XII. In the Darkness

von H. G. Wells

We stepped out of the Palace while the sun was still hanging low in the sky. I was determined to reach the White Sphinx early the next morning, and before night fell, I planned to push through the woods that had thwarted me on my last journey. My intention was to travel as far as I could that night, then build a fire and sleep safely within its glow.

As we moved along, I gathered sticks and dried grass, filling my arms with the debris. This made our progress slower than I had expected, and Weena was growing tired. I was starting to feel drowsy myself, and by the time we reached the edge of the woods, it was fully dark. Weena hesitated, wanting to stop at the shrubby hilltop, afraid of the darkness ahead. But a strange sense of impending doom urged me forward, a warning I should have heeded. I hadn’t slept in over a day and was feeling feverish and irritable. I could feel sleep creeping in, along with the Morlocks.

As we paused, I noticed three crouching figures lurking among the black bushes behind us, barely visible against the darkness. The undergrowth was thick with scrub and long grass, and I didn’t feel safe from their stealthy approach. I estimated the forest was less than a mile across. If we could make it to the bare hillside, it seemed like a much safer place to rest. I thought that with my matches and camphor, I could keep a light on our path through the woods. But I realized that if I wanted to use my matches, I would have to drop my firewood, which I did reluctantly. Then an idea struck me: I could surprise our pursuers by lighting the fire. It seemed clever at the time, a way to cover our escape.

Have you ever considered how rare fire must be in a world without humans and in a temperate climate? The sun’s heat isn’t usually strong enough to ignite anything, even when focused by dewdrops, as it can be in tropical areas. Lightning can scorch the earth, but it rarely starts widespread fires. Decaying vegetation might smolder from fermentation, but it seldom produces flames. In this decayed world, the art of fire-making had been forgotten. The flickering flames that danced up my pile of wood were completely new and strange to Weena.

She wanted to run to it and play, and I believe she would have jumped into the fire if I hadn’t stopped her. I scooped her up and, despite her struggles, plunged boldly into the woods. For a short distance, the glow of my fire lit our way. Looking back, I saw that the flames had spread to some nearby bushes, creating a curved line of fire creeping up the hill. I laughed at that and turned my attention back to the dark trees ahead. It was pitch black, and Weena clung to me tightly, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see enough to avoid the tree trunks. Above us, the sky was a deep black, with only a few distant patches of blue peeking through.

I didn’t light any matches because I had no free hand. I carried Weena in my left arm and held my iron bar in my right.

For a while, all I could hear was the crackling of twigs underfoot, the soft rustle of the breeze, and the sound of my own breathing, along with the thumping of my heart in my ears. Then I sensed a pattering behind me. I pressed on, grimly determined. The pattering grew louder, and soon I recognized the same strange sounds and voices I had heard in the Underworld. It was clear that several Morlocks were closing in on us. In another moment, I felt a tug at my coat, then something at my arm. Weena shivered violently and went completely still.

It was time for a match. But to get one, I had to put her down. I did so, and as I fumbled in my pocket, I felt a silent struggle around my knees, accompanied by the same eerie cooing sounds from the Morlocks. Soft hands crept over my coat and back, even brushing against my neck. Then I struck a match, and as it flared to life, I saw the white backs of the Morlocks retreating into the trees. I quickly grabbed a lump of camphor from my pocket, ready to light it as the match burned down.

Then I looked at Weena. She lay clutching my feet, completely motionless, her face pressed to the ground. A sudden wave of panic washed over me as I leaned down to check on her. She seemed barely to be breathing. I lit the block of camphor and threw it to the ground. As it split and flared up, driving back the Morlocks and the shadows, I knelt down and lifted her. The woods behind us buzzed with the stir and murmur of a great crowd.

She seemed to have fainted. I carefully lifted her onto my shoulder and started to move forward, but then a terrible realization hit me. In my frantic attempts to manage my matches and Weena, I had turned around several times, and now I had no idea which way I was facing. For all I knew, I could be heading back toward the Palace of Green Porcelain. A cold sweat broke out on my skin. I needed to think quickly.

I decided to build a fire and camp where we were. I gently laid Weena, still unconscious, on a patch of soft grass and hurriedly began gathering sticks and leaves as my first piece of camphor burned down. All around me, the darkness was punctuated by the gleaming eyes of the Morlocks, shining like red gemstones.

The camphor flickered and extinguished. I struck a match, and as I did, two pale figures that had been approaching Weena suddenly darted away. One of them, blinded by the light, stumbled straight toward me. I felt the impact as my fist connected with his face, and he let out a cry of shock, staggering back before collapsing. I lit another piece of camphor and continued to gather materials for my fire.

I soon noticed how dry the foliage above me was; since my arrival in this time, there hadn’t been any rain. Instead of searching for fallen twigs, I started jumping up to pull down branches. Before long, I had a smoky fire going, fueled by green wood and dry sticks, allowing me to save my camphor. I turned back to Weena, who lay beside my iron mace. I tried everything I could to revive her, but she remained limp, and I couldn’t even tell if she was breathing.

As the smoke from the fire drifted toward me, I suddenly felt heavy. The camphor’s scent hung in the air. My fire wouldn’t need more fuel for a while, and after all my efforts, I felt exhausted. I sat down, and the woods around me were filled with a soft, murmur that I couldn’t quite understand. I must have nodded off because when I opened my eyes again, everything was dark, and the Morlocks were upon me.

