Caterpillars by E. F. Benson
I saw a month or two ago in an Italian paper that the Villa
Cascana, in which I once stayed, had been pulled down, and that a
manufactory of some sort was in process of erection on its site.
There is therefore no longer any reason for refraining from
writing of those things which I myself saw (or imagined I saw) in a
certain room and on a certain landing of the villa in question, nor
from mentioning the circumstances which followed, which may or may
not (according to the opinion of the reader) throw some light on or
be somehow connected with this experience.
The Villa Cascana was in all ways but one a perfectly delightful
house, yet, if it were standing now, nothing in the world--I use the
phrase in its literal sense--would induce me to set foot in it again,
for I believe it to have been haunted in a very terrible and
Most ghosts, when all is said and done, do not do much harm; they
may perhaps terrify, but the person whom they visit usually gets over
their visitation. They may on the other hand be entirely friendly and
beneficent. But the appearances in the Villa Cascana were not
beneficent, and had they made their "visit" in a very slightly
different manner, I do not suppose I should have got over it any more
than Arthur Inglis did.
The house stood on an ilex-clad hill not far from Sestri di
Levante on the Italian Riviera, looking out over the iridescent blues
of that enchanted sea, while behind it rose the pale green chestnut
woods that climb up the hillsides till they give place to the pines
that, black in contrast with them, crown the slopes. All round it the
garden in the luxuriance of mid-spring bloomed and was fragrant, and
the scent of magnolia and rose, borne on the salt freshness of the
winds from the sea, flowed like a stream through the cool vaulted
On the ground floor a broad pillared loggia ran round three sides
of the house, the top of which formed a balcony for certain rooms of
the first floor. The main staircase, broad and of grey marble steps,
led up from the hall to the landing outside these rooms, which were
three in number, namely, two big sitting-rooms and a bedroom arranged
en suite. The latter was unoccupied, the sitting-rooms were in use.
From these the main staircase was continued to the second floor,
where were situated certain bedrooms, one of which I occupied, while
from the other side of the first-floor landing some half-dozen steps
led to another suite of rooms, where, at the time I am speaking of,
Arthur Inglis, the artist, had his bedroom and studio. Thus the
landing outside my bedroom at the top of the house commanded both the
landing of the first floor and also the steps that led to Inglis'
rooms. Jim Stanley and his wife, finally (whose guest I was),
occupied rooms in another wing of the house, where also were the
I arrived just in time for lunch on a brilliant noon of mid-May.
The garden was shouting with colour and fragrance, and not less
delightful after my broiling walk up from the marina, should have
been the coming from the reverberating heat and blaze of the day into
the marble coolness of the villa. Only (the reader has my bare word
for this, and nothing more), the moment I set foot in the house I
felt that something was wrong. This feeling, I may say, was quite
vague, though very strong, and I remember that when I saw letters
waiting for me on the table in the hall I felt certain that the
explanation was here: I was convinced that there was bad news of some
sort for me. Yet when I opened them I found no such explanation of my
premonition: my correspondents all reeked of prosperity. Yet this
clear miscarriage of a presentiment did not dissipate my uneasiness.
In that cool fragrant house there was something wrong.
I am at pains to mention this because to the general view it may
explain that though I am as a rule so excellent a sleeper that the
extinction of my light on getting into bed is apparently
contemporaneous with being called on the following morning, I slept
very badly on my first night in the Villa Cascana. It may also
explain the fact that when I did sleep (if it was indeed in sleep
that I saw what I thought I saw) I dreamed in a very vivid and
original manner, original, that is to say, in the sense that
something that, as far as I knew, had never previously entered into
my consciousness, usurped it then. But since, in addition to this
evil premonition, certain words and events occurring during the rest
of the day might have suggested something of what I thought happened
that night, it will be well to relate them.
