{"id":24378,"date":"2025-10-05T11:54:22","date_gmt":"2025-10-05T15:54:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=24378"},"modified":"2025-10-05T11:54:25","modified_gmt":"2025-10-05T15:54:25","slug":"ray-bradbury-the-wind","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/ray-bradbury-the-wind\/24378\/","title":{"rendered":"Ray Bradbury: The Wind"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis<\/strong>: \u201cThe Wind\u201d is a psychological horror story by Ray Bradbury, published in Weird Tales<\/em> in March 1943. It tells the story of Allin, a man convinced that the winds are living entities and that one of them is trying to possess him. Seeking comfort, Allin turns to his friend Herb Thompson, but Herb is unable to visit him because he is expecting guests at his own home\u2014and his wife believes Allin has gone mad. Throughout the night, Herb receives several phone calls from Allin, each one more disturbing than the last.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"Ray<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

The Wind<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Ray Bradbury
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE PHONE RANG AT FIVE-THIRTY that evening. It was December, and long since dark as Thompson picked up the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello, Herb<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, it\u2019s you, Allin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs your wife home, Herb?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDamn it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Herb Thompson held the receiver quietly. \u201cWhat\u2019s up? You sound funny.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wanted you to come over tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re having company.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wanted you to spend the night. When\u2019s your wife going away?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s next week,\u201d said Thompson. \u201cShe\u2019ll be in Ohio for about nine days. Her mother\u2019s sick. I\u2019ll come over then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wish you could come over tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWish I could. Company and all, my wife\u2019d kill me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wish you could come over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it? the wind again?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, no. No.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs it the wind?\u201d asked Thompson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The voice on the phone hesitated. \u201cYeah. Yeah, it\u2019s the wind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a clear night, there\u2019s not much wind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s enough. It comes in the window and blows the curtains a little bit. Just enough to tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLook, why don\u2019t you come and spend the night here?\u201d said Herb Thompson looking around the lighted hall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, no. It\u2019s too late for that. It might catch me on the way over. It\u2019s a damned long distance. I wouldn\u2019t dare, but thanks, anyway. It\u2019s thirty miles, but thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTake a sleeping-tablet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been standing in the door for the past hour, Herb. I can see it building up in the west. There are some clouds there and I saw one of them kind of rip apart. There\u2019s a wind coming, all right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, you just take a nice sleeping-tablet. And call me anytime you want to call. Later this evening if you want.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAny time?\u201d said the voice on the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll do that, but I wish you could come out. Yet I wouldn\u2019t want you hurt. You\u2019re my best friend and I wouldn\u2019t want that. Maybe it\u2019s best I face this thing alone. I\u2019m sorry I bother you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHell, what\u2019s a friend for? Tell you what you do, sit down and get some writing done this evening,\u201d said Herb. Thompson, shifting from one foot to the other in the hall. \u201cYou\u2019ll forget about the Himalayas and the Valley of the Winds and this preoccupation of yours with storms and hurricanes. Get another chapter done on your next travel book.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI might do that. Maybe I will, I don\u2019t know. Maybe I will. I might do that. Thanks a lot for letting me bother you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks, hell. Get off the line, now, you. My wife\u2019s calling me to dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Herb Thompson hung up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He went and sat down at the supper table and his wife sat across from him. \u201cWas that Allin?\u201d she asked. He nodded. \u201cHim and his winds that blow up and winds that blow down and winds that blow hot and blow cold,\u201d she said, handing him his plate heaped with food.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe did have a time in the Himalayas, during the war,\u201d said Herb Thompson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t believe what he said about that valley, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt makes a good story.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClimbing around, climbing up things. Why do men climb mountains and scare themselves?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt was snowing,\u201d said Herb Thompson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd raining and hailing and blowing all at once, in that valley. Allin\u2019s told me a dozen times. He tells it well. He was up pretty high. Clouds, and all. The valley made a noise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI bet<\/em> it did,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLike a lot of winds instead of just one. Winds from all over the world.\u201d He took a bite. \u201cSo says Allin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe shouldn\u2019t have gone there and looked, in the first place,\u201d she said. \u201cYou go poking around and first thing you know you get ideas. Winds start getting angry at you for intruding, and they follow you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t joke, he\u2019s my best friend,\u201d snapped Herb Thompson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all so silly!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNevertheless he\u2019s been through a lot. That storm in Bombay, later, and the typhoon off New Guinea two months after that. And that time, in Cornwall.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have no sympathy for a man who continually runs into wind storms and hurricanes, and then gets a persecution complex because of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The phone rang just then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t answer it,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe it\u2019s important.