The Hedgehog Page #2

"The Hedgehog," a short story by Hector Hugh Munro, also known by his pen name Saki, explores themes of social conventions and the nature of intimacy through its satirical lens. The narrative unfolds during a seemingly innocuous gathering, where the protagonist, a woman known for her reserved and prickly demeanor, finds herself at the center of a humorous and insightful confrontation involving societal expectations and personal boundaries. Saki's trademark wit and keen observation of human behavior shine through, making the story a compelling commentary on individuality and the complexities of social interactions.

• Short story

								

way she'll refuse to renew the lease.  I sometimes think these garden-
parties are a mistake."

The Norburys played bridge for the next three nights till nearly one
o'clock; they did not care for the game, but it reduced the time at their
guest's disposal for undesirable ghostly visitations.

"Miss Bleek is not likely to be in a frame of mind to see ghosts," said
Hugo Norbury, "if she goes to bed with her brain awhirl with royal spades
and no trumps and grand slams."

"I've talked to her for hours about Mrs. Hatch-Mallard's uncle," said his
wife, "and pointed out the exact spot where he killed himself, and
invented all sorts of impressive details, and I've found an old portrait
of Lord John Russell and put it in her room, and told her that it's
supposed to be a picture of the uncle in middle age.  If Ada does see a
ghost at all it certainly ought to be old Hatch-Mallard's.  At any rate,
we've done our best."

The precautions were in vain.  On the third morning of her stay Ada Bleek
came down late to breakfast, her eyes looking very tired, but ablaze with
excitement, her hair done anyhow, and a large brown volume hugged under
her arm.

"At last I've seen something supernatural!" she exclaimed, and gave Mrs.
Norbury a fervent kiss, as though in gratitude for the opportunity
afforded her.

"A ghost!" cried Mrs. Norbury, "not really!"

"Really and unmistakably!"

"Was it an oldish man in the dress of about fifty years ago?" asked Mrs.
Norbury hopefully.

"Nothing of the sort," said Ada; "it was a white hedgehog."

"A white hedgehog!" exclaimed both the Norburys, in tones of disconcerted
astonishment.

"A huge white hedgehog with baleful yellow eyes," said Ada; "I was lying
half asleep in bed when suddenly I felt a sensation as of something
sinister and unaccountable passing through the room.  I sat up and looked
round, and there, under the window, I saw an evil, creeping thing, a sort
of monstrous hedgehog, of a dirty white colour, with black, loathsome
claws that clicked and scraped along the floor, and narrow, yellow eyes
of indescribable evil.  It slithered along for a yard or two, always
looking at me with its cruel, hideous eyes, then, when it reached the
second window, which was open it clambered up the sill and vanished.  I
got up at once and went to the window; there wasn't a sign of it
anywhere.  Of course, I knew it must be something from another world, but
it was not till I turned up Popple's chapter on local traditions that I
realised what I had seen."

She turned eagerly to the large brown volume and read: "'Nicholas
Herison, an old miser, was hung at Batchford in 1763 for the murder of a
farm lad who had accidentally discovered his secret hoard.  His ghost is
supposed to traverse the countryside, appearing sometimes as a white owl,
sometimes as a huge white hedgehog."

"I expect you read the Popple story overnight, and that made you think
you saw a hedgehog when you were only half awake," said Mrs. Norbury,
hazarding a conjecture that probably came very near the truth.

Ada scouted the possibility of such a solution of her apparition.

"This must be hushed up," said Mrs. Norbury quickly; "the servants--"

"Hushed up!" exclaimed Ada, indignantly; "I'm writing a long report on it
for the Research Society."

It was then that Hugo Norbury, who is not naturally a man of brilliant
resource, had one of the really useful inspirations of his life.

"It was very wicked of us, Miss Bleek," he said, "but it would be a shame
to let it go further.  That white hedgehog is an old joke of ours;
stuffed albino hedgehog, you know, that my father brought home from
Jamaica, where they grow to enormous size.  We hide it in the room with a
string on it, run one end of the string through the window; then we pull
if from below and it comes scraping along the floor, just as you've
described, and finally jerks out of the window.  Taken in heaps of
people; they all read up Popple and think it's old Harry Nicholson's
ghost; we always stop them from writing to the papers about it, though.
That would be carrying matters too far."

Mrs. Hatch-Mallard renewed the lease in due course, but Ada Bleek has
never renewed her friendship.
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