After lunch, then, I went round the house with Mrs. Stanley, and
during our tour she referred, it is true, to the unoccupied bedroom
on the first floor, which opened out of the room where we had
"We left that unoccupied," she said, "because Jim and I have a
charming bedroom and dressing-room, as you saw, in the wing, and if
we used it ourselves we should have to turn the dining-room into a
dressing-room and have our meals downstairs. As it is, however, we
have our little flat there, Arthur Inglis has his little flat in the
other passage; and I remembered (aren't I extraordinary?) that you
once said that the higher up you were in a house the better you were
pleased. So I put you at the top of the house, instead of giving you
It is true, that a doubt, vague as my uneasy premonition, crossed
my mind at this. I did not see why Mrs. Stanley should have explained
all this, if there had not been more to explain. I allow, therefore,
that the thought that there was something to explain about the
unoccupied bedroom was momentarily present to my mind.
The second thing that may have borne on my dream was this.
At dinner the conversation turned for a moment on ghosts. Inglis,
with the certainty of conviction, expressed his belief that anybody
who could possibly believe in the existence of supernatural phenomena
was unworthy of the name of an ass. The subject instantly dropped. As
far as I can recollect, nothing else occurred or was said that could
bear on what follows.
We all went to bed rather early, and personally I yawned my way
upstairs, feeling hideously sleepy. My room was rather hot, and I
threw all the windows wide, and from without poured in the white
light of the moon, and the love-song of many nightingales. I
undressed quickly, and got into bed, but though I had felt so sleepy
before, I now felt extremely wide-awake. But I was quite content to
be awake: I did not toss or turn, I felt perfectly happy listening to
the song and seeing the light. Then, it is possible, I may have gone
to sleep, and what follows may have been a dream. I thought, anyhow,
that after a time the nightingales ceased singing and the moon sank.
I thought also that if, for some unexplained reason, I was going to
lie awake all night, I might as well read, and I remembered that I
had left a book in which I was interested in the dining-room on the
first floor. So I got out of bed, lit a candle, and went downstairs.
I went into the room, saw on a side-table the book I had come to look
for, and then, simultaneously, saw that the door into the unoccupied
bedroom was open. A curious grey light, not of dawn nor of moonshine,
came out of it, and I looked in. The bed stood just opposite the
door, a big four-poster, hung with tapestry at the head. Then I saw
that the greyish light of the bedroom came from the bed, or rather
from what was on the bed. For it was covered with great caterpillars,
a foot or more in length, which crawled over it. They were faintly
luminous, and it was the light from them that showed me the room.
Instead of the sucker-feet of ordinary caterpillars they had rows of
pincers like crabs, and they moved by grasping what they lay on with
their pincers, and then sliding their bodies forward. In colour these
dreadful insects were yellowish-grey, and they were covered with
irregular lumps and swellings. There must have been hundreds of them,
for they formed a sort of writhing, crawling pyramid on the bed.
Occasionally one fell off on to the floor, with a soft fleshy thud,
and though the floor was of hard concrete, it yielded to the
pincerfeet as if it had been putty, and, crawling back, the
caterpillar would mount on to the bed again, to rejoin its fearful
companions. They appeared to have no faces, so to speak, but at one
end of them there was a mouth that opened sideways in
Then, as I looked, it seemed to me as if they all suddenly became
conscious of my presence.
All the mouths, at any rate, were turned in my direction, and next
moment they began dropping off the bed with those soft fleshy thuds
on to the floor, and wriggling towards me. For one second a paralysis
as of a dream was on me, but the next I was running upstairs again to
my room, and I remember feeling the cold of the marble steps on my
bare feet. I rushed into my bedroom, and slammed the door behind me,
and then--I was certainly wide-awake now--I found myself standing by
my bed with the sweat of terror pouring from me. The noise of the
banged door still rang in my ears. But, as would have been more
usual, if this had been mere nightmare, the terror that had been mine
when I saw those foul beasts crawling about the bed or dropping
softly on to the floor did not cease then. Awake, now, if dreaming
before, I did not at all recover from the horror of dream: it did not
seem to me that I had dreamed. And until dawn, I sat or stood, not
daring to lie down, thinking that every rustle or movement that I
heard was the approach of the caterpillars. To them and the claws
that bit into the cement the wood of the door was child's play: steel
would not keep them out.