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s only Allin, again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They sat there and the phone rang nine times and they didn\u2019t answer. Finally, it quieted. They finished dinner. Out in the kitchen, the window curtains gently moved in the small breeze from a slightly opened window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The phone rang again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t let it ring,\u201d he said, and answered it. \u201cOh, hello, Allin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHerb! It\u2019s here! It got here!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re too near the phone, back up a little.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI stood in the open door and waited for it. I saw it coming down the highway, shaking all the trees, one by one, until it shook the trees just outside the house and it dived down toward the door and I slammed the door in its face!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thompson didn\u2019t say anything. He couldn\u2019t think of anything to say, his wife was watching him in the hall door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow interesting,\u201d he said, at last.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all around the house, Herb. I can\u2019t get out now, I can\u2019t do anything. But I fooled it, I let it think it had me, and just as it came down to get me I slammed and locked the door! I was ready for it, I\u2019ve been getting ready for weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHave you, now; tell me about it, Allin, old man.\u201d Herb Thompson played it jovially into the phone, while his wife looked on and his neck began to sweat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt began six weeks ago. . . .\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, yes? Well, well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c. . . I thought I had it licked. I thought it had given up following and trying to get me. But it was just waiting. Six weeks ago I heard the wind laughing and whispering around the corners of my house, out here. Just for an hour or so, not very long, not very loud. Then it went away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thompson nodded into the phone. \u201cGlad to hear it, glad to hear it.\u201d His wife stared at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt came back, the next night. It slammed the shutters and kicked sparks out of the chimney. It came back five nights in a row, a little stronger each time. When I opened the front door, it came in at me and tried to pull me out, but it wasn\u2019t strong enough. Tonight it is<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGlad to hear you\u2019re feeling better,\u201d said Thompson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not better, what\u2019s wrong with you? Is your wife listening to us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, I see. I know I sound like a fool.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot at all. Go on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thompson\u2019s wife went back into the kitchen. He relaxed. He sat down on a little chair near the phone. \u201cGo on, Allin, get it out of you, you\u2019ll sleep better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all around the house now, like a great big vacuum machine nuzzling at all the gables. It\u2019s knocking the trees around.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s funny, there\u2019s no wind here<\/em>. Allin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course not, it doesn\u2019t care about you, only about me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI guess that\u2019s one way to explain it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a killer, Herb, the biggest damnedest prehistoric killer that ever hunted prey. A big sniffling hound, trying to smell me out, find me. It pushes its big cold nose up to the house, taking air, and when it finds me in the parlor it drives its pressure there, and when I\u2019m in the kitchen it goes there. It\u2019s trying to get in the windows, now, but I had them reinforced and I put new hinges on the doors, and bolts. It\u2019s a strong house. They built them strong in the old days. I\u2019ve got all the lights in the house on, now. The house is all lighted up, bright. The wind followed me from room to room, looking through all the windows, when I switched them on. Oh!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt just snatched off the front screen door!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wish you\u2019d come over here and spend the night, Allin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t! God, I can\u2019t leave the house. I can\u2019t do anything. I know this wind. Lord, it\u2019s big and it\u2019s clever. I tried to light a cigarette a moment ago, and a little draft sucked the match out. The wind likes to play games, it likes to taunt me, it\u2019s taking its time with me; it\u2019s got all night. And now! God, right now, one of my old travel books, on the library table, I wish you could see it. A little breeze from God knows what small hole in the house, the little breeze is\u2014blowing the pages one by one. I wish you could see it. There\u2019s my introduction. Do you remember the introduction to my book on Tibet, Herb?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis book is dedicated to those who lost the game of elements, written by one who has seen, but who has always escaped.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, I remember.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe lights have gone out!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The phone crackled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe power lines just went down. Are you there, Herb?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI still hear you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe wind doesn\u2019t like all that light in my house, it tore the power lines down. The telephone will probably go next. Oh, it\u2019s a real party, me and the wind, I tell you! Just a second.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAllin?\u201d A silence. Herb leaned against the mouthpiece. His wife glanced in from the kitchen. Herb Thompson waited. \u201cAllin?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m back,\u201d said the voice on the phone. \u201cThere was a draft from the door and I shoved some wadding under it to keep it from blowing on my feet. I\u2019m glad you didn\u2019t come out after all, Herb, I wouldn\u2019t want you in this mess. There! It just broke one of the living room windows and a regular gale is in the house, knocking pictures off the wall! Do you hear it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Herb Thompson listened. There was a wild sirening on the phone and a whistling and banging. Allin shouted over it. \u201cDo you hear it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Herb Thompson swallowed dryly. \u201cI hear it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt wants me alive, Herb. It doesn\u2019t dare knock the house down in one fell blow. That\u2019d kill me. It wants me alive, so it can pull me apart, finger by finger. It wants what\u2019s inside me. My mind, my brain. It wants my life-power, my psychic force, my ego. It wants intellect.