X. When Night Came

von H. G. Wells

I found myself in a worse situation than before. Until now, aside from the torment of losing the Time Machine, I had held onto a flicker of hope for escape. But these new discoveries shook that hope to its core. I had thought my troubles stemmed from the naive simplicity of the little people and some unknown forces that I just needed to understand to overcome. But now, there was something entirely different about the Morlocks—a sickening, inhuman quality that filled me with instinctive loathing.

Before, I had felt like a man who had fallen into a pit, focused solely on how to climb out. Now, I felt like a trapped animal, aware that my enemy was closing in.

The enemy I dreaded might surprise you. It was the darkness of the new moon. Weena had planted this fear in my mind with her strange comments about the Dark Nights. It wasn’t hard to guess what those nights might bring. The moon was waning, and each night brought longer stretches of darkness. I began to understand, at least a little, why the Upperworld people feared the dark. I wondered what terrible things the Morlocks might be doing under the new moon. I was beginning to realize that my earlier theories were completely off. The Upperworld people had once been the privileged class, and the Morlocks their mechanical servants, but that dynamic had long since changed.

The two species that had evolved from humanity were now in a completely different relationship. The Eloi had decayed into a beautiful but useless existence, still clinging to the earth only by the grace of the Morlocks, who had lived underground for countless generations and found the daylight unbearable. I guessed that the Morlocks made their clothes and met their basic needs out of some old instinct to serve, like a horse that paws at the ground or a man who hunts for sport—because ancient necessities had imprinted those behaviors on them. But it was clear that the old order was shifting. The delicate Eloi were facing their reckoning. Ages ago, humanity had pushed its own kind out of comfort and light, and now that brother was returning—changed. The Eloi were beginning to relearn an old lesson: they were becoming reacquainted with Fear.

Suddenly, a memory of the meat I had seen in the Underworld flashed into my mind. It was strange how it came to me—not as a result of my thoughts, but almost like a question from outside. I tried to recall its form. It felt familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it at that moment.

Despite the little people’s helplessness in the face of their mysterious Fear, I was different. I came from an age when Fear didn’t paralyze and mystery had lost its grip. I would defend myself. Without wasting any more time, I decided to arm myself and find a secure place to sleep. With a refuge, I could face this strange world with some of the confidence I had lost upon realizing what creatures I was exposed to each night. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep again until I had made my bed safe from them. The thought of how they must have already examined me sent shivers of horror down my spine.

I wandered along the Thames Valley that afternoon, but nothing seemed secure enough to me. All the buildings and trees appeared easily climbable by the nimble Morlocks, as evidenced by their wells. Then I remembered the tall spires of the Palace of Green Porcelain and the polished sheen of its walls. That evening, I hoisted Weena onto my shoulder like a child and headed up the hills to the southwest. I had estimated the distance to be seven or eight miles, but it was probably closer to eighteen. I had first seen the palace on a damp afternoon when distances can be misleading. To make matters worse, one of my shoe heels was loose, and a nail was poking through the sole—these were my comfortable old shoes for indoor wear—so I was limping. By the time I finally caught sight of the palace, silhouetted against the pale yellow sky, the sun had long since set.

Weena was overjoyed when I first picked her up and carried her, but soon she wanted to be set down. She scampered alongside me, occasionally darting off to gather flowers, which she would tuck into my pockets. My pockets had always puzzled her, but she eventually decided they were some quirky kind of vase for her floral arrangements. At least that’s how she used them. Speaking of which, when I changed my jacket, I found…

I paused, reached into my pocket, and placed two dried flowers—similar to large white mallows—on the little table before me. Then I continued my story.

As evening settled over the world, we made our way over the hill toward Wimbledon. Weena began to tire and wanted to head back to the grey stone house. But I pointed out the distant spires of the Palace of Green Porcelain and tried to convey to her that we were seeking refuge from her Fear. You know that stillness that descends just before dusk? Even the breeze seems to hold its breath. To me, there’s always a sense of anticipation in that evening calm. The sky was clear and empty, except for a few horizontal streaks far down in the sunset. That night, however, that anticipation took on the hue of my fears. In the deepening quiet, my senses felt unnaturally heightened. I could almost feel the emptiness of the ground beneath my feet, and I imagined I could see the Morlocks scurrying about in their burrows, waiting for darkness to fall. I wondered how they would react to my intrusion into their territory. And why had they taken my Time Machine?

We continued on in silence as twilight deepened into night. The clear blue of the horizon faded, and one star after another began to twinkle. The ground dimmed, and the trees turned black. Weena’s fears and fatigue began to weigh on her. I lifted her into my arms, talking softly and stroking her hair. As the darkness thickened, she wrapped her arms around my neck, closed her eyes, and pressed her face against my shoulder.