But with the sweet and noble return of day the horror vanished:
the whisper of wind became benignant again: the nameless fear,
whatever it was, was smoothed out and terrified me no longer. Dawn
broke, hueless at first; then it grew dove-coloured, then the flaming
pageant of light spread over the sky.
The admirable rule of the house was that everybody had breakfast
where and when he pleased, and in consequence it was not till
lunch-time that I met any of the other members of our party, since I
had breakfast on my balcony, and wrote letters and other things till
lunch. In fact, I got down to that meal rather late, after the other
three had begun. Between my knife and fork there was a small pill-box
of cardboard, and as I sat down Inglis spoke.
"Do look at that," he said, "since you are interested in natural
history. I found it crawling on my counterpane last night, and I
don't know what it is."
I think that before I opened the pill-box I expected something of
the sort which I found in it.
Inside it, anyhow, was a small caterpillar, greyish-yellow in
colour, with curious bumps and excrescences on its rings. It was
extremely active, and hurried round the box, this way and that.
Its feet were unlike the feet of any caterpillar I ever saw: they
were like the pincers of a crab. I looked, and shut the lid down
"No, I don't know it," I said, "but it looks rather unwholesome.
What are you going to do with it?"
"Oh, I shall keep it," said Inglis. "It has begun to spin: I want
to see what sort of a moth it turns into."
I opened the box again, and saw that these hurrying movements were
indeed the beginning of the spinning of the web of its cocoon. Then
Inglis spoke again.
"It has got funny feet, too," he said. "They are like crabs'
pincers. What's the Latin for crab?"
"Oh, yes, Cancer. So in case it is unique, let's christen it:
'Cancer Inglisensis.'" Then something happened in my brain, some
momentary piecing together of all that I had seen or dreamed.
Something in his words seemed to me to throw light on it all, and my
own intense horror at the experience of the night before linked
itself on to what he had just said. In effect, I took the box and
threw it, caterpillar and all, out of the window. There was a gravel
path just outside, and beyond it, a fountain playing into a basin.
The box fell on to the middle of this.
"So the students of the occult don't like solid facts," he said.
"My poor caterpillar!"
The talk went off again at once on to other subjects, and I have
only given in detail, as they happened, these trivialities in order
to be sure myself that I have recorded everything that could have
borne on occult subjects or on the subject of caterpillars. But at
the moment when I threw the pill-box into the fountain, I lost my
head: my only excuse is that, as is probably plain, the tenant of it
was, in miniature, exactly what I had seen crowded on to the bed in
the unoccupied room. And though this translation of those phantoms
into flesh and blood--or whatever it is that caterpillars are made
of--ought perhaps to have relieved the horror of the night, as a
matter of fact it did nothing of the kind. It only made the crawling
pyramid that covered the bed in the unoccupied room more hideously
After lunch we spent a lazy hour or two strolling about the garden
or sitting in the loggia, and it must have been about four o'clock
when Stanley and I started off to bathe, down the path that led by
the fountain into which I had thrown the pill-box. The water was
shallow and clear, and at the bottom of it I saw its white remains.
The water had disintegrated the cardboard, and it had become no more
than a few strips and shreds of sodden paper. The centre of the
fountain was a marble Italian Cupid which squirted the water out of a
wine-skin held under its arm. And crawling up its leg was the
caterpillar. Strange and scarcely credible as it seemed, it must have
survived the falling-to-bits of its prison, and made its way to
shore, and there it was, out of arm's reach, weaving and waving this
way and that as it evolved its cocoon.