I shook off their grasping fingers and fumbled in my pocket for the matchbox—but it was gone! They closed in on me again, and in that moment, I realized what had happened. I had fallen asleep, my fire had gone out, and a wave of despair washed over me. The forest was thick with the smell of burning wood. I felt their soft bodies pressing against me, and it was horrifying to be engulfed in darkness by these creatures. I felt like I was caught in a massive spider’s web. Overwhelmed, I went down, feeling sharp little teeth nibbling at my neck.

Rolling over, my hand brushed against my iron lever, and it gave me strength. I pushed myself up, shaking off the Morlocks, and with the bar held tightly, I swung it where I thought their faces might be. I could feel the satisfying crunch of flesh and bone beneath my blows, and for a moment, I was free.

A strange exhilaration surged through me, the kind that often accompanies fierce fighting. I knew that both Weena and I were in grave danger, but I was determined to make the Morlocks pay for their attack. I positioned myself against a tree, swinging the iron bar in front of me. The woods buzzed with their rustling and cries. A minute passed, and their voices grew more frantic, their movements quicker. Yet none dared to come within reach. I stood there, glaring into the darkness, when suddenly, a glimmer of hope struck me. What if the Morlocks were afraid?

As that thought crossed my mind, something strange happened. The darkness seemed to glow. Very faintly, I began to see the Morlocks around me—three of them sprawled at my feet—and to my astonishment, I noticed the others were fleeing in a continuous stream from behind me, rushing through the woods ahead. Their backs no longer appeared white but were tinged with red.

As I stood there, dumbfounded, I saw a small red spark drift across a gap of starlight between the branches before vanishing. Suddenly, everything clicked—the smell of burning wood, the murmuring that had transformed into a gusty roar, the red glow, and the Morlocks’ flight.

Stepping out from behind my tree and glancing back, I saw the flames consuming the forest. It was my fire, chasing after me. I looked for Weena, but she was gone. The hissing and crackling behind me, the explosive sound of trees bursting into flames, left little room for thought. Clutching my iron bar, I followed the path the Morlocks had taken. It was a close call. The flames crept forward so quickly on my right that I had to veer left to avoid being caught.

Finally, I burst into a small clearing, and just as I did, a Morlock came stumbling toward me, past me, and straight into the fire!

I was about to witness something truly bizarre and horrifying, perhaps the most unsettling sight of all I encountered in that distant future. The entire area was illuminated as if it were daytime, reflecting the fierce glow of the fire. In the center stood a small mound, topped by a charred hawthorn tree. Beyond it, another section of the burning forest loomed, flames licking out like yellow tongues, completely encircling the space in a fiery barrier.

On the hillside, I spotted thirty or forty Morlocks, disoriented by the brightness and heat, stumbling around and colliding with one another in their confusion. Initially, I didn’t grasp their blindness. In a panic, I swung my bar at them, fueled by fear, managing to kill one and injure several others. But then I observed one of them groping under the hawthorn against the backdrop of the red sky, and I heard their pitiful moans. It became clear to me that they were utterly helpless and suffering in the harsh light, so I stopped attacking.

Yet, every now and then, one would come directly toward me, sending a shiver of dread through me that made me quickly dodge away. At one point, the flames subsided slightly, and I feared that these grotesque creatures might soon be able to see me. I considered striking first, taking out a few before that could happen, but then the fire flared up again, and I held back. I wandered around the hill among them, trying to avoid contact, searching for any sign of Weena. But she was nowhere to be found.

Eventually, I sat down on the top of the hillock and watched this strange gathering of blind beings fumbling about, making eerie sounds to one another as the fire’s glow enveloped them. Smoke curled upward, streaming across the sky, and through the tattered remnants of that red canopy, the stars shone faintly, as if they belonged to another world. A few Morlocks stumbled into me, and I pushed them away with my fists, trembling at the contact.

For most of that night, I was convinced it was all a nightmare. I bit my own skin and screamed, desperate to wake up. I pounded the ground with my hands, got up, sat down again, and wandered aimlessly, only to sit down once more. I rubbed my eyes and pleaded with God to let me wake from this horror. Three times, I saw Morlocks lower their heads in a sort of agony and rush into the flames. But finally, above the fading red of the fire, above the swirling clouds of black smoke and the charred tree stumps, the light of day began to break through.

I searched again for any sign of Weena, but there was nothing. It was clear they had left her small body in the forest. A wave of relief washed over me at the thought that she had escaped the terrible fate that seemed to await her. As I contemplated this, I felt a surge of anger rise within me, almost compelling me to launch a massacre against the helpless creatures around me, but I restrained myself. The hillock, as I mentioned, was like an island in the forest. From its peak, I could now make out the Palace of Green Porcelain through the haze of smoke, and from there, I could orient myself toward the White Sphinx.

So, leaving behind the remnants of those wretched souls still wandering and moaning as the day grew brighter, I tied some grass around my feet and limped across the smoking ashes and among the blackened trunks that still pulsed with hidden fire, making my way toward the hiding place of the Time Machine. I walked slowly, nearly exhausted and limping, weighed down by the profound sorrow over Weena’s tragic death. It felt like an overwhelming disaster. Now, in this familiar setting, it seemed more like the grief of a dream than a real loss. Yet that morning, it left me feeling utterly alone—terribly alone. I began to think of my home, my fireside, and of some of you, and with those thoughts came a longing that felt like pain.

But as I walked over the smoking ashes beneath the bright morning sky, I made a discovery. In my trouser pocket, I found some loose matches. The box must have leaked before it was lost.