allow you to reside here alone for the last two months of my tenancy, since the first four weeks will be enough for my purposes.

—Thank you very much for your kindness, sir! —she responded—But I cannot sleep even one night outside my bedroom: I live in the Greenhow Charity House and if I spent a single night outside my rooms I would lose all rights to continue living there. The rules are very strict, and there are too many people waiting for a vacancy for me to decide to take the slightest risk. If it were not for this, sir, I would gladly come to sleep here to assist you during your stay.

“My good lady, I have come here for the purpose of being alone, and believe me, I am deeply grateful to the late Mr. Greenhow for having organized his almshouse, or whatever, in such an admirable manner that he saw me forcibly deprived.” of the opportunity of such a terrible temptation. Saint Anthony himself could not have been more rigid about this!

The old woman…