在厄舍府度過第一個夜晚後，敘事者開始察覺宅邸內隱藏著更多難以解釋的異象。羅德里克帶他參觀家族畫室，那裡收藏著數百年來的作品。然而每一幅畫作背後，都彷彿埋藏著一段逐漸腐爛的靈魂。
After his first night inside Usher House, the narrator senses that the mansion conceals far more than family secrets. Roderick leads him into a forgotten gallery filled with generations of artwork. Yet beneath the beauty of every canvas lurks a disturbing presence, as though the paintings themselves are preserving fragments of a dying bloodline.
中文
第二天清晨，我從不安的睡夢中醒來。昨夜湖面上的白色身影依然停留在腦海深處。我無法確定那究竟是真實存在的人影，還是厄舍府帶來的幻覺。窗外天空依舊陰沉，厚重烏雲覆蓋整片荒原。即使已是白天，陽光依然無法穿透灰暗天幕。當我來到餐廳時，羅德里克早已坐在長桌另一端。他看起來比昨天更加憔悴，眼眶下方浮現深深陰影，像是一整夜都未曾闔眼。「你睡得如何？」他問。我沒有提起湖中的白影，只簡單回答還算可以。他露出勉強笑容，隨後忽然提出一個請求。他希望我陪同參觀家族畫室。那是歷代厄舍家族藝術家留下作品的地方，也是他最珍視的收藏。我答應了。早餐後，我們沿著螺旋階梯前往宅邸西翼。隨著高度增加，周圍空氣變得更加冰冷。牆壁上的油燈散發微弱火光，卻無法驅散陰森氣氛。走了許久，我們終於來到一扇巨大的橡木門前。門上雕刻著複雜花紋，表面早已被歲月侵蝕。當厚重木門被推開時，一股混合著油彩、灰塵與潮濕木材的氣味撲面而來。眼前是一座龐大畫室。高聳天窗透入微弱光線，數十幅畫作排列於四周牆面。那些作品技法精湛，足以媲美任何著名畫家。然而隨著仔細觀察，我逐漸感到一絲不安。每一幅人物肖像都擁有相似神情。無論男女老幼，他們的眼神都充滿某種難以形容的悲傷與恐懼。彷彿每位畫中人物都知道自己即將面對某種可怕命運。羅德里克沉默地走過畫廊。他時而停下腳步凝視畫作，眼神複雜得令人難以理解。忽然，他停在一幅巨大肖像前。畫中的男子身穿十九世紀服裝，面容與羅德里克有七分相似。「那是我的曾祖父。」他低聲說。「據說他在這座宅邸裡自盡。」我望向畫像。男子嘴角似乎帶著淡淡微笑，但那笑容卻令人感到莫名恐懼。更奇怪的是，不論我站在哪個角度，畫中人的目光似乎始終追隨著我。我以為只是光線造成的錯覺。然而接下來幾幅肖像也帶給我同樣感覺。整個畫室彷彿被無數雙眼睛注視著。就在此時，我注意到角落掛著一幅被黑布覆蓋的畫。它與其他作品不同，被刻意藏在陰影深處。「那是什麼？」我問。羅德里克臉色微微一變。他猶豫許久，最終還是伸手揭開黑布。畫布上出現一名年輕女子。她穿著白色長裙，站在黑色湖泊中央。那張蒼白面孔竟與我在湖中看見的神秘女子一模一樣。我瞬間感到背脊發涼。「她是誰？」我追問。羅德里克沉默片刻後回答：「艾蓮娜．厄舍。」這個名字我從未聽過。他告訴我，那是兩百年前的家族成員。根據記載，她在二十四歲那年神秘失蹤，再也沒有人見過她。可是畫中的容貌與昨夜湖中的女子完全一致，絲毫沒有歲月差異。我正想繼續詢問，忽然發現畫中的湖面似乎出現細微變化。原本平靜的黑色水面竟隱約泛起漣漪。我眨了眨眼，再次仔細觀看，一切又恢復正常。難道只是幻覺？正當我疑惑之際，樓上忽然傳來重物倒地的聲音。轟然巨響在畫室內迴盪。羅德里克臉色瞬間蒼白。他幾乎是本能地後退一步，雙手顫抖起來。「又來了……」他低聲呢喃。我們急忙前往樓上查看。然而當抵達聲音來源時，走廊空無一人。唯一異常的是牆面上多出一道新裂痕。裂縫從天花板一路延伸至地板，像傷口般撕裂古老石牆。我忽然想起第一次看見厄舍府時，那道貫穿整座宅邸的巨大裂痕。彷彿有某種力量正從內部逐漸撕碎這棟建築。回到畫室後，我發現那幅艾蓮娜的畫竟然出現異常。畫中女子原本低垂的雙手，此刻卻像微微抬起一般。雖然變化極小，但我確信自己沒有記錯。羅德里克也察覺異樣。他死死盯著畫作，眼中浮現深深恐懼。「她以前不是這樣站著的。」他低聲說。畫室再次陷入沉默。就在此時，遠方某處傳來熟悉的敲擊聲。咚……咚……咚……那聲音彷彿來自宅邸最深處。又像來自牆壁另一側的黑暗世界。
[audiobook title=”Episode 4: The Diseased Gallery” src=”https://pub-0d950852c1b24118b76198710040037c.r2.dev/wp-content/uploads/2026/06/The-Fall-of-the-House-of-Usher-Episode-4.mp3″]
English Version
Morning brought no comfort to Usher House. The image of the white figure standing upon the lake remained vivid in my mind, refusing to fade with daylight. Outside, dark clouds continued to smother the sky, casting the estate beneath a permanent twilight. When I entered the dining hall, Roderick was already seated at the far end of the table. He appeared weaker than before, his eyes hollow from another sleepless night. During breakfast he suggested we visit the family gallery, a place where generations of Usher artists had preserved their work. Curious to learn more about the strange family, I agreed. We climbed a winding staircase leading toward the western wing of the mansion. The higher we ascended, the colder the air became. Dim lanterns flickered against stone walls, illuminating corridors untouched by time. At last we reached a massive oak door decorated with elaborate carvings. Beyond it lay an enormous gallery. Dust drifted through pale shafts of light falling from the glass ceiling above. Paintings lined every wall from floor