We descended a long slope into a valley, and in the dim light, I nearly walked straight into a small river. I waded through it and climbed up the opposite side, passing by several sleeping houses and a statue—a Faun or something similar, missing its head. Acacias lined the path. So far, I hadn’t seen any sign of the Morlocks, but it was still early in the night, and the darker hours before the old moon rose were yet to come.

From the top of the next hill, I spotted a thick wood spreading out before me, dark and foreboding. I hesitated; there seemed to be no end to it, either to the right or left. My feet were sore from the day’s adventures, so I gently lowered Weena from my shoulder and sat down on the grass. The Palace of Green Porcelain was no longer visible, and I was uncertain of my direction. I gazed into the dense woods, pondering what dangers might lurk within. Even if there were no immediate threat—one I didn’t want to let my imagination dwell on—there were still roots to trip over and tree trunks to collide with. I was exhausted from the day’s excitement, so I decided it would be best to spend the night on the open hill.

I was relieved to find Weena fast asleep. I wrapped her in my jacket and settled down beside her to wait for the moon to rise. The hillside was quiet and deserted, but from the shadows of the wood, I could hear occasional rustles of life. Above me, the stars shone brightly in the clear night sky. Their twinkling brought me a sense of comfort. All the familiar constellations had vanished, rearranged over time into unfamiliar patterns. Yet the Milky Way still appeared as the same tattered ribbon of stardust as I remembered. Southward, as I guessed, a bright red star caught my eye; it was even more brilliant than our own green Sirius. Amidst all those sparkling points of light, one bright planet shone steadily, like the face of an old friend.

As I gazed up at the stars, my own troubles felt small and insignificant. Their vast distances and the slow, inevitable drift of their movements through time made me reflect on the great cycles of the Earth. In all the years I had lived, only forty of those silent revolutions had taken place. During that time, everything I knew—human activity, traditions, nations, languages, and even the memory of humanity—had vanished. Instead, I found myself surrounded by these fragile beings who had forgotten their noble origins, and I was haunted by the terrifying presence of the white creatures lurking in the shadows.

For the first time, the chilling realization of what the meat I had seen might be struck me, sending a shiver down my spine. It was too horrifying to contemplate. I looked at little Weena, sleeping beside me, her face pale and star-like under the night sky, and quickly pushed the thought away.

Throughout that long night, I tried to keep my mind off the Morlocks, distracting myself by searching for familiar constellations in the unfamiliar sky. The night was mostly clear, with only a few hazy clouds drifting by. I must have dozed off at times. As my vigil continued, I noticed a faint light in the eastern sky, like the reflection of a colorless fire. The old moon rose, thin and white, and soon after, dawn broke, pale at first, then warming to a soft pink. No Morlocks had approached us; in fact, I hadn’t seen any on the hill that night. With the arrival of day, my fear began to feel unreasonable. I stood up, only to find that my foot, with its loose heel, was swollen and painful. I sat back down, removed my shoes, and tossed them aside.

I woke Weena, and together we ventured into the woods, which now appeared green and inviting instead of dark and menacing. We found some fruit to satisfy our hunger and soon encountered other Eloi, laughing and dancing in the sunlight as if night had never existed. But then the thought of the meat I had seen returned to me. I was certain of what it was, and deep down, I felt a profound pity for this last remnant of humanity. Clearly, at some point in the distant past, the Morlocks had run out of food. Perhaps they had resorted to eating rats and other vermin. Even now, people are less selective about their food than they used to be—far less than any monkey. Their aversion to cannibalism isn’t a deeply rooted instinct. So, these inhuman descendants of mankind… I tried to view it through a scientific lens. After all, they were more distant from humanity than our cannibal ancestors from three or four thousand years ago. The intelligence that would have made this situation unbearable was gone. Why should I let it trouble me? The Eloi were merely livestock, tended to and preyed upon by the ant-like Morlocks—likely even bred for that purpose. And here was Weena, dancing at my side!

I attempted to shield myself from the horror creeping in by framing it as a harsh consequence of human selfishness. Humanity had thrived on the labor of others, using necessity as an excuse, and eventually, necessity had come back to haunt them. I even tried to adopt a Carlyle-like disdain for this decaying aristocracy. But that mindset proved impossible. No matter how degraded they had become, the Eloi still retained enough of their humanity to evoke my sympathy, forcing me to share in their degradation and their fear.

At that moment, I had only vague ideas about my next steps. My first priority was to find a safe refuge and to craft some weapons from metal or stone. That need was urgent. Next, I wanted to find a way to create fire, as nothing would be more effective against the Morlocks than a torch. I also needed to devise a method to break open the bronze doors beneath the White Sphinx. I envisioned a battering ram in my mind. I was convinced that if I could get through those doors and carry a light with me, I would find the Time Machine and escape. I couldn’t imagine the Morlocks being strong enough to move it far. I had resolved to bring Weena with me to our own time. With these plans swirling in my mind, I continued toward the building that I had chosen as our home.