Then, as I looked at it, it seemed to me again that, like the
caterpillar I had seen last night, it saw me, and breaking out of the
threads that surrounded it, it crawled down the marble leg of the
Cupid and began swimming like a snake across the water of the
fountain towards me. It came with extraordinary speed (the fact of a
caterpillar being able to swim was new to me), and in another moment
was crawling up the marble lip of the basin. Just then Inglis joined
"Why, if it isn't old 'Cancer Inglisensis' again," he said,
catching sight of the beast. "What a tearing hurry it is in!"
We were standing side by side on the path, and when the
caterpillar had advanced to within about a yard of us, it stopped,
and began waving again as if in doubt as to the direction in which it
should go. Then it appeared to make up its mind, and crawled on to
"It likes me best," he said, "but I don't really know that I like
it. And as it won't drown I think perhaps--"
He shook it off his shoe on to the gravel path and trod on it.
All afternoon the air got heavier and heavier with the Sirocco
that was without doubt coming up from the south, and that night again
I went up to bed feeling very sleepy; but below my drowsiness, so to
speak, there was the consciousness, stronger than before, that there
was something wrong in the house, that something dangerous was close
at hand. But I fell asleep at once, and--how long after I do not
know--either woke or dreamed I awoke, feeling that I must get up at
once, or I should be too late. Then (dreaming or awake) I lay and
fought this fear, telling myself that I was but the prey of my own
nerves disordered by Sirocco or what not, and at the same time quite
clearly knowing in another part of my mind, so to speak, that every
moment's delay added to the danger. At last this second feeling
became irresistible, and I put on coat and trousers and went out of
my room on to the landing. And then I saw that I had already delayed
too long, and that I was now too late.
The whole of the landing of the first floor below was invisible
under the swarm of caterpillars that crawled there. The folding doors
into the sitting-room from which opened the bedroom where I had seen
them last night were shut, but they were squeezing through the cracks
of it and dropping one by one through the keyhole, elongating
themselves into mere string as they passed, and growing fat and lumpy
again on emerging. Some, as if exploring, were nosing about the steps
into the passage at the end of which were Inglis' rooms, others were
crawling on the lowest steps of the staircase that led up to where I
stood. The landing, however, was completely covered with them: I was
cut off. And of the frozen horror that seized me when I saw that I
can give no idea in words.
Then at last a general movement began to take place, and they grew
thicker on the steps that led to Inglis' room. Gradually, like some
hideous tide of flesh, they advanced along the passage, and I saw the
foremost, visible by the pale grey luminousness that came from them,
reach his door. Again and again I tried to shout and warn him, in
terror all the time that they would turn at the sound of my voice and
mount my stair instead, but for all my efforts I felt that no sound
came from my throat. They crawled along the hinge-crack of his door,
passing through as they had done before, and still I stood there,
making impotent efforts to shout to him, to bid him escape while
there was time.
At last the passage was completely empty: they had all gone, and
at that moment I was conscious for the first time of the cold of the
marble landing on which I stood barefooted. The dawn was just
beginning to break in the Eastern sky.
Six months after I met Mrs. Stanley in a country house in England.
We talked on many subjects and at last she said:
"I don't think I have seen you since I got that dreadful news
about Arthur Inglis a month ago."
"I haven't heard," said I.
"No? He has got cancer. They don't even advise an operation, for
there is no hope of a cure: he is riddled with it, the doctors
Now during all these six months I do not think a day had passed on
which I had not had in my mind the dreams (or whatever you like to
call them) which I had seen in the Villa Cascana.
"It is awful, is it not?" she continued, "and I feel I can't help
feeling, that he may have--"
"Caught it at the villa?" I asked.
She looked at me in blank surprise.
"Why did you say that?" she asked. "How did you know?"
Then she told me. In the unoccupied bedroom a year before there
had been a fatal case of cancer. She had, of course, taken the best
advice and had been told that the utmost dictates of prudence would
be obeyed so long as she did not put anybody to sleep in the room,
which had also been thoroughly disinfected and newly white-washed and