to ceiling. The quality of the artwork was extraordinary, yet something about the collection felt deeply unsettling. Every portrait carried the same expression. Men, women, and children alike seemed haunted by an invisible sorrow. Their eyes reflected fear, resignation, and an awareness of approaching doom. It was as though the entire family had shared the same nightmare for centuries. Roderick moved quietly through the gallery, occasionally pausing before certain paintings. Eventually he stopped before a large portrait of a stern-looking gentleman dressed in formal attire from another era. He explained that the man had been his great-grandfather and had taken his own life inside the mansion. The resemblance between them was unmistakable. As I studied the portrait, I became increasingly uncomfortable. No matter where I stood, the painted eyes seemed fixed upon me. Assuming it to be an artistic illusion, I continued exploring. Yet several other portraits produced the same sensation. It felt as if countless silent observers were watching every movement within the room. In a dark corner of the gallery, I noticed a canvas concealed beneath a black cloth. Unlike the others, it appeared intentionally hidden. When I asked about it, Roderick hesitated before reluctantly removing the covering. The image beneath stole my breath. It depicted a young woman dressed in white standing in the center of a black lake. Her face was identical to the mysterious figure I had encountered both in the mist and outside my window. Roderick identified her as Elena Usher, an ancestor who had vanished more than two centuries earlier. According to family records, she disappeared without explanation and was never found. Yet the woman in the painting looked exactly as she had appeared to me. No older. No different. While staring at the artwork, I noticed what seemed to be movement within the painted water. Tiny ripples disturbed the dark surface. I blinked, and the effect vanished instantly. Before I could convince myself it had been imagination, a violent crash echoed from the floor above. The sound shook the gallery. Roderick turned pale and whispered that it was happening again. We hurried upstairs to investigate. The corridor stood empty, but something had changed. A fresh crack now stretched across the wall, splitting stone from ceiling to floor. The sight reminded me of the enormous fracture cutting through the exterior of the mansion. It looked as though the house itself was slowly breaking apart from within. Returning to the gallery, I glanced once more toward Elena’s portrait. This time something was undeniably different. Her arms appeared slightly raised compared to before. The alteration was subtle, almost impossible to prove, yet both Roderick and I noticed it immediately. He stared at the painting in horror and quietly insisted she had never stood like that before. Neither of us spoke for several moments. Then the familiar knocking sound returned. Slow. Rhythmic. Distant. It echoed from somewhere deep inside the mansion, as though something hidden beyond the walls was trying to find its way out.