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy wife\u2019s calling me, Allin. I have to go wipe the dishes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a big cloud of vapors, winds from all over the world. The same wind that ripped the Celebes a year ago, the same pampero that killed in Argentina, the typhoon that fed on Hawaii, the hurricane that knocked the coast of Africa early this year. It\u2019s part of all those storms I escaped. It followed me from the Himalayas because it didn\u2019t want me to know what I know about the Valley of the Winds where it gathers and plans its destruction. Something, a long time ago, gave it a start in the direction of life. I know its feeding grounds, I know where it is born and where parts of it expire. For that reason, it hates me; and my books that tell how to defeat it. It doesn\u2019t want me preaching anymore. It wants to incorporate me into its huge body, to give it knowledge. It wants me on its own side!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have to hang up, Allin, my wife\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d A pause, the blowing of the wind in the phone, distantly. \u201cWhat did you say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCall me back in about an hour, Allin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He hung up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He went out to wipe the dishes. His wife looked at him and he looked at the dishes, rubbing them with a towel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it like out tonight?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNice. Not very chilly. Stars,\u201d she said. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The phone rang three times in the next hour. At eight o\u2019clock the company arrived, Stoddard and his wife. They sat around until eight-thirty talking and then got out and set up the card table and began to play Gin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Herb Thompson shuffled the cards over and over, with a clittering, shuttering effect and clapped them out, one at a time before the three other players. Talk went back and forth. He lit a cigar and made it into a fine gray ash at the tip, and adjusted his cards in his hand and on occasion lifted his head and listened. There was no sound outside the house. His wife saw him do this, and he cut it out immediately, and discarded a Jack of Clubs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He puffed slowly on his cigar and they all talked quietly with occasional small eruptions of laughter, and the clock in the hall sweetly chimed nine o\u2019clock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHere we all are,\u201d said Herb Thompson, taking his cigar out and looking at it reflectively. \u201cAnd life is sure funny.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEh?\u201d said Mr. Stoddard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNothing, except here we are, living our lives, and some place else on earth a billion other people live their lives.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a rather obvious statement.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLife,\u201d he put his cigar back in his lips, \u201cis a lonely thing. Even with married people. Sometimes when you\u2019re in a person\u2019s arms you feel a million miles away from them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI like that<\/em>,\u201d said his wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t mean it that way,\u201d he explained, not with haste; because he felt no guilt, he took his time. \u201cI mean we all believe what we believe and live our own little lives while other people live entirely different ones. I mean, we sit here in this room while a thousand people are dying. Some of cancer, some of pneumonia, some of tuberculosis. I imagine someone in the United States is dying right now in a wrecked car.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis isn\u2019t very stimulating conversation,\u201d said his wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI mean to say, we all live and don\u2019t think about how other people think or live their lives or die. We wait until death comes to<\/em> us. What I mean is here we sit, on our self-assured butt-bones, while, thirty miles away, in a big old house, completely surrounded by night and God-knows-what, one of the finest guys who ever lived is\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHerb!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He puffed and chewed on his cigar and stared blindly at his cards. \u201cSorry.\u201d He blinked rapidly and bit his cigar. \u201cIs it my turn?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s your turn.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The playing went around the table, with a flittering of cards, murmurs, conversation. Herb Thompson sank lower into his chair and began to look ill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The phone rang. Thompson jumped and ran to it and jerked it off the hook.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHerb! I\u2019ve been calling and calling. What\u2019s it like at your house, Herb?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you mean, what\u2019s it like?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHas the company come?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHell, yes, it has\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you talking and laughing and playing cards?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cChrist, yes, but what has that got to do with\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you smoking your ten-cent cigar?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGod damn it, yes, but . . .\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSwell,\u201d said the voice on the phone. \u201cThat sure is swell. I wish I could be there. I wish I didn\u2019t know the things I know. I wish lots of things.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you all right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo far, so good. I\u2019m locked in the kitchen now. Part of the front wall of the house blew in. But I planned my retreat. When the kitchen door gives, I\u2019m heading for the cellar. If I\u2019m lucky I may hold out there until morning. It\u2019ll have to tear the whole damned house down to get to me, and the cellar floor is pretty solid. I have a shovel and I may dig\u2014deeper. . . .\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It sounded like a lot of other voices on the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that<\/em>?\u201d Herb Thompson demanded, cold, shivering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat?\u201d asked the voice on the phone. \u201cThose are the voices of twelve thousand killed by a typhoon, seven thousand killed by a hurricane, three thousand buried by a cyclone. Am I boring you? That\u2019s what the wind is. It\u2019s a lot of people dead. The wind killed them, took their minds to give itself intelligence. It took all their voices and made them into one voice. All those millions of people killed in the past ten thousand years, tortured and run from continent to continent on the backs and in the bellies of monsoons and whirlwinds. Oh Christ, what a poem you could write about it!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The phone echoed and rang with voices and shouts and whinings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome on back, Herb,\u201d called his wife from the card table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s how the wind gets more intelligent each year, it adds to itself, body by body, life by life, death by death.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re waiting for you, Herb,\u201d called his wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDamn it!