By Rudyard Kipling
Scary chat: Bahadur Khan stood up ashen gray in the light of the one lamp. The need for justification came upon him very swiftly.
At the end of an hour he died, as they die who are bitten by the little brown karait, and the policemen bore him and the thing under the tablecloth to their appointed places. All were needed to make clear the disappearance of Imray.
I had just settled to the sleep of exhaustion when I heard Strickland provided a scary chat story ending from his side of the house—
And so she had. The great hound couched statelily on her own bedstead on her own blanket, while, in the next room, the idle, empty, ceiling-cloth waggled as it trailed on the table.