Somewhere
in Texas, in the late 19th Century, a black man named Joe Cagle
shoots down a white man in front of his sister.
Joan, “the pale-faced girl”, has been harassed by Cagle—he peers in her
window at night, and grabs at her out by the wood pile. When her brother Harry defends her by hitting
the black man with a club, Cagle shoots him and runs off, screaming at Joan
that he will come back and get her, too—“some night when the woods were dark…”
This
racially charged motif is the calculated opening of Robert E. Howard’s The Shadow of the Beast (published
posthumously in 1977). Racial stereotyping abounds in the pulp fiction
of this author and his contemporaries, but is especially virulent, because
unreflective, in this story. There is no
nuance or proto-diversity awareness or even a glimmer of sympathy here. The image of a black man killing a white man
to steal his woman would have electrified Howard’s readership in the 1930s, and
is still unfortunately a powerful energizer of racial fear and hatred.
The shooting
prompts a hunt for Joe Cagle, spearheaded by Joan’s suitor, Steve, who is the
narrator. As the posse closes in, Steve
rides his horse alone into the pine woods, headed for the—in capital letters—“Deserted
House.” This is an abandoned antebellum mansion
that the locals believe is haunted.
Backwoodsmen tell stories of unlucky visitors who are thrown out of
upper windows to their deaths.
As he
nears this hazardous location, people of African descent are compared to ‘varmints’,
gorillas, and apes; there is mention of black magic, voodoo, tom-toms and
cannibalism. Howard lays on the racist
epithets pretty thickly at this point, perhaps to justify in advance the
violence that is intended toward Joe Cagle when he is found. The narrator finally arrives at the “Deserted
House” just as the moon is beginning to rise.
That this is no ordinary
haunted house is made clear by Steve’s mournful description:
“I
saw, in this vague light, that the house had once been a mansion of the old
colonial type. Sitting in my saddle for
an instant before I dismounted, a vision of lost glory passed before my mind—a vision
of broad plantations, singing negroes, aristocratic Southern colonels, balls,
dances—gallantry…All gone now. Blotted
out by the Civil War…and now what grim threat lurked in those dark and dusty
rooms where the mice warred with the owls?”
Steve
cautiously enters the house, pistol in one hand and electric flash-light in the
other. In one room he finds Joe Cagle,
unwounded but apparently frightened to death.
The cause of his horrible fate is soon apparent, for the long shadow of
an enormous beast slides across the floor, even though its source is completely
invisible. Steve can barely elude the
nightmarish creature, which is large, predatory and seemingly everywhere at
once. He throws himself through a window
and later awakes in the lap of his beloved Joan.
In my
view, had Howard ended the story here,
with the ghostly creature left unexplained and still malevolently active, he
would have made a much more powerful statement about race relations in our
country. A forgotten mansion, built by
slaves, haunted by a ghost that terrifies black and white alike, even to death—surely
this is a metaphor for our nation’s dark history before the civil war and the
lingering aftermath for generations of people both enslaved and free.
The
story is weakened at the end by an explanation of the origin of the ghost, and
the consignment of the house and its terrifying occupant to flames—“The
ancients have always maintained that fire is the final destroyer…” This may be wishful thinking on Howard’s part,
that mere flames would cleanse the national soul of its racial sin. Most would agree that America is still
pursued by this ghost, which haunts all
our houses, not just the antebellum ones.
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