\u201d He turned, almost snarling. \u201cWait just a moment, won\u2019t you!\u201d Back to the phone. \u201cAllin, if you want me to come out there now, I will! I should have come earlier . . .\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWouldn\u2019t think of it. This is a grudge fight, wouldn\u2019t do to have you in it now. I\u2019d better hang up. The kitchen door looks bad; I\u2019ll have to get in the cellar.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCall me back, later?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe, if I\u2019m lucky. I don\u2019t think I\u2019ll make it. I slipped away and escaped so many times, but I think it has me now. I hope I haven\u2019t bothered you too much, Herb.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou haven\u2019t bothered anyone, damn it. Call me back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll try. . . .\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Herb Thompson went back to the card game. His wife glared at him. \u201cHow\u2019s Allin, your friend?\u201d she asked, \u201cIs he sober?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s never taken a drink in his life,\u201d said Thompson, sullenly, sitting down. \u201cI should have gone out there hours ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut he\u2019s called every night for six weeks and you\u2019ve been out there at least ten nights to stay with him and nothing was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe needs help. He might hurt himself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou were just out there, two nights ago, you can\u2019t always be running after him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFirst thing in the morning I\u2019ll move him into a sanatorium. Didn\u2019t want to. He seems so reasonable otherwise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At ten-thirty coffee was served. Herb Thompson drank his slowly, looking at the phone. I wonder if he\u2019s in the cellar now, he thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Herb Thompson walked to the phone, called long-distance, gave the number.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d said the operator. \u201cThe lines are down in that district. When the lines are repaired, we will put your call through.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen the telephone lines are<\/em> down!\u201d cried Thompson. He let the phone drop. Turning, he slammed open the closet door, pulled out his coat. \u201cOh Lord,\u201d he said. \u201cOh, Lord, Lord,\u201d he said, to his amazed guests and his wife with the coffee urn in her hand. \u201cHerb!\u201d she cried. \u201cI\u2019ve got to get out there!\u201d he said, slipping into his coat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a soft, faint stirring at the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everybody in the room tensed and straightened up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho could that be?\u201d asked his wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The soft stirring was repeated, very quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thompson hurried down the hall where he stopped, alert.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Outside, faintly, he heard laughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be damned,\u201d said Thompson. He put his hand on the doorknob, pleasantly shocked and relieved. \u201cI\u2019d know that laugh anywhere. It\u2019s Allin. He came on over in his car, after all. Couldn\u2019t wait until morning to tell me his confounded stories.\u201d Thompson smiled weakly. \u201cProbably brought some friends with him. Sounds like a lot of other . . .\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He opened the front door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The porch was empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thompson showed no surprise; his face grew amused and sly. He laughed. \u201cAllin? None of your tricks now! Come on.\u201d He switched on the porch light and peered out and around. \u201cWhere are you, Allin? Come on, now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A breeze blew into his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thompson waited a moment, suddenly chilled to his marrow. He stepped out on the porch and looked uneasily, and very carefully, about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A sudden wind caught and whipped his coat flaps, disheveled his hair. He thought he heard laughter again. The wind rounded the house and was a pressure everywhere at once, and then, storming for a full minute, passed on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The wind died down, sad, mourning in the high trees, passing away; going back out to the sea, to the Celebes, to the Ivory Coast, to Sumatra and Cape Horn, to Cornwall and the Philippines. Fading, fading, fading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thompson stood there, cold. He went in and closed the door and leaned against it, and didn\u2019t move, eyes closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong . . .?\u201d asked his wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cThe Wind\u201d is a psychological horror story by Ray Bradbury, published in Weird Tales in March 1943. It tells the story of Allin, a man convinced that the winds are living entities and that one of them is trying to possess him. Seeking comfort, Allin turns to his friend Herb Thompson, but Herb is unable to visit him because he is expecting guests at his own home\u2014and his wife believes Allin has gone mad. Throughout the night, Herb receives several phone calls from Allin, each one more disturbing than the last.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":13567,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[572,574,570],"class_list":["post-24378","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-horror-en","tag-ray-bradbury-en","tag-united-states","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":572,"label":"Horror"},{"value":574,"label":"Ray Bradbury"},{"value":570,"label":"United States"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/Ray-Bradbury-El-viento.jpg",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":419,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":419,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":572,"name":"Horror","slug":"horror-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":572,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":127,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":574,"name":"Ray Bradbury","slug":"ray-bradbury-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":574,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":43,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":570,"name":"United States","slug":"united-states","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":570,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":294,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24378","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=24378"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24378\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/13567"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=24378"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=24378"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=24378"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}