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V . THE STILLNESS . My first act before I went into the pantry was to fasten the door between the kitchen and the scullery . But the pantry was empty ; every scrap of food had gone . Apparently , the Martian had taken it all on the previous day . At that discovery I despaired for the first time . I took no food , or no drink either , on the eleventh or the twelfth day . At first my mouth and throat were parched , and my strength ebbed sensibly . I sat about in the darkness of the scullery , in a state of despondent wretchedness . My mind ran on eating . I thought I had become deaf , for the noises of movement I had been accustomed to hear from the pit had ceased absolutely . I did not feel strong enough to crawl noiselessly to the peephole , or I would have gone there . On the twelfth day my throat was so painful that , taking the chance of alarming the Martians , I attacked the creaking rain - water pump that stood by the sink , and got a couple of glassfuls of blackened and tainted rain water . I was greatly refreshed by this , and emboldened by the fact that no enquiring tentacle followed the noise of my pumping . During these days , in a rambling , inconclusive way , I thought much of the curate and of the manner of his death . On the thirteenth day I drank some more water , and dozed and thought disjointedly of eating and of vague impossible plans of escape . Whenever I dozed I dreamt of horrible phantasms , of the death of the curate , or of sumptuous dinners ; but , asleep or awake , I felt a keen pain that urged me to drink again and again . The light that came into the scullery was no longer grey , but red . To my disordered imagination it seemed the colour of blood . On the fourteenth day I went into the kitchen , and I was surprised to find that the fronds of the red weed had grown right across the hole in the wall , turning the half - light of the place into a crimson - coloured obscurity . It was early on the fifteenth day that I heard a curious , familiar sequence of sounds in the kitchen , and , listening , identified it as the snuffing and scratching of a dog . Going into the kitchen , I saw a dog’s nose peering in through a break among the ruddy fronds . This greatly surprised me . At the scent of me he barked shortly . I thought if I could induce him to come into the place quietly I should be able , perhaps , to kill and eat him ; and in any case , it would be advisable to kill him , lest his actions attracted the attention of the Martians . I crept forward , saying “ Good dog ! ” very softly ; but he suddenly withdrew his head and disappeared . I listened — I was not deaf — but certainly the pit was still . I heard a sound like the flutter of a bird’s wings , and a hoarse croaking , but that was all . For a long while I lay close to the peephole , but not daring to move aside the red plants that obscured it . Once or twice I heard a faint pitter - patter like the feet of the dog going hither and thither on the sand far below me , and there were more birdlike sounds , but that was all . At length , encouraged by the silence , I looked out .
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