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A Vine On A House

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25 views3 pages

A Vine On A House

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tara.burchett
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© © All Rights Reserved
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A Vine on a House

Ambrose Bierce

About three miles from the little town of Norton, in Missouri, on the road leading to Maysville,
stands an old house that was last occupied by a family named Harding. Since 1886 no one has
lived in it, nor is anyone likely to live in it again. Time and the disfavor of persons dwelling
thereabout are converting it into a rather picturesque ruin. An observer unacquainted with its
history would hardly put it into the category of “haunted houses,” yet in all the region round
such is its evil reputation. Its windows are without glass, its doorways without doors; there are
wide breaches in the shingle roof, and for lack of paint the weatherboarding is a dun gray. But
these unfailing signs of the supernatural are partly concealed and greatly softened by the
abundant foliage of a large vine overrunning the entire structure. This vine—of a species which
no botanist has ever been able to name—has an important part in the story of the house.

The Harding family consisted of Robert Harding, his wife Matilda, Miss Julia Went, who was
her sister, and two young children. Robert Harding was a silent, cold-mannered man who made
no friends in the neighborhood and apparently cared to make none. He was about forty years
old, frugal and industrious, and made a living from the little farm which is now overgrown with
brush and brambles. He and his sister-in-law were rather tabooed by their neighbors, who
seemed to think that they were seen too frequently together—not entirely their fault, for at these
times they evidently did not challenge observation. The moral code of rural Missouri is stern
and exacting.

Mrs. Harding was a gentle, sad-eyed woman, lacking a left foot.

At some time in 1884 it became known that she had gone to visit her mother in Iowa. That was
what her husband said in reply to inquiries, and his manner of saying it did not encourage
further questioning. She never came back, and two years later, without selling his farm or
anything that was his, or appointing an agent to look after his interests, or removing his
household goods, Harding, with the rest of the family, left the country. Nobody knew whither he
went; nobody at that time cared. Naturally, whatever was movable about the place soon
disappeared and the deserted house became “haunted” in the manner of its kind.

One summer evening, four or five years later, the Rev. J. Gruber, of Norton, and a Maysville
attorney named Hyatt met on horseback in front of the Harding place. Having business matters
to discuss, they hitched their animals and going to the house sat on the porch to talk. Some
humorous reference to the somber reputation of the place was made and forgotten as soon as
uttered, and they talked of their business affairs until it grew almost dark. The evening was
oppressively warm, the air stagnant.
Presently both men started from their seats in surprise: a long vine that covered half the front of
the house and dangled its branches from the edge of the porch above them was visibly and
audibly agitated, shaking violently in every stem and leaf.

“We shall have a storm,” Hyatt exclaimed.

Gruber said nothing, but silently directed the other’s attention to the foliage of adjacent
trees, which showed no movement; even the delicate tips of the boughs silhouetted against
the clear sky were motionless. They hastily passed down the steps to what had been a lawn
and looked upward at the vine, whose entire length was now visible. It continued in violent
agitation, yet they could discern no disturbing cause.

“Let us leave,” said the minister.

And leave they did. Forgetting that they had been traveling in opposite directions, they rode
away together. They went to Norton, where they related their strange experience to several
discreet friends. The next evening, at about the same hour, accompanied by two others
whose names are not recalled, they were again on the porch of the Harding house, and again
the mysterious phenomenon occurred: the vine was violently agitated while under the
closest scrutiny from root to tip, nor did their combined strength applied to the trunk serve
to still it. After an hour’s observation they retreated, no less wise, it is thought, than when
they had come.

No great time was required for these singular facts to rouse the curiosity of the entire
neighborhood. By day and by night crowds of persons assembled at the Harding house
“seeking a sign.” It does not appear that any found it, yet so credible were the witnesses
mentioned that none doubted the reality of the “manifestations” to which they testified.

By either a happy inspiration or some destructive design, it was one day proposed—nobody
appeared to know from whom the suggestion came—to dig up the vine, and after a good
deal of debate this was done. Nothing was found but the root, yet nothing could have been
more strange!

For five or six feet from the trunk, which had at the surface of the ground a diameter of
several inches, it ran downward, single and straight, into a loose, friable earth; then it
divided and subdivided into rootlets, fibers and filaments, most curiously interwoven. When
carefully freed from soil they showed a singular formation. In their ramifications and
doublings back upon themselves they made a compact network, having in size and shape an
amazing resemblance to the human figure. Head, trunk and limbs were there; even the
fingers and toes were distinctly defined; and many professed to see in the distribution and
arrangement of the fibers in the globular mass representing the head a grotesque suggestion
of a face. The figure was horizontal; the smaller roots had begun to unite at the breast.
In point of resemblance to the human form this image was imperfect. At about ten inches
from one of the knees, the cilia forming that leg had abruptly doubled backward and inward
upon their course of growth. The figure lacked the left foot.

There was but one inference—the obvious one; but in the ensuing excitement as many
courses of action were proposed as there were incapable counselors. The matter was settled
by the sheriff of the county, who as the lawful custodian of the abandoned estate ordered
the root replaced and the excavation filled with the earth that had been removed.

Later inquiry brought out only one fact of relevancy and significance: Mrs. Harding had
never visited her relatives in Iowa, nor did they know that she was supposed to have done so.

Of Robert Harding and the rest of his family nothing is known. The house retains its evil
reputation, but the replanted vine is as orderly and well-behaved a vegetable as a nervous
person could wish to sit under of a pleasant night, when the katydids grate out their
immemorial revelation and the distant whippoorwill signifies his notion of what ought to be
done about it.

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