I thought them in some way related to that
ancient method of torture by which water is allowed to strike the
victim's forehead, a drop at a time, until death releases him. For a
while my sense of smell added to my troubles. The odor of burning human
flesh and other pestilential fumes seemed to assail me.
My sense of sight was subjected to many weird and uncanny effects.
Phantasmagoric visions made their visitations throughout the night, for
a time with such regularity that I used to await their coming with a
certain restrained curiosity. I was not entirely unaware that something
was ailing with my mind. Yet these illusions of sight I took for the
work of detectives, who sat up nights racking their brains in order to
rack and utterly wreck my own with a cruel and unfair Third Degree.
Handwriting on the wall has ever struck terror to the hearts of even
sane men. I remember as one of my most unpleasant experiences that I
began to see handwriting on the sheets of my bed staring me in the
face, and not me alone, but also the spurious relatives who often stood
or sat near me.
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