The King in Yellow

by Robert W. Chambers

Then I sank into the depths, and I heard the King in Yellow whispering to my soul: “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God!”

She and I never discussed morals at all, and I had no intention of doing so, partly because I had none myself, and partly because I knew she would do what she like in spite of me.

I said that I was not good. That is true, but still I was not exactly a comic opera villain. I had lead an easy-going reckless life, taking what invited me of pleasure, deploring and sometimes bitterly regretting consequences.

And as I lay and tossed about, the voice in my ears seemed more distinct, and I began to understand the words he had muttered. They came to me slowly as if I had forgotten them, and at last I could make some sense out of the sounds. It was this: “Have you found the Yellow Sign?” “Have you found the Yellow Sign?” “Have you found the Yellow Sign?”

I opened the box. On the pink cotton inside lay a clasp of black onyx, on which was inlaid a curious symbol or letter in gold. It was neither Arabic or Chinese, nor as I found afterwards did it belong to any human script.

We had been speaking for some time in a dull monotonous strain before I realized that we were discussing “The King in Yellow.” Oh the sin of writing such words—words which are clear as crystal, limpid and musical as bubbling springs, words which sparkle and glow like the poisoned diamonds of the Medicis! Oh the wickedness, the hopeless damnation of a soul who could fascinate and paralyze human creatures with such words, words understood by the ignorant and wise alike, words which are more precious than jewels, more soothing than Heavenly music, more awful